The fire crackled merrily next to him, despite whatever foul mood he was in. The weather had been so nice as to accommodate him today, but the flames seemed oblivious to his wishes. Albus sat in the fluffy red armchair near the fire, having eyed it for a full hour before its previous occupant left it. Darren had had to wait even longer for the couch, as a sixth year couple seemed too immersed in their make-out session to move, or indeed realize that there was anyone else in the room.
It wasn't that late, Albus reminded himself constantly. Only ten o'clock. James had always been the outgoing, partying type. This was probably usual for him, sneaking back in after curfew. It wasn't like he was avoiding Albus.
But he was. As soon as Albus walked in for dinner, James got up and left in hurry, saying he had a mound of homework to get started on. Ha! Albus doubted James had ever put a decent effort into any assignment in his life unless it had something to do with Quidditch. The idea of James working on homework the first day of school was ludicrous. Albus knew better, but he let it slide. He knew he would talk to James later that evening.
But James was still nowhere to be seen. Albus had checked the library and his dorm, but James wasn't in either place. Granted, there were other places he could study in the castle – if Albus actually believed his excuse – but he couldn't go searching the entire grounds for his brother. Not only would he get lost without Rose's help, but James would probably sneak back inside and magically lock his door so that Albus couldn't get to him anyway, which is why he didn't dare shift from his watchful post in the common room armchair.
Rose had denied sitting around unproductively with them, saying she had gotten wind of an essay Professor Hawthorne, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, was going to have them write and would rather get started on it than sit around moodily. Well, Albus was sitting around moodily – Darren had settled himself into a kind of patient waiting. Had Albus been in better spirits, he would have admired the restraint Darren had showed today. Not only were they newly-acquainted, meaning most people would've ditched him and Rose by lunch today, but not many people had this much patience to begin with. He had also been an extremely good friend, letting Albus ponder in his gloomy silences and going to check James's dorm every half hour when Albus got paranoid that he'd snuck in somehow.
Albus was glad that Darren didn't feel anything romantic towards Rose. She was his cousin, and he was going to raise hell against anyone who did. At the same time, he thought Darren would be a pretty good choice for her if he ever let Rose date. He'd be a good choice for any girl. The Hufflepuffs Malfoy had mentioned had him down pretty well (as though Albus was now an expert on his new friend) – he was good-looking in a way that made Albus feel self-conscious; he was intelligent and had done well in every class so far; and he was, surprisingly, a gentleman. Albus had noticed him holding open doors for everyone today, letting people go in front of him when they met in the corner of the corridor, perhaps overusing "please" and "thank you," and even letting Iris have the last dumpling at dinner, which Darren had been eying for the previous five minutes as he finished his plate. He was extraordinary, completely unusual for an eleven-year-old boy.
The portrait hole opened for what was probably the fiftieth time that evening, and Albus's determination was finally rewarded. He recognized the untidy black hair and immediately jumped up, cutting across the room to head his brother off at the staircase. This time, James made no effort to pretend he had to hurry up to bed or to claim to have forgotten something in the library. His brown eyes met his younger brother's green orbs warily, braced for the worst.
For a full minute, Albus could only glare at him, arms folded angrily against his chest. After everything they had been through, especially everything they had done over the summer, how could James have kept this from him? Retaining his narrowed eyes, Albus growled, "Why?"
James sighed and looked away. "They told me not to."
"That's crap and you know it!" he yelled suddenly, drawing the eyes and ears of the remaining students in the common room. "You don't care what they tell you to do!"
"Yes, I do," James said quietly, his eyes still staring determinedly at the fire as it licked up the logs.
Albus snorted. "Since when?"
"I always have," James said, looking back at his brother now. "I push them, see what rules I can bend and what rules I can break, what I can do without getting into serious trouble, but I've always known where to draw the line. I've always cared."
Now Albus looked away. "You're a liar."
"Yes," James said absentmindedly, fiddling with the hem of his robe. He was silent for a moment, then, "I was angry too, you know."
"I do know," Albus spat. "Neville told me you sent them a Howler."
James nodded. "I was hoping you would hear it. Dad told me in the return owl that you didn't."
"So if you wanted me to know, why didn't you just send me an owl?"
"I was going to for a long time. I'd talk myself into it, write it down, and then rethink and trash it again. I even got up to the Owlery and tied it around my owl a couple times. But I always decided not to at the last minute."
"But why?" Albus said. "It wasn't just because Dad said not to!"
"It was because of what Dad said. Listen, Al, I'm not going to tell you what you want to know. If you heard it from me… it wouldn't be the same. You'd think it was stupid. It's different coming from Mum and Dad. Write them. They'll tell you."
Albus glared daggers at his brother. "Why does everyone want me to write Dad? Why won't anyone just give me the answers I want and let me save some parchment? This is stupid!"
"See?" James said. "You think it's stupid now, and I haven't even told you."
"I think it's stupid because you haven't told me!"
James just shook his head and walked past his brother up the stairs. "Sorry, Al. I'm not saying anything except that when you write Dad, you'll feel better. Past that, you're out of luck. Night."
And he left Albus standing there, completely furious with his brother for keeping him in the dark again and for everyone telling him to write to his lying father, who, if he could help it, he would never talk to again.
-Renew-
Classes the next day were dreadful. They returned to Potions and were assigned a two-page essay in which they were to diagnose five hypothesized ill-concocted Swelling Solutions and determine in precise steps the remedies of each potion. Albus didn't even know what that meant. They went to their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and, just as Rose had heard, were assigned another essay. Another lunch full of students in foul moods passed. In Transfiguration, Professor Swift, the strange man that had led them into the Great Hall to get sorted, turned out to be more than just a black-haired weirdo. He knew his Transfiguration, that much could be said about him; in addition to his strange-but-jovial personality, he also had a serious side that made Albus fearful of making a mistake. He thought he did rather well for his first Transfiguration, however. He could never outdo Rose or Darren, who he was finding out were on near-level ground with one another, but he did think his snail looked a bit uglier. That might have been due his continually poking it in the eye, though.
It was with immense relief that Albus collapsed onto the common room couch after dinner, his mind blissfully blank. He had plans to stay like this for the next hour or so before starting on anything remotely homework-related, but Rose tapped him sharply on the shoulder after only a few seconds.
"What do you think you're doing?" she said testily. "Not only do we have loads of homework, but we've got Slughorn's meeting tonight!"
Albus groaned irritably. "Tell him I got sick."
"I'm telling him nothing of the sort," Rose said flatly. "And I'd have thought you'd want to know more about your father, even if you didn't care about homework."
Albus peeked open an eye to look at her. She had her arms crossed defensively, a steely look in her eye. He sighed. "I do want to know," he murmured into the cushion.
"Well, then, I suggest you get up and start on some homework before the meeting tonight," she said. "That way we might be able to do a little research tomorrow evening."
For a moment, Albus didn't move, just let the sour look filter through his features. Do some research to write a paper so he could do more research. Only Rose would find some pleasure in anything about that sentence. Heeding her words, however, he slowly pushed himself up and pulled his backpack towards him. Two essays and it was only the second day of classes. The Hogwarts teachers didn't play around.
He numbly read what he had written about Slughorn's essay several times before realizing he had no idea what he'd read. He read it again before realizing he had no idea what it said. After Rose explained it to him, he grimly dipped his quill into his ink bottle and poised it over the parchment he had laid out, hoping for inspiration. He still didn't understand how to properly make the Swelling Solution. He glanced over at Rose's paper, which already had one and a half paragraphs written and was still being attacked relentlessly. He sighed and placed the quill to parchment, starting to write with a couple of well-placed glimpses of Rose's paper: The Swelling Solution is a sensitive potion that can be completely altered by the slightest of miscalculations…
-Renew-
"Time to go," Rose said finally. Albus had been waiting for this for so long that he slammed his Potions book shut and threw everything back in his bag in the next five seconds. He had been watching the clock anxiously for the last thirty minutes, every glance hoping it would be significantly closer to the eight. Rose had taken every last second she could to write her essay; Albus had run out of ideas an hour ago and was writing a load of dung.
As Albus, Rose, and Darren stood, it suddenly occurred to the former two that they didn't know if Darren had been invited. Rose opened her mouth uncertainly. "Darren, you did, I mean, you got—?"
He smiled at Rose's obvious discomfort. "Yes, I received an invitation."
She flushed and smiled in relief.
Naturally, Albus thought frostily. Of course the genius got invited. Darren had already finished his essay, and his was three pages of parchment. Rose had been too immersed in her own essay to notice.
The trio walked through the chilly castle towards Slughorn's office. As they passed the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor, however, a manic cackle made them all freeze where they stood. They glanced at one another uncertainly.
It happened in a second – Darren jumped at them, pushing them both onto the floor as a water balloon flew where Rose's head had been moments before. Albus banged his own skull hard against the wall, and his eyes showed the world black for a few moments before his head cleared. He peered blearily around for whatever had thrown the water balloon, and his eyes widened in shock as they located the source.
"Of course," he breathed. As the culprit launched his arm back for another attack, Albus jumped to his feet and dragged Darren and Rose with him. "MOVE!"
The next water balloon missed them by inches.
They were flying through the hallway now, the sounds of the cackle treading their path. They kept low and threw their hands over their heads as they ran, dodging a prefect as they tore down the stairs. They turned a corner and flattened themselves against the wall, heaving breaths as their lungs sought to catch up with them.
"What… was… that?" Darren asked.
Albus took another breath before answering, giving Rose a significant look. "Peeves."
Rose's eyes widened; then she smacked her forehead.
"What is a peeves?" Darren said quickly to make it all in one breath.
"Peeves," Albus said through deep breaths, "is his name. He's a poltergeist. My father—" And suddenly Albus couldn't say any more.
"He's someone to stay away from," Rose finished.
They took another several breaths until they were inhaling at normal rates again.
"Shall we go on, then?" Darren said, and with a conceding nod from the other two, they were off.
When they reached Slughorn's office in the cold dungeons, they found that the small group of students was composed of mostly timid-looking first years. There were a few older students clustered together, peering at the new members with a mixture of expressions. Albus gulped nervously to himself before following Darren and Rose to a set of empty seats. He caught sight of James across the room with the older students, and when the two brothers made eye contact, Albus turned his head sharply away and glared furiously at the bookcase.
As though on cue (and Albus suspected it might have been so), Slughorn entered the room, his wide smile making his eyes nearly disappear. "Hello, hello! What a pleasure to have you all here!" He flicked his wand and a comfortable-looking chintz chair zoomed from across the room to where he was seated. He eyes glowed with pride as looked around at them all, and Albus had to repress the idea of Slughorn gleaming at a collection of which Albus was nothing more than one of the pieces.
"You all know me, of course. I'm Professor Slughorn, and I've started this little 'Slug Club,' as I like to call it, for only the best of the best! For various reasons, I have selected you all to be a part of this intimate and highly sought after organization. It is a great honor. I like to meet with you all and expand your horizons, bring in some of my old students when they can find time in their busy schedules. Many of my former Slug Club members go on to do extraordinary things, from Captaining the Holyhead Harpies to working right next to the Minister of Magic! I have just as much faith in you all doing such extraordinary things as I did in them." He beamed. "Now, let's introduce ourselves, shall we?"
The introductions to one another, it turned out, were nothing more than Slughorn going around the room and stating in detail who each person was, who they knew, or what they could do. Indeed, Slughorn talked so much that it felt like an extra class where the entirety of the lesson was the professor lecturing. Still, Albus couldn't help but be mildly intrigued. Every person in the room was the child of someone famous, the child of someone who had been in his club before, or someone who had done an extraordinary spell in the Great Hall early this morning, as was the case of Belinda Fontayne, who had accidentally set the entire Ravenclaw table on fire (Albus was remorseful it had happened before he arrived).
"And here we have Darren Knight," Slughorn said with a twisted smile and a twinkle in his eye. "I met young Darren's parents through a friend of a friend, and they were both brilliant minds. I knew Darren would be just as extraordinary, and so I had to have him in my club! And look! He and Miss Weasley are the top potioneers among my first years!"
His grin turned to Rose. "Miss Rose Weasley, of course, is the daughter of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. You'll know those two names from your history books, I'm sure, as the two people who helped Harry Potter defeat You-Know-Who! Not only that, but Miss Granger was one of the finest witches I have ever seen. Quick-witted, intelligent, I knew she'd go far."
And with an almost greedy look, he turned to Albus. "I've already had the pleasure of meeting James, and here is Albus Potter! Youngest son of the famous Harry Potter himself! And your mother is Ginny Weasley, another fine witch. I once saw her cast a Bat-Bogey Hex that McGonagall herself would've admired! The genes in you are impressive. Potions may not be your strong suit – I suppose you inherited your mother's genes there – but I'm sure you'll excel in another class. If nothing else, on the field! Your father was incredible – got asked to be a Seeker professionally by a number of Quidditch teams, but he always insisted being an Auror was his only passion. He made a fine Auror, of course, but I do wonder what his life as a Seeker would've been like…."
He pondered that for a moment, then seemed to zap out of his daze and smiled at them all. He turned to the clock. "Goodness, five till already? Off with you, all of you! I won't have anyone getting back after curfew because of me. I'll send you another message with the time of the next meeting once I've set everything up. Goodnight, everyone!"
The first years got up the fastest, even though they had been trying not to seem too eager to leave. As though by unspoken consent, all of the older students except for James stayed behind and began immersing Slughorn in conversation, likely about the news he had just shared with them about the club's newest members. Albus's brother had already disappeared.
In the hallway, Rose looked at Darren and Albus with critical eyes. "He's like a collector, isn't he?"
"You thought so too!" Albus said with relief. "It was right creepy."
"Who are your parents?" Rose asked Darren as they walked.
"No one important," Darren said with a shrug. "I suppose he was merely fond of them."
"That doesn't seem like him," Rose said, her brows furrowing in concentration. "No, he must have seen something in them that you take for granted. He doesn't just take the intelligent for this club because he likes them, he only accepts the brilliant. Your parents haven't won any awards or anything?"
Darren seemed to find this amusing. "No."
"I wonder what it could be then…" Rose said.
"Let it go," Darren said coolly. "It matters not why I am in his 'Slug Club.' I would prefer not to go back anyway."
"Why?" Rose asked curiously.
"As you said, he is a collector. I would rather not like to be a part of his collection."
"I told you, he's creepy," Albus said as they began ascending the many staircases towards Gryffindor Tower.
"Al, that's putting it mildly," Rose said. "Did you see the way he looked at everyone? It could cause potential trauma."