James descended the stairs to the common room at a mild sprint, only to find that many, many Gryffindors had already beaten him there. His eyes darted around the room. Isaac Pike was there, unsubtly armed with his wand, his free arm around his sister, Coraline, who was still in her Quidditch gear. Maylene Akers was there, in full Prefect robes and an expression of worry etched on her face. The portrait hole opened and a number of students poured in, including Tommy Jordan, who was followed not far behind by several of James's Weasley cousins. Roxanne and Dominique emerged first, and then, to James's shock and slight horror, a haggard-looking Hugo.
Somebody screamed Hugo's name and emerged from the crowd. Rose nearly suffocated her brother when she arrived and appeared to be sobbing into the neck of the younger boy's robes, despite the efforts of her older cousins and Tommy to get her to calm down. At last, a black-haired boy approached her from behind and put a hand on her shoulder. As Rose embraced him, he turned. James got a look at his face and nearly went weak-kneed with relief.
He went to try to make his way over to his family, but the crowd was too thick. If that weren't enough, someone moving very quickly cut in front of him and nearly knocked him down. James looked toward the offender to say something, but he was already headed for a table. He stepped up onto it, now towering several feet over the other students, his burly form covered by robes bearing the emblem of the Gryffindor Prefect.
"I'm going to say this once," Eamonn Temple snarled. His eyes were darting and his face flushed. "And some of you aren't going to like it, but this is where we are! Any thoughts you might have had of things going back to the way they were, any dreams you might have held of 'inter-house unity'… you might as well lay them all to rest. A line has been crossed – one we can't come back from. We're at war now. Not one we started, not one some of us wanted – but that's our reality."
"War? What are you talking about?
"What happened?"
"What's going on?"
James heard a peppering of questions from the throng of Gryffindors.
"War?" Murphy's voice came from somewhere very close to James. "Has he lost his effing mind? What the hell's he playing at…?"
Meanwhile, Temple was staring at the other Prefects that were closest to the portrait hole. Tommy seemed to be making a face expressing disapproval, but Temple was clearly not in the mood to be reasoned with.
"Go on, Jordan – tell them! Tell them what happened!"
Tommy Jordan had rarely had such a pained expression on his face. "Two of our Gryffindors," he said slowly, Temple staring a death laser through him the entire time, "two of our first years… were accosted in a sixth floor hallway. Hugo Weasley here… and Armon Addison."
An uproar came from the crowd of Gryffindors. James heard bits and pieces – and a lot of swearing.
"Everyone try to calm down," Tommy said, seemingly aware of its futility.
"Where's Addison now?"
"Is he alright?"
"He's in the hospital wing," Tommy said loudly. James was close enough to hear the conversation between Tommy Jordan and his fellow Prefect. "Temple, if you don't calm yourself—"
"I took this out of your hands a long time ago," Temple answered.
"What do you mean by—" but Temple would not let Tommy finish.
"Everyone shut it for a second, I've got something important to say about this!" he exclaimed. After several long seconds, people started to lower their voices. "Now, if we allow this, we'll allow anything. Our founder, Godric Gryffindor, helped the wizards of Wales overthrow their oppressive Muggle lords and establish their own societies. There are wizard settlements that exist in Wales even now because of what he did. He wasn't the type of man to 'allow anything.' And that's the spirit each and every one of us should have if the Sorting Hat – his Sorting Hat – put us here!"
"We don't even have any proof that the Slytherins did this!" Tommy exclaimed.
"Don't be ridiculous!" The loud reply came from, of all people, Isaac Pike. He and Tommy roomed together and had been very close friends once, but grew apart when Tommy became a Prefect. "You think Ravenclaws would go after two of our first years for no good reason? I've been here seven years, Tommy, and I've never had an issue with a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff."
"Come to think of it, maybe this doesn't happen if Macmillan—" Tommy started.
"I had nothing to do with that!" Pike shouted in interruption. "Trust me, if it had been me, I would have found whoever hexed my sister and I wouldn't have been as nice to them as that!"
"Everyone needs to calm down a notch." A new voice joined the conversation as Kenneth Bourne, James's former Quidditch teammate and a fifth-year Prefect, worked his way to the front of the throng. "Everyone. That means you too, Temple."
At this, Temple, who was considerably larger than Bourne even without the aid of a platform, leapt off the table upon which he had been standing, to approach his younger counterpart face-to-face. "I am calm, Bourne. Trust me. You'd know it if I wasn't."
"Stop it," Tommy forced his way in between the two other boys. "I'll grant you it looks bad, but we need to have some sense about this…"
"Sense? That's your solution?" Temple's lip curled. "I see now why you didn't get that Head Boy badge."
"I didn't get the Head Boy badge because they didn't want the Head Boy and Girl from the same House," Tommy said calmly. "We've been over this already."
"And that doesn't bother you?" probed Temple. "That doesn't bother you at all that Geoffrey Boyd of all people got that spot over you because some the Slytherins started whinging about some 'power imbalance' when that's never been a problem before? Boyd's a joke. He'd be useless in an actual crisis. Everybody knows it. He can't even control his own House and they want to make him Head Boy because of some hurt feelings."
"Flitwick must have decided—" Tommy started. Temple scoffed.
"Flitwick. That senile, old codger doesn't hold a candle to Madam McGonagall. She wouldn't have stood for this rubbish, and you know it. We only really started having problems once Flitwick took over because he doesn't give enough of a damn about our House to make an example of a snake when it's needed. We'd be much better off with Wenster as Headmaster."
"Wenster won't ever be Headmaster," Tommy replied coldly.
"And why is that, Mr. Jordan?"
Temple smirked. Tommy didn't turn to look initially, but James noticed a good amount of the brown drain out of his face. Along with several others, James looked toward the portrait hole to see the tall, cold-eyed, old wizard standing at the entrance to the common room, straightbacked, wearing his usual robes of blood red.
"I apologize for my lateness," Wenster said, in a tone that betrayed that he really didn't care much if his Gryffindor charges were offended by his lateness. "I was just in a rather… animated dialogue, shall we say, with our esteemed Headmaster. It seems I've arrived just in time, though. So why is it, Mr. Jordan, that I would never be qualified to be Headmaster? Because I'm not popular enough among the students or their parents? Well, Flitwick was always popular as a Professor. We see how well that's gone."
"With all due respect," Tommy said, "your history as a Hardliner—"
"Was well over twenty years ago," Wenster interrupted. James's eyes widened as he glanced at Murphy and then back at Professor Wenster before turning back to Murphy.
"Like I said," Murphy muttered with a solemn nod. "Well, I never said 'Hardliner', but…"
Believe it or not, James had opened his History of Magic text a few times and glanced at the last few chapters. After all, when you're an eleven-year-old boy and you realize your dad may well be mentioned in the part of the book chronicling recent British wizarding history, you want to find his name and show your best mate. Harry Potter and his exploits were given some degree of attention, of course. One did not mention the decade of the 1990s and simply gloss over the Second Wizarding War, after all. It was a rather important event. 'Hardliner' was a term that came into vogue post-war for those (usually politicians and well-known figures) who favored more punitive treatment of the living Death Eaters and their associates.
In retrospect, James, who had been taking classes with Wenster for three years and knew about his history with Slytherin House, felt like an idiot for never having made that connection.
Wenster, with a grimace, conceded, "Still, you bring up a valid point. Slytherin would have been and would be handled much differently if the decision were mine. But popular opinion wants 'unity'… It's not a bad ideal, unity… but people that want friendship between the four Houses for the sake of Hogwarts forget this harsh reality. Sometimes you need to cut off a dangerous part so the whole can live. Ask Mr. Addison about that. He'll tell you – or he would if someone hadn't blinded him and put him in the hospital wing."
By this point, the common room was all but silent. Even outside of a classroom lecture context, Professor Wenster was a fearsome individual that few, if any, had the desire to cross.
"The Headmaster and I will have another conversation," Wenster said. "In the meantime, try not to make things worse for yourselves with poor decision-making. As the rules dictate, no walking Hogwarts alone. Also, older students, if you can spare the time, it would be of great service to House Gryffindor if you can see to the safety of your younger counterparts between classes."
"What will you do if the Headmaster doesn't listen?" asked Temple.
"Then we would have to call on… outside influences," Wenster replied. "As much as the thought of government bureaucracy sickens me, this cannot be allowed to continue."
"But the Ministry doesn't have any power over Hogwarts beyond—" Tommy piped in.
"I am ninety-one years old, Mr. Jordan," Wenster interrupted firmly. "I am well aware of the statutes governing the Ministry's influence over Hogwarts. All of them – even the most recent ones. But this is not simply a Hogwarts problem. It's a question of law and accountability, and of trust. That is why I took the stance I did after the war. And if given another chance, I would have done the same."
He raised his voice to address the common room as a whole.
"Gryffindors," he announced, "I will not sanction any sort of armed vengeance, especially given that we have not located the particular culprits. Rest assured, I will find Mr. Addison's attackers, and ensure they are dealt with harshly. I will also try to get our Headmaster to see sense. In the meantime, you have free reign from me as your Head of House to defend yourselves from any assailants – using force, if necessary."
Finally, he turned to Temple and muttered, "Go on." And, his blood red robes swishing behind him, he departed.
"'I will not sanction any sort of armed vengeance,'" Murphy muttered. "But it's going to happen, and he knows damn well it's going to happen. He just wants his hands clean."
James sighed heavily, clenching his fists. "Damn it…"
"It's official, then!" Temple yelled suddenly. James winced in annoyance. Shut it already, I'm trying to think… "I need a dozen good wizards – or witches, doesn't matter – third year and older, skilled in Defence with a willingness to protect their fellow Gryffindors."
"Have you lost your bloody mind, Temple?" Kenneth Bourne spoke up. "Who gave you permission to start some sort of—"
"He just left – so if you've got a problem with it, catch up and tell him to his face," Temple replied.
"Professor Longbottom never would have agreed to this," Bourne answered.
"Professor Longbottom isn't here." Temple's voice was flat and curt. "Maybe he's not even coming back. We have to protect ourselves."
"This is ridiculous," said Tommy. "I would have preferred the Veil."
"No!" Bourne disagreed vehemently. "God, no. Not that again."
"We don't have the Veil," Temple said. "This is what we've got to work with."
"Temple's right." Someone pushed to the front of the crowd. James didn't see him initially, but was looking at Tommy Jordan, whose eyes widened and face fell.
"You're mental. Pike… Isaac, please tell meyou're not doing this," he pleaded.
"You're an only child, Tommy," Isaac Pike said, his voice as solemn as James had ever heard it. There was an obvious regret in his eyes. "You wouldn't get it."
Isaac Pike, James learned, was actually (like James himself) the oldest of three. The baby of the family was ten-year-old Justin. He would be starting Hogwarts next fall.
"It was a prank," Tommy said. "Whoever did it, it was a prank. What difference is it—"
"Are you serious?" Pike queried. "First off, any pranks I pulled were so everyone could have a laugh. I don't go out of my way to bully and intimidate people. Second – a pig's tail. A bloody pig's tail, Tommy. There's so many implications I don't know where to start."
James glanced at Coraline, who now looked mortified, as if she would Disapparate on the spot if possible.
Temple raised both eyebrows for a moment. "There's one."
He looked in Kenneth Bourne's direction. Bourne shook his head. "Someone's gonna get hurt if you go through with this."
"Someone's gonna get hurt either way. We've already seen that." A boy a bit bigger than James emerged from the front. Bourne's jaw opened just a bit. "Better them than us."
James never saw much of Derrick Egan anymore. He, like Kenneth Bourne, was a fifth year. Also like Kenneth Bourne, he and James had played Quidditch together in the past.
"Two," announced Temple.
Silently, an older girl, brunette with a strong chin, approached the small group gathering around Temple.
"Wren Audrey?" Temple uttered, apparently a bit shocked. James tried to remember what year she was. He never saw her much. He would have known it if he had. She was a shade over six feet tall, not fat but certainly no delicate fairy. Even Temple, himself no small lad, regarded her with a hint of caution.
"I've never had the heart to ask before," she said – her voice was surprisingly soft and gentle for someone with such an imposing physical presence. "Is it true what they say about Addison? You're a Prefect, so you'd know…"
Temple's face was serious. "Which part?"
"About how sick he was before he came here," Wren replied. "I've heard things, but I didn't know if they were true or not…"
"It's every bit that bad," another voice interrupted Temple before he could speak. Irritation crept across the Prefect's face for a brief second, then surprise.
James craned his neck around a couple of people and found the speaker.
"Oh, great," James muttered to himself. "Just brilliant."
"Saw that coming," a voice murmured in reply, but it was devoid of the Irish accent James had become so accustomed to hearing from his best friend. Furthermore, it had not come from James's right, where he knew Murphy had been standing, but somewhere off to his left. James glanced in that direction and found a boy that had not been there even ten seconds ago. He was a bit shorter than James, bespectacled, with golden-brown hair and dark eyes that still managed to pierce. James vaguely recognized him.
"Rowan Lester?" James named him.
"I thought I'd get a look at this sideshow up close," Rowan explained as the other boy kept talking. "See what it is I'm dealing with."
"Dealing with?" James repeated, a bit confused. Rowan gave him a glance with an expression that was almost one of pity.
"I'm not sure if some of you lot know what that is – it's not as common for wizards, but you should look it up. Or ask Professor Burgess. She knows," the other speaker went on. "It's a hell of a disease. I can tell you that much."
A moment later, Stephan Vaisey finally came into view.
"It's like you've said, Temple," he went on, his eyes directed in a cold stare at the Gryffindor Prefect. "They crossed a line."
"You know, for what it's worth, Vaisey, I've never seen you say two words to Armon Addison," James's eyes widened. He recognized that voice. Vaisey did too – he rolled his eyes and turned to his right. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were just using this situation to get revenge."
"You shut your mouth!" Vaisey snapped. "You have no idea what it's like—"
"—to have a pair of bullying gits be the worst problem I have in the world?" the other boy interrupted. "I guess that makes the death threats my family got whenever we stepped outside look pretty tame."
"Malfoy, if you're only here to argue—" Temple started.
"I'm not here to argue," Scorpius said, staring at a seething Vaisey for several moments before looking up at Temple.
Brynne
News of Armon Addison's plight had made the rounds around Hogwarts by dinner. There was a definite feeling of unease at the Slytherin table as a large part of the House sat for their evening meal in the Great Hall. This leaden feeling of disquiet was heavier once people started making note of the unusually low number of Gryffindors present in the Hall. In fact, the Gryffindor table, typically loud and full of activity for dinnertime, was all but abandoned. A handful of scattered Gryffindor groups ate at the table. Judging by the books, most of them had come from the library.
"Dominique and Roxanne are here," Lily Potter indicated, pointing out the two girls sitting together at the much-too-large, much-too-empty table on the other side of the room. One girl was tan-skinned and had black hair that curled and coiled every which way like a cloud. The other was fair and had hair of a very straight blonde. Both were part of the Weasley family, and cousins to James and Lily.
"So we've got, what, eight to ten out of a couple hundred?" Lena was sitting to Brynne's right. She was eating fruit for dinner – apparently, too heavy a meal in the evening made her sleepy, and she had extra studying to do. Lena brushed her black curls out of her green eyes. "Something's definitely off – don't you think, Kadric?"
The third year boy observed the Gryffindor table silently for a few moments. "Professor Wenster's not at the staff table, either. This is weird."
"Well… we don't make a habit of wandering the halls, so they can't pin anything on us," Lena remarked, glancing at Brynne.
"That's not what I'm worried about," admitted Brynne, kneading strands of her cinnamon-red between her finger and thumb. She allowed her eyes to drift down the Slytherin table. Bletchley was sitting there with Nott and Amara Zabini. Marsha Flint had earned herself a detention for something or other. Probably related to her marks, Brynne thought. Marsha had never been the brightest of bulbs...
Bletchley made some sort of comment. Amara Zabini bashed the table with her fist and started snarling at him. Nott sat just as passively as ever, and whatever he had said had somehow gotten Amara to calm down.
"You think it was them?" Kadric Howell's voice queried. Brynne cringed; that hadn't been her intention at all.
"Phillip…" she shook her head. "He's not the person I knew before, but… I never thought he'd stoop this low. I still don't. He distrusts the Gryffindors, but he's not the type that would attack a defenseless first year."
"Amara might be, though…" Lily pointed out.
But Brynne turned to the girl and smiled. "I doubt it. She's not competent enough with hexes, even though she likes to think she is. I think you could beat her in a duel one-on-one if it came to it."
Lily dared to show a weak smile, but it promptly disappeared off her face.
"I hope Karyn's somewhere safe," she worried. "Or at least with Parveen."
"How's Parveen holding up?" Brynne asked. Seeing Lily's obvious look of surprise at having been asked such a question, she added, "Uh… I just meant… I know her family's split up all over the place…"
Parveen Rama, if Brynne remembered correctly, had a sister in Ravenclaw, and an older brother rooming with James in Gryffindor – not to mention her youngest sibling, who was still at home.
"She says she's alright," Lily said. "I think she's lying, though."
Lily looked down at the table, her expression very downcast.
"Something else wrong?"
Lily swallowed, as if hesitant to say anything.
"It's Ophelia," she finally admitted solemnly. "I notice that… well… her bed's right next to mine, and I hear her sometimes crying late at night."
Brynne frowned.
"Have you asked her what's wrong?" she queried.
Lily's curtain of ginger swayed back and forth as she shook her head. "She doesn't talk. Ever, hardly."
"…Maybe she's homesick?" Brynne suggested.
"Maybe so," Lily agreed. At that moment, a roar rang through the Great Doors and into the Hall for the whole of Hogwarts to hear.
"AMBROSE!"
"What the—?" Kadric Howell turned around on his seat to get a better look as much of the Hall went silent.
Purposeful and almost board-stiff in his gait, old Professor Wenster strode into the Great Hall, his blood red cloak billowing in his wake. Also in his wake were a group of students, Gryffindors to a man. At their head was a well-built young man with short, brown hair and a set jaw.
A gasp came from across the table from Brynne. She angled her head around Lena to see better. Two boys with light blond hair were walking side by side, yet eyeing each other distrustfully.
"What d'yeh think yeh're doin'?" a proud oak of a man grew out of the staff table at the head of the room. Even from this distance, Professor Hagrid seemed to tower over just about everything.
"I don't have any business with you, Rubeus," Wenster said, his tone surprisingly cordial. On the other side of the staff table sat Professor Ambrose, who had actually looked up from whatever book he was reading. "Ambrose, I'm going to ask you this once, nicely. Are you hiding anything?"
"This isn't called for," Ambrose said calmly, obviously in an attempt to defuse the situation. "I'm just as concerned about this as you are. Perhaps we can work together to come to some sort of—"
"Why should I do that? You're allowing an atmosphere of disorder that is endangering my students. Why should I work with you?" asked Wenster.
"So you can have some credibility for once," Ambrose said, finally pushing himself to his feet. "Coming from you, this looks like just another Slytherin witch hunt."
"Oh, no – believe me, the wizards are included, too," Wenster replied. "I'll interrogate your students' owls if I have to. I mean to find out the truth – we Gryffindors are actually concerned about those sorts of things."
"Enough," Ambrose snapped. "If you're interested in having this conversation like two civilized adult wizards, we can do that. But this is neither the time nor the place."
"Maybe you've had your nose too far in your books to notice, but we have a bit of a situation here," Wenster shot back. "One of my first year students is a victim of an attack from one of your students and is in the hospital wing, unable to see. And there you sit, asking me for decorum. Who do you think you are?"
"I am not twelve years old anymore, for one," Ambrose replied, in a tone colder than Brynne had ever heard him use. "I am a Professor of Hogwarts and a Head of one of Hogwarts' Four Houses."
"And a fine job you're doing at both of those, obviously," Wenster said at a near mutter. "Tell me, then, Professor Ambrose… how's your knowledge of wizard law?"
Ambrose remained silent, apparently having decided not to dignify Wenster's question with a response. Fortunately – or perhaps unfortunately – Wenster answered himself:
"'Gross abuse or negligent endangerment of an underage charge.' That's ten years at a bare minimum, if memory serves. Per count."
