The Welcoming Feast and Strange Happenings

Rose practically drooled when she caught sight of the food appearing in front of her. Gradually loudening conversations could be heard as they dug into the feast, hundreds of students squished against each other, the smell of a well-cooked meal floating into everyone's nostrils.

There were clinks as the utensils touched the plates, the famished students piling as much food as they could fit onto their dishes. The first year Gryffindors glanced at each other, not shyly; more apprehensively, wondering how they would ever get along like the older students seemed to be.

Patricia Finnigan broke the silence almost at once, grinning at her classmates broadly. "Hi!" she said brightly. "Patricia Finnigan, what're your names? I hadn't caught all of them at the Sorting, it was really very long, you know..."

"Wonder why I caught all of them..." Al muttered. "Albus Potter; call me Al. We've met before."

"His dad is really Harry Potter?" Luke Bagman asked.

"Duh," Darcy Thomas rolled his eyes. "Who'd you think his dad is?"

Luke reddened. "Dunno. I'm Luke Bagman, by the way."

"Cool," Patricia turned to Darcy. "I do know you."

"Yeah, we do get together each Christmas," Darcy sighed. "It'd be hard to not know my name."

"Caroline Lee," Caroline said, her eyes not quite meeting anyone's.

"Scorpius Malfoy."

Rose thought that Patricia would say something, maybe rude, and prepared to defend him if necessary, but the sandy-haired girl smiled and nodded to him like she had done to everyone else. "I met your sister once, Scorp – I can call you Scorp, right? She came to our tavern at Christmas, some of the guests really liked her..."

"Rose Weasley."

"I've seen you, too," Patricia frowned.

"Leaky Cauldron," she supplied. "We were buying school supplies."

"Louis Weasley."

"Hey, my sister was friends with yours! Moira left school last year, though," the girl remarked. "She's called Victoire, right?"

"Yeah," Louis nodded, "I have two sisters, though – Dom is Slytherin."

"Amy Jordan," said Amy while her twin said her name. "Kayla Jordan."

"Pleased to meet y'all," Patricia said, but before she could get anything else in, Darcy cleverly interrupted.

"Anyone fancies Quidditch, here?"

"Me!" Al exclaimed, jumping at the chance. "Holyhead Harpies, you?"

"Puddlemere United for sure," Kayla said – she was the one with the loose hair, Rose was sure. "Right, Amy?"

"Definitely." Amy paused. "I would have brought my socks if we could have tried out for the House team. Luