Chapter 3: First Year Greetings

This story has been in my head for awhile and I finally decided to put it down to pen and paper. Please be gentle.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

It would've been nice to say that the two boys got along splendidly after discovering they were roommates, that they became fast friends under the green-and-silver banners of their mutual house. Unfortunately, Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy's relationship at Hogwarts could not have gotten off to a worse start.

On the first day of his classes, Al was rudely awakened by a wave of ice-cold water. As he gasped and sputtered to consciousness, hugging his freezing body, he heard Scorpius' tantalizing voice in his ear:

"Rise and shine."

And thus began a long procession of many such mornings.

It did not end with icy buckets of water. As it happened, Scorpius was quite inventive with his methods of early-morning torture. Colliding frying pans, live rooster crows, even a warm douse of cooking oil—nothing stopped him from ensuring that Al's response would never fall short from yelps and screeches. The worst part was that no matter how much Al tried to negotiate or establish a civil conversation with Scorpius, the morning wakeup calls never desisted. He even tried resorting to retaliations but they failed miserably, perhaps because Scorpius seemed to sleep with one eye shut or perhaps (as Al suspected darkly) because Scorpius didn't sleep at all. In addition, Scorpius' knowledge of magic was extraordinarily expansive for a boy his age and his talent in conjuring hexes (as well as inventing some of his own) was a gift that exceeded far beyond Al's own capabilities.

Scorpius' talents hardly stopped there. He was meticulous when it came to executing spells. That, combined with his incredible memory-which allowed him to remember new material instantly-made him an exceptional student. Within the first few weeks of class, it was clear that Scorpius was top of their year. The only person who was even within range of competing against him was Rose, who had inherited her mother's obsessive need to excel in absolutely everything. The primary difference between them was that while Rose kept her head down, Scorpius had the tendency to strut down the first-year corridors and broadcast his achievements for everyone to hear.

Al did not understand why but Scorpius seemed to be on a personal vendetta to lower Al's self-esteem. It was already bad enough that Al found himself struggling to keep up in classes that required large amounts of wandwork—Transfiguration and Charms in particular—and then have Scorpius incessantly remind him that he was superior to him in practically all subjects. In addition to the goading and the constant appearance of Scorpius' stupid smirks, it seemed as though Scorpius had established a dictatorship-like hold on the rest of the first-years in Slytherin. Many of them idolized him and had no problem being manipulated into any of his malicious schemes. This most frequently included Scorpius' favorite activity, which was termed 'Piss-Potting'.

It wasn't a difficult task. Most Slytherins had no qualms ostracizing Al from their little cliques. In their eyes they still perceived him as a misplaced Gryffindor, the unfortunate product of a one-time Sorting malfunction. Though none of them chose to be as candidly rude as Scorpius was, they were fine with disregarding Al's presence like he was some ugly scarlet-haired portrait hanging on Slytherin-green walls.

Al accepted his isolation without much regret. He had never intended on making serious friends in Slytherin, partly because he knew that many of his relatives would see this as a sign to eschew him forever. Though Al had been initially appalled by his house placement (he felt horribly guilty that the outcome had been his fault—after all, he did express serious doubts about being in Gryffindor), no one was more horrified than James. Within minutes of the Sorting Hat's decision, James had descended upon his little brother in a flurry of indignant cries ("why do you always have to screw it up, you stupid little prat? I always knew you were going to be the one to tarnish the Potter name") and threatening remarks ("don't think you're going to go and make friends or anything"). It didn't help that there had never been an established set of rules for having friends in two houses that had endured such a deep rivalry. Even Rose would glance dubiously at him during dinner, not knowing whether they could sit together or not, until they both agreed to take their meals by the library where no one could bother them.

It didn't take long for Al to cave into the pressure. After the first week of school, he made a choice and joined Rose for breakfast at the Gryffindor table. He quickly became friends with her friends, which included their long-time family acquaintances Rowan Thomas and Amanda Longbottom, as well as a sandy-haired muggleborn named Drew Caraway. His green-and-silver Slytherins scarf appeared less and less out of his trunk. The other Slytherins naturally took this mean that Al had unofficially resigned from their house and upped their exclusion of him to a higher degree. And through all of this, Scorpius Malfoy reveled in the fact that he had exceeded Albus Potter no only in terms of academics, but also popularity.

But then flying lessons came round.

The morning of their first lesson was beautifully clear, not a cloud in the sky. Al had woken up that day feeling more exhilarated than he had for ages. He'd loved Quidditch for as long as he could remember but had never ridden anything but toy brooms. James, of course, hadn't even condoned the thought of Al even touching his state-of-the-art Nebulus 3.0 let alone borrow it. The thought of riding his first real broomstick was so invigorating that not even Scorpius' morning surprise that day could dampen Al's mood.

As the first-years pooled out on the Quidditch pitch, Al noticed a number of responses. There were those, like Rose, who paced restlessly on the grass as though they couldn't wait to mount their broomsticks. Others looked as if they'd like nothing more than to perform a gravity charm on themselves as to remain firmly on the ground. As usual, they were all condensed into little groups according to each respective house—with the exception of Al, who stood apart from the Slytherins.

The flying instructor was a rather slight-looking middle-aged man named Christopher Hopkirk, who spent the first few minutes of class stressing that they were to address him as Master Hopkirk and nothing else.

Then, like the smell of fresh baked goods, his voice wafted over the first-years with the command: "Find your broomsticks and mount them."

It was the moment Al had dreamed of. He immediately raced towards the hand-me-down Nimbus 2000, which he had easily spotted from afar as the best broom out of the lot. Within seconds, the broom was tucked between his legs, and his feet were flat and poised on the ground, waiting to kick off.

"Up. Up," muttered someone to his left. Al turned and saw Carpathia Nott, bent over her broomstick with a look of intense frustration. Her outstretched hand jabbed towards the broomstick with each forced syllable so that it looked as though she was attempting to salute it.

He felt a twinge of sympathy for her, not only because it looked as if she was having a great deal of trouble getting her broomstick to cooperate but also because he noticed that she was once more isolated from the Gryffindors, who were busy chatting in excited tones on the other side of him.

"You've got to be assertive. Brooms know when you're not being serious," he suggested. She abruptly glanced up at him, startled by his voice—or perhaps the friendliness of his tone-and her face cracked into a faint smile in response.

"Thanks."

When Master Hopkirk at long last gave the go to fly, Al lifted into the air hazily as though he were in some sort of trance. As he gained higher and higher altitude, the sun appeared over the horizon and blinked gold into his eyes, and the smell of the old pine trees mingled with fresh morning dew filled his nostrils. Finally, Al looked down and surveyed the expansive green grounds below him, noting his still-grounded classmates that were now nothing but fleshy dots in his vision. Glorious. Smiling wider than he had in weeks, Al gave a loud hoot and kicked off into a dive.

It was perhaps the most wonderful lesson that Al had had so far at Hogwarts. Though Hopkirk was not the most proficient teacher when it came to educating basic flying technique, he allowed his students to stay above ground for the majority of class, which was all that Al needed. Of course, with Scorpius in the classroom, it wasn't long before the harmonious lesson was disrupted.

"You prick! You set my broom on fire!"

"Are you sure it wasn't your hair, Weasley?"

Al landed on the ground only to see his Rose-her scarlet hair a wild mess-brandishing a smoking broomstick at Scorpius Malfoy. Her other hand was clawed and twitching, no doubt itching for Scorpius' throat.

"You think you're fabulous, don't you?" snarled Rose viciously. "You're just an insecure prat who can't stand the fact of anyone beating him so he has to resort to pathetic ploys."

"I could spell out your name in the sky before you even learned how to totter on those tubby legs of yours. Lighting your broom on fire was just an added bonus, really. If you think about it, I was doing you a favor to spare you the humiliation of losing your first Quidditch match. It's really no fun if my opponent falls flat her face when I'm flying circles around her."

"Prove it."

The words left Al's mouth and fell like stones.

A sudden silence descended upon the pitch. His classmates landed in a semi-circle around him and the blond-haired boy, eyes widened with curiosity.

Scorpius Malfoy's surprise was immediately replaced with a look of utter contempt. "You, Potter?"

Al raised his chin. "Yeah, me. Come on, Malfoy. One time around the pitch." He mounted his broom and boosted off the ground.

Scorpius Malfoy shot up into the air in a flash, his ice-blue eyes glittering. "Alright then."

Master Hopkirk swooped in anxiously between them, looking quite nervous. "Boys, that's enough. I don't think that's quite appropriate for your first time on broomsticks-"

"Shut up, you old sod," snapped Scorpius, "Go and knit socks or something."

There was a collective gasp from the other first-years at this insolent outburst. Master Hopkirk barely had time to recover from his shock before the two boys whistled into dives past him.

A deep, profound determination sliced into Al's heart in a way that he had never once experienced before. As he sped in a blur of green and blue, his shoulder jammed up against Scorpius', he found himself assailed by an intoxicating giddiness, registering the fact that he had never moved so fast in his life. The wood beneath him groaned strenuously, but he urged it on, feeling the wind scream into his ears, thread through his hair, and water his eyes, hating the fact that regardless if he won or lost, this moment would not last forever…

Then, suddenly he felt Scorpius' shoulder slide off him, and in a burst of freedom of having shaken off his opponent, he jerked his broom sharply out of his dive-his toes just skimming the petrified grass-and swept onto the green earth.

The roaring applause from his classmates told him that he'd won, but Al could barely think, could only concentrate on the ferocious beating of his heart, the memory of the blurred world and the warm blood thudding in his ears…Merlin's beard, this was the most breathtaking feeling in the world.

Suddenly, he found himself looking up at the towering figure of Joseph Davies, a popular seventh-year who (Al suddenly realized, with a nervous drop of his heart) happened to be the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Joseph was completely clad in Quidditch uniform, and behind him stood the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team equally dressed. No doubt they had been ready to start Quidditch practice, but their raised eyebrows and widened mouths indicated that they had just witnessed everything that had just happened.

Dimly, Al registered James and Fred's voices catcalling somewhere in the distance—had they seen everything as well? Were they congratulating him?

"Potter, right?" Joe Davies' deep voice yanked him out of his daze. His thick black eyebrows drew together as he appraised Al with faint admiration. "Fantastic flying for a first-year. Amazing speed. You'd make a damn good Chaser, maybe even a Seeker. Try out for the team next year, yeah?"

With a wink, Joe trod past him. The Slytherin team trudged along and threw Al appreciative smiles.

A new, burning excitement erupted from the pit of Al's stomach. He barely listened when Master Hopkirk spluttered furiously at both him and Scorpius for directly disobeying his orders, insisting on multiple detentions, nor when Rose's laughed delightedly in his ear as she embraced him. He was dizzy with joy, and nothing- absolutely nothing-could destroy his fantasies of being a member of a Hogwarts Quidditch team. He was already imagining himself poised heroically on his broomstick, carving gracefully through the air like a lethal swallow, his green-and-silver uniform flapping in the wind—

"Oi, Al." James' voice cut through his reverie like a hot knife in butter. Al stopped in his tracks, nearly running into his brother's muscled form.

"What do you want?" he asked, and a prickle of uneasiness crept across his skin.

"You were brilliant. We definitely didn't think you had it in you," quipped Fred from behind him. Al glanced at his cousin's face for confirmation, and to his relief, saw that Fred's smile was genuine.

"Yeah, you were. Brilliant. And all that," replied James impatiently, waving off the compliment like it was an irritable mosquito. "So what did Joe Davies want?"

"I dunno. He thought I was pretty good, and he wanted me to try out for the team next year. He said I'd make a good Chaser," added Al just for good measure, knowing it was James' own position on the Gryffindor team.

James burst out laughing. "Come off it! Merlin's arse, Davies is more desperate than I thought. He doesn't think you're actually going to try out, does he?"

Al's hopes plummeted into the pit of his stomach. "What do you mean?"

James' smile faded slightly. His brow began to furrow, the same way it did when he was trying to resolve a particularly complicated homework problem. "Well. Practically all of us are on the Gryffindor team. How awkward would that be?"

"Not to mention that Rosie's probably going to make the team sooner or later, and James is all sort out to be captain in two years," mused Fred, scratching his head as a realisation dawned on him. "Ooh."

"You know the drill, Al. Family first. Otherwise, instead of just being ugly and speccy, you'd be an ugly and speccy git," added James with his usual authority.

The implications of their words sank numbly into Al's brain. "But I-"

"Hold that thought, young 'un. Sylvia Weinberg's looking this way—Fred, you twat, laugh like I said something funny, like your mum shagging a goblin-"

"In what universe would I even find that remotely funny-"

Their pubescent minds sufficiently distracted, the two boys began walking in the opposite direction, guffawing and punching each other to see how much damage could be inflicted on their shoulder pads. A foreboding gloom descended upon Al. The lethal swallow that had been hovering in his imagination just moments ago plummeted to the ground with a loud thunk, and with it, all his dreams that had just barely just begun to seed. The wizened broomstick suddenly weighed down his arms like dead wood, and it was this same heavy sensation that accompanied Al for the next few years whenever he chanced to touch a broom, for the object he loved most had become a reminder of what James had taken away from him.

The days worsened in the following weeks. Whether it was because of the declining weather conditions, in which the crisp autumn weather faded into blustery December winds, or because courses had doubled the work-load as they grew closer to the end of term, Albus was absolutely miserable.

Now, suddenly, Scorpius had begun adopting a violent streak towards him. Al wasn't quite sure when life had become a constant duel, but he knew it had had something to do with that day he'd beaten Scorpius on the Quidditch pitch. Perhaps if he'd paid closer attention, he would have seen the way Scorpius' face crumpled in a mixture of fury and blatant jealousy when Joe Davies had invited Al to try out for the Quidditch team. It certainly came to Al's attention now.

Unlike before, Scorpisu had become frighteningly vicious. Al had once walked into his room only to have himself thrown against the wall by one of Scorpius' Disarming Spells, a second-year trick that none of the other first-years had mastered. While he lay gasping against the floor, holding a bleeding a nose, Scorpius had slowly incinerated all his beloved Quidditch posters (signed by the players themselves) in front of his eyes. Then, with a faint smirk, he'd thrown the ashes into Al's face and walked out of the room without another word.

Such incidents became commonplace. Al began to sleep in the Slytherin common-room at night, too paranoid over the fact that something awful would happen to him if he stayed in the dorms. When he told of his plight to Rose, she was so outraged that she marched up to Scorpius and splashed pumpkin juice all over his neatly pressed clothes. Of course, it did nothing but incense Scorpius further. Al received a nasty round of the Jellylegs Jinx later on.

Al had contemplated going to the Head of House about his dilemma. The Head of House was the Potions Master, Professor Astrakhan, and Potions was a subject that Al quite liked. But there were drawbacks. Professor Astrakhan had been a Soviet Mediwizard, with a personality as friendly as that of a pregnant hippogriff's. The other problem Al was certain of was that no matter what Professor Astrakhan did (and it was very unlikely that he would do anything), the bullying would only intensify.

It was perhaps the most awful period of his life. He was now properly shunned from Slytherin and not truly a part of Gryffindor. No one, except Lucas who lived in his dorm room, had ever once come to his aid against Scorpius Malfoy. And even then Scorpius simply smirked and carried on. Al had even tried asking his older brother for help, but as a third-year, James was convinced that his own problems were much more important. With nothing and no one to turn to, Al found himself writing a letter to his father to request a transfer out of Hogwarts.

It was a white December morning when Al trudged heavily towards the Owlery with a letter he'd written to home in his pocket. He was conflicted by a multitude of emotions—anger over how bloody unfair that everything had turned out the way it had, disappointment over how much his experience at Hogwarts had fallen short of his expectations, but of most of all, humiliation. Who had ever heard of a first-year dropping out of Hogwarts? And the son of Harry Potter, no less!

He heard the crunch of footsteps behind him and stopped short, his blood going cold. Al knew that expensive crunch, that neat impeccable sound of Italian footwear against snow.

"What do you want, Malfoy," he said into the quiet morning air, more of a statement than a question.

He could practically hear the smirk in Scorpius' voice. "Not even going to fight it, Potter?"

Al exhaled and turned to face him, his hand already gripping the wand inside his pocket. Scorpius made an angelic picture, with his pale complexion matching the crystal white backdrop of the snow around him. His blue eyes were cold.

"I won't, Malfoy," said Al flatly.

"Won't or can't?"

Al exhaled again, bracing himself. "Please just leave me alone."

Scorpius' face twitched in annoyance. "More fun for me, then."

Al shook his head and resumed walking, his heart starting to race despite the composed expression he maintained. He knew the Owlery was close…only fifty meters away perhaps…

There was a shock on his arm as a jet of red light hit his elbow. A jarring sensation leapt up towards his shoulder. Al grit his teeth and glanced back to see Scorpius ambling casually behind him, twirling his wand in between his fingers.

"Don't worry, just a bit of sparks. Nothing damaging," said Scorpius. He smiled craftily: "Yet." He uttered a spell inaudibly, and a black jet of light hit Al square on the shoulder. Al gasped as a sharp stinging sensation pierced his skin.

"Stinging hex," said Scorpius as a matter-of-factly.

"You're mental!"

"Really? I'm not the one who's walking off with my back turned towards my attacker."

Al blinked away tears as the stinging hex prompted his arm to go numb. "I'm. Not. Fighting you."

"Pathetic," sneered Scorpius, "Rictumsempra!"

Before Al could speak, he was lifted off the ground and thrusted ten meters away. Pain split through his ribs as his body impacted, and Al choked for air, having had the wind knocked out of him.

He stood up, his knees shaking, thinking with an almost terrified sort of determination that the Owlery couldn't be much further away and that all he had to do was get there, mail his letter, and he'd be safe.

"Are you really just going to let me hex you and get away with it? Not even going to lift a finger, Potter? Bloody hell, you really must have been an accident."

Just ignore him, thought Al fervently, his own panicked footsteps echoing in his ears.

"I wonder what it was like for the great Harry Potter the day you were born. You probably took a look outside and wanted to crawl back into mummy's belly. I almost feel sorry for the poor bloke now. Married a whore, had a coward for a son."

You prick.

"Of course, the man wasn't exactly better off. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree does it? I mean, he wasn't a coward, but his father was a rather pathetic sod, and his mother was a mudblood-"

Something snapped inside of Al. The world washed red. He drew out his wand, hand shaking in fury.

"You shut your mouth, Malfoy. You're scum and your whole family is scum and you've always been jealous because you're nothing but a low-life that no one besides your Death-Eater friends could even look at. I may be a coward, but at least I have a future."

Al's mind was spinning with a mixture of horror and delight from the hateful words raining down from his mouth. They landed on Scorpius like hot coals, and the boy's face clenched in shock.

Al raised his wand-arm, more confident than he had ever been with it, and in his mind he saw himself riding a great red tide of anger, his wand poised and ready, his mouth opened to utter a terrible curse—

"IMPE-"

"EXPELLIARMUS!" snarled Scorpius so viciously that a wad of spit flew out of his mouth. Al found himself thrusted off the ground once more and landing on the snow meters away. He felt the pins and needles of the cold jabbing painfully into his legs, but he could only focus on the cold wash of overwhelming despair and humiliation, that he'd once more lost to Malfoy, that he'd once more let himself be overcome…

He felt as though he wanted to die when he heard Scorpius say, so softly and so full of bitterness: "Pathetic."

Then, out of nowhere, a shadow darted over Al's face, and he heard an almost inaudible cry: "Impendimenta!"

Scorpius yelped and his entire body recoiled into the air, slamming into a nearby tree. The blood drained from he pale boy's face as he curled limply in the store, clutching his side.

"Bloody hell?" Scorpius wheezed.

Al was still splayed out in the snow where he'd landed moments before. He found himself looking upwards at the tiny form of Carpathia Nott. The girl's face was stark-white and clearly visible against the frame of cropped jet-black hair. Her arm was stretched out and firmly pointed at Scorpius without a single tremor.

She lifted her chin just slightly and said in slow steady tones: "Your mother would not want this."

Scorpius' eyes darkened with unidentified emotion. With effort, he got to his feet with his wand in hand. After glancing once more at Al, he swerved around and limped off into the distance.

Al's mouth felt thick from confusion and uncertainty. "I-"

Carpathia bent down and touched a spot near his ribs where he'd landed earlier. He flinched.

She glanced at him sharply. "You'd better go to the hospital wing for some ointment. I think it's bruised."

"Okay," said Al stupidly. It was the most that he'd heard Carpathia speak ever since term had started. "You didn't have to-"

"I did," interrupted Carpathia levelly. Her voice had returned to its soft quality, but there was an undercurrent of fierceness in it. "Do we have Transfiguration first today?"

"I—uh, yeah, we do," said Al, shaking his head with bewilderment. "Wait, just hang on, if there's anything I can-"

"Don't," said Carpathia, holding out her hand for him to grab. Al wordlessly took it and pulled himself up to her level. Her face broke into a faint smile.

"We don't fit anywhere," she said simply. "We've got to protect each other."

"I…" Al was at a loss for words. This unexpected gesture of frank kindness was so sudden that he was unable to articulate his emotions.

But she understood. She must have. Carpathia squinted into the distance with a gloved hand shading her eyes. "Were you headed back to the castle?"

"Yeah, I was," replied Al. As he followed her down towards the path to the castle, he reached into his pocket and felt the brush of parchment against his fingers. He smiled faintly to himself, realizing that the weight of the letter in his pocket was suddenly not heavy at all.

AAA.

Reviews appreciated!

Love,

Missuswitch