"Lucan, are you barking?!" Hagrid roared, making half the Great Hall jump. "You couldn' possibly mean—"
"Only if he makes me," Wenster said. "Professor Ambrose, your House's student leadership will appear before the Disciplinary Panel to answer to questioning about the incident. If you attempt to obstruct or subvert said panel, I, as acting Head of Gryffindor House, have and will use the authority vested in me by the Headmaster to press criminal charges against you on behalf of Mr. Addison."
Naturally, muttering and gasps peppered the Great Hall. But Wenster did not break stride:
"Or, in layman's terms… you bring me your Prefects, or I'll bring you the Wizengamot and have you locked away until you're as old and as gray as I am."
There was a pause, as if Wenster wanted the full gravity of this statement to wash over everyone in the room. Then he shouted:
"We're leaving! And take care not to turn your backs."
For one horrible second, Brynne thought this was another threat. Then, by the way the few Gryffindor students Wenster had brought with them all backed out of the room, she realized it wasn't the Slytherins that Wenster was addressing.
The Gryffindors that remained at the Great Hall table sat with the rest of the hall in shocked silence – although a couple hastily gathered their things and bolted from the room, meals left half-eaten on the table.
"All of our Prefects," Kadric Howell breathed, turning back around to face Brynne. His face was as white as chalk. "God. What is he playing at?"
Brynne shook her head, completely at a loss. "Malcolm's people probably…"
"What?" queried Kadric.
"Nothing. It's not important right now," Brynne muttered hastily. One thing at a time, she told herself.
"He said 'the Wizengamot'," commented Lily. "That's the Ministry's high court… but how? Can he do that?"
"I don't know," Brynne admitted. "I don't know if Professor Ambrose knows. He can't chance…"
"He's not going to turn our Prefects over to the Panel, is he?" Kadric asked, horrified. "One, it's not right. There's no way Wenster can prove they've done anything wrong. Two, they'll turn on him."
"I don't know that, either," Brynne disagreed. "If he thinks one of them had something to do with it…"
"He'd never live that down," Kadric argued, shaking his head. "Never. He might even lose his job over it. A lot of the Prefects' parents have jobs in the Ministry. How do you think they'll react if they think Ambrose is sacrificing their children to save his own arse? He loses either way. If he does what Wenster's asking, he's going to lose the respect of most of the House…"
"…If he doesn't, Wenster's going to try to have him arrested and he might lose his job anyway," Brynne finished.
A sharp intake of breath near all of them brought the tense conversation to an even tenser halt. Lena had been all but silent after Wenster's announcement, but now that everyone else was paying attention to her, they noticed her crying, her eyes hidden by her hair and hands. What Brynne could see of her face was a tearful, heartbreakingly pained grimace.
Brynne frowned. She knew what Lena had seen, and knew there was nothing she could do to make Lena unsee what she had seen. One of Beal's memory tricks would actually be really useful right now, she thought bitterly. Meanwhile, Kadric sat next to Lena, looking uncomfortable.
"I'm sure there's some sort of reason," Brynne finally said, thinking she had done her best to be reassuring.
"He hates this House," Lena replied hopelessly. "And hates me for being here. What other reason is there?"
Brynne was sure she had some sort of answer, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she realized she knew nothing.
That had been happening a lot lately.
That evening after dinner, the common room was more crowded than Brynne had ever seen it in the middle of a term. The usual near-silence that permeated the emerald-tinged dungeon was replaced by tense murmurs and whispers. Forebodingly, Boyd and one of the Slytherin Prefects stood at the entrance, blocking the way in or out as if the door and password designed to do so could not be trusted. Perhaps, Brynne thought, they were waiting for Professor Ambrose or Professor Flitwick to show up to summon them for trial.
Wenster had never said the word 'trial', but that was essentially what he had meant.
Lena had disappeared to the dormitories at a trudge. Her latest heartbreak seemed to take the very life out of her. Kadric didn't deal well with crowds. That left Brynne and Lily, the latter of whom looked around the room intently.
"Lily, listen…" Brynne started to suggest at one point. "Maybe you should—"
"Don't treat me like a little kid," Lily interrupted, shooting Brynne a hard, blazing look, and that was the end of that conversation.
Brynne continued scanning the common room for signs of anything unusual. She could find nothing in particular – perhaps, she thought, because everything was unusual at the moment. After a while, though, she caught sight of a hulking Slytherin approaching the dungeon entrance. Exactly why, she wasn't sure, but she knew it wasn't a good sign.
One of the Prefects must have sensed trouble as well, because he immediately opened his mouth. "Shelby—"
"Out of my way, Bellamy," Shelby Fletcher-Hawes said, his voice insistent but quavering dangerously.
"Where exactly do you think you're going?" Bellamy did not give any ground.
"Where do you think I'm going?" Hawes snapped. "I'm going to take care of this."
"Are you serious?" Bellamy asked.
"You going to 'take care of this' like Claudius did?" the female Prefect standing next to Bellamy queried. "That your plan?"
"Gilda—" Bellamy uttered in warning, his voice betraying a bit of fear.
"You really think he attacked Longbottom?" Hawes snapped in Gilda's direction.
"He gave the Professors a confession," Bellamy said patiently. "We've been over this."
"What do you think they threatened him with before he did it?" Hawes asked. "Why don't you get your head out of the Professors' arse and think for a second? We know at least one Professor that's had it out for Slytherins from the off. Why the hell he's still allowed to teach here, I have no idea. It wouldn't surprise me if he magicked himself to look like Claudius and went after Longbottom, just to set off this whole mess!"
You've got the wrong person, Brynne thought silently, but you're definitely on the right track.
"Your conspiracy theories aside—" Bellamy started, but Hawes interrupted with a loud scoff.
"This is exactly why I didn't bother coming back," he said, and Bellamy's face fell. "Claudius gets framed for a crime he didn't commit, you have nothing to say. Wenster marches into the Great Hall and threatens our entire house, you have nothing to say. And I bet when Ambrose comes down and sells you all out to save his own skin, you'll have nothing to say. I may have to defer to you as a Prefect because the school says so, but I'm not playing for any team you captain. You can be sure of that."
"If you want to be like that, that's fine," Bellamy said. "I can live without bullies who fight little boys half their size."
"I was standing up for House Slytherin. Somebody has to," Hawes defended himself. "But if you want me to fight someone closer to my own size…"
"Are you threatening me, Hawes?" Bellamy, who was a shade smaller than Hawes but still no tiny fellow, questioned.
But Hawes shook his head. "Not really. But it wouldn't be the first time I had to send a message to a coward—"
"You can't talk to him like that!" Gilda exclaimed, incensed. "Five points from—"
"To hell with your points," Hawes interrupted. "And to hell with you. Wouldn't even be a Prefect in the first place if it weren't for your father."
"Don't talk about my father," Gilda said, her cheeks turning red. "At least my father was a proper father. And at least he wasn't a criminal."
This statement hung in the air for a moment. Bellamy's jaw was agape, as if he was appalled Gilda had actually said that. If he truly disapproved, though, he wasn't vocal about it.
Hawes took a deep breath. Then another. Then a third. He shook his head and began to mutter to himself, "No. Eff it."
And he pulled out his wand. An uproar of horror filled the common room.
Then, as both Prefects went to their own wands, a jet of red light came out of the crowd.
Hawes was at a fair distance, yet the spell hit its mark, throwing the burly youth to his back and sending his wand flitting through the air several feet away.
"Stop!" Bellamy yelled. "Let us handle this."
"Handle what?" a boy emerged from the crowd. Bellamy's eyes narrowed a moment before the auburn hair and face of Phillip Bletchley came into view. "We don't have time for this! We're busy fighting amongst ourselves, but who else do we have?"
"Bletchley, this isn't your problem," Bellamy said. "Stay out of it."
"Not my problem?!" Bletchley queried. Pointing to the House insignia on his robes, he snapped, "Look at this emblem! Of course it's my—"
But at this point, Hawes had jumped to his feet, and made a move toward Bletchley. Bellamy jumped between the two.
"Are you really trying to get yourself expelled tonight?" he snapped.
"Bellamy, step aside. You're not listening and you're not helping," Bletchley said flatly.
"You can't tell a Prefect what to do," Bellamy tried to scold Bletchley.
"I'll walk, then," Bletchley countered. "Gallette, Miller, Kubo, Marsha Flint, all said they'd go with me. And you still haven't found a Chaser to take Oberon's place, have you?"
Brynne could see just a bit of color drain out of James Bellamy's face. He'd been shoved into the role of Quidditch Captain this year in addition to being a Prefect. Oberon Kent, who would have been a seventh year and the Slytherin Captain, dropped out of Hogwarts suddenly. Rumor had it that it had something to do with the Claudius incident. The two had been roommates since first year and Kent, from what Brynne had heard, had been very upset about the way the whole thing was handled. Add to this the fact that Wilmerlin Gettis had graduated and gone professional, and Bletchley was, in all likelihood, their best player.
"Kubo always said he was worried about Gryffindors trying to pick off the Slytherin team in the halls," Lily, who was a first year along with Masanori Kubo and took all of her classes with him, remarked at a whisper.
This was a power move by Bletchley and everyone in the common room knew it. But why? Brynne thought. What's he playing at?
In this context, she mused, it could hardly be anything good.
Albus
Albus glanced around the common room, which was still extremely active. A few Gryffindors had either gone to the library (in groups of two or three, of course) or had not returned from there. A few had dared to go to the Great Hall and weren't back yet…
"So are we supposed to not eat?" Sylvia queried.
"Please don't," Rose almost cut across her. Her mouth was set in a firm line and her normally pale ears were a brilliant shade of pink. She was sitting on the couch, hand tightly grasped around the wrist of her younger brother, Hugo, who might have been embarrassed if he weren't still in a state of shock.
The way Hugo Weasley had described it, they were on their way back from a walk around the grounds with Armon Addison – those were still allowed, provided you were in groups with students from your own House. He'd been showing Armon some of the spots Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione had told him about from their days here. Armon was Muggleborn, after all, and six weeks around the castle wasn't nearly enough for even a pureblood wizard child to be familiar with it.
Hugo had befriended Armon in the last few weeks – as had most of Gryffindor House, really. Armon was a subject of pity for his story, which took about as long as the train ride up to Hogwarts to become almost common knowledge.
But when figures emerged from the shadows of the castle halls, Hugo went to run, and in a moment of panic, left Armon behind.
"I'm a bloody coward, aren't I?" Hugo whimpered.
"No, you're not," Rose attempted to reassure him.
"Yes, I am. I'm a coward," he replied tearfully, finally yanking his arm away from Rose. "Mum and Dad would have stayed behind and fought."
"With what?" Rose asked. "What spells do you know?"
"I know some," Hugo said. "Better than Armon, anyway, he's barely had his wand two months…"
Albus was barely tuning into Hugo and Rose's conversation. It might've sounded awful, but Armon was the last thing on Albus's mind. He was mulling the last two years or so, trying to figure out if there had been any signs…
Of course there had been signs. He had just chosen to ignore them.
I should have said something. Should have talked him out of it.
Sylvia hadn't said much of anything this whole time, which wasn't like her. Albus glanced at her, sitting with her feet up in the chair across the fireplace, staring at Rose and Hugo with what almost resembled envy. She'd wanted a younger sibling. Albus had heard her mention it once.
Something hot ran through Albus, hotter than the hearth near which he sat. It took a moment for him to realize it was rage, and another moment to realize that the rage wasn't meant for Sylvia at all.
She glanced at him, her tan skin golden in the flickering firelight. As soon as he caught a glimpse of her irises, he tore his eyes away, staring at the clenched fists in his knees.
I should have said something. And I didn't. Again. James would have—
Albus glanced up and around himself at the common room.
Where did James go?
"You alright?"
Albus looked in the direction of the voice.
"You alright?" Sylvia repeated. "You look jumpy."
Albus was good at lying. At least, he was good at lying in response to that question. But too much was going on. His mind was all over the place.
"No," he finally said, turning his head away in shame.
There was a noise to his left, and the shadows shifted – but a distant, guttural rumble turned Albus's attention to a faraway spot in front of him, over the couch containing Rose and Hugo and across the common room. The portrait hole was opening. Through it first was Eamonn Temple, contorting so his rather stocky build would fit. Second was the vast but quiet sixth year girl, Wren Audrey. Next, with a leap, was Vaisey, wearing a smile that, given the context, could not possibly have signaled anything good.
Finally, he came through.
Albus stood, blood pounding in his ears. A momentary sensation of being crowded darted across his brain as someone was close to him. But he would not be deterred. Not this time. He walked across the common room, his strides long and purposeful. He was on his target before either of them truly realized it.
Something flickered in the gray eyes of Scorpius Malfoy – perhaps a realization of Albus's abnormal demeanor – but it was not soon enough for Scorpius to react when Albus put his forearm directly into his chest and drove him into the nearest wall, pinning him there with a dull thump.
"Potter?! What's—" Temple's voice sounded somewhere behind Albus. He completely ignored it, and Scorpius cut the Prefect off anyway.
"It's fine. I've got this," he asserted. There was no tension from his body – he was not attempting to resist. Then, lowering his voice to a snarl, he questioned, "Albus, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I was gonna ask you the same thing," Albus whispered. "What are you trying to prove?"
"I shouldn't have to prove anything to you," Scorpius answered, with a surprising lack of malice.
"Except that you haven't gone completely barking mad," Albus snapped. "Or did you forget that my sister's down there? Is that the plan? You gonna pick off a couple of Slytherin first years like they did Armon Addison, to prove how much of a Gryffindor you are?! That's how far you're willing to go, is it?!"
"I'm willing to do things you won't, yeah," Scorpius admitted. "I'm willing to do good even if it looks bad."
"Albus," Rose appeared from nowhere and gripped onto Albus's right arm, which had been reaching for his wand. He let Scorpius go.
"That's not an explanation," he still argued. "Why are you joining this gang?"
"It's Godric's Guard," Scorpius quickly countered.
"He's protecting Gryffindor House and its students," Rose said.
Albus was having none of it. "C'mon, Rose, you're clever, you know that's not what it's for…"
"Maybe not," Rose agreed, "but you can't say they've gone too far when they haven't done anything."
Albus turned his head to Rose, whose mouth was set in a firm line.
"They attacked Hugo," she said, her face flushed with a calm, repressed fury. "They attacked my brother. If a couple more Slytherins get strung up on the castle towers, I'm not sure I care much."
"Rose," Albus started to plead – but then Rose drew her wand and pointed it right at Scorpius.
"Still, though," she added, her voice shaky but unsettlingly serene, "If something happened to Lily because of you lot…"
"Someone's gonna have to make sure that it doesn't, then," Scorpius said, glancing significantly at Rose for a moment.
Then he looked at Albus, and his eyes hardened.
"Of course, it's not gonna be me," Scorpius declared, and suddenly Albus could hear a bitterness in his voice. "Because I'm a Malfoy. We just do evil and make life hell for Potters and Weasleys, right? That's what we are."
Albus felt like someone had punched him in the chest for a moment, but as Scorpius ambled around him, he was able to blurt out one sentence.
"I thought we were friends."
Still facing the wall where Scorpius had been, Albus didn't see any sort of physical reaction from the other boy. A few seconds later, though, he did hear his reply:
"I thought you were different."
Albus finally rounded, his jaw agape in shock. He caught a glimpse of the other boy's grey eyes, shining a bit behind an expression of disgust –
Scorpius turned away.
"Scorpius—" Rose called after him after he had gone a few steps. He didn't so much as break stride as he started toward the stairs up to the dormitories. These were quite crowded at the moment. To Albus' shock, the first two people Scorpius encountered on the way up were James and Richard Murphy. Albus wondered where they had gotten off to. James and Scorpius seemed to exchange words, but nothing went far beyond that, as Scorpius passed them and another boy as he ascended the stairs. James and Murphy reached the foot of the staircase and started to cross the room, and the last boy Scorpius had passed quickened stride to catch up with them. Albus hadn't believed his eyes initially, but as his brother and the other boys grew closer, he knew all the faces.
Why was Rowan, of all people, hanging around with James and Murphy? What did he have in common with them? Rowan had few close friends other than a second year girl he had grown up nearby (neither of them knowing about their wizard status until they got their Hogwarts letters for the first time). Nowadays, though, Albus didn't see the two together much. He always seemed busy with something or other, writing a letter or studying a book. He was a bit like Rose in that sense – although perhaps not so actively antisocial.
Albus decided to find out the answer for himself. He walked into their path, which seemed to be headed toward the exit.
"Alright there, Albus?" It was not James who spoke first, but Murphy. Albus never quite felt comfortable around Murphy, although he had been James's closest friend since their first year together. Their fathers knew each other from 'the war', although Murphy's dad wasn't a school friend. He was a few years older, already near the end of his time at Hogwarts by the time Albus and James's parents were coming in. "You look like you've lost your best mate."
Albus sighed heavily, resisting a sudden, troubling urge to punch Murphy in the jaw. Deep down, Albus knew the bloke didn't mean any harm. He never did. It was just that he'd never seen Richard Murphy take a thing seriously. And this – all of this – was deadly serious. How can he stand there so calm like our whole bloody school's not falling apart? Even James looks like he knows there's something wrong.
Albus opened his mouth, and when nothing came out, it occurred to him that he'd walked over here to say something without actually thinking much about what he was going to say when he arrived.
"Cat got your tongue?" Murphy teased. James finally spoke up.
"C'mon, Murph, it doesn't look like he's in the mood," he said. "Love to stay and chat, Al, but we've got somewhere to be."
"It's almost half past seven," Albus finally spoke. "Where are you going?"
"Library," this time it was Rowan who spoke.
"Library closes at eight," Albus remarked. "It's at least twenty minutes' walk if you don't run into any ghosts or trick staircases."
"It's eighteen minutes – sixteen if you can get past the staircases quickly. I know. I've timed it," Rowan said. "We shouldn't need that much time to check a book out. But now it is half past seven, so we've really got to go."
James grimaced. "Sorry, Al. I'll explain later."
And the three boys walked around Albus like he was little more than a column or some other obstacle to be evaded – although James did touch his shoulder on the way by.
Albus tried to think about what James and Murphy could have wanted with Rowan Lester. It didn't make sense, frankly. He'd never seen them associate at all until today, and they had all been going to Hogwarts together for over two years now. Rowan, like Albus, was a year below James and Murphy, so they couldn't have the same classes. For that matter, once students reached third year and started taking electives, you'd often find roommates with different schedules depending on what electives they took. Albus wasn't sure James and Murphy had the exact same classes.
Maybe James was helping Rowan in a class? Maybe Defence? (That would explain a lot, Albus thought) Maybe Rowan was helping James in a class? James wasn't thick, per se; he was decently clever. But there were some classes he wasn't great at. Like History of Magic, which Rowan Lester happened to be very good at. Albus wouldn't have been surprised if Rowan's grasp on Magical History outstripped some O.W.L.-level students. He seemed to be genuinely interested in the material.
Albus shut his eyes tight, kneading the bridge of his nose. He was getting a headache from all this thinking. He wanted to go up to bed. But he would wait. Maybe an hour, until he was sure Scorpius had calmed down. He didn't want to catch a hex to the face as soon as he crossed the threshold…
"What was that?" Albus managed not to jump, but he looked up very quickly, not realizing that there was someone standing in front of him. "With Scorpius. What's going on?"
It was Sylvia, and she looked concerned.
"A misunderstanding," he replied, swallowing hard. "My fault."
Sylvia frowned. "Is it really?"
"Why would you ask that?" Albus protested.
"You apologize for plenty of things that aren't your fault," Sylvia said matter-of-factly. "You going to apologize for all of this, too?"
Albus clenched his fists.
"My sister's down there," he said blankly after a moment. "How can I think she won't get caught up in all this? I can't."
"I know. So what do we do about it?" Sylvia challenged.
"'We'?" Albus repeated, the impact of that word finally hitting him after a while.
"Don't be an arse, Albus," Sylvia said flatly. "I'm helping."
Albus looked down at his shoes. Everything was too awful. The smile he had inside couldn't quite reach his face, but he felt it in there – and that made some bit of difference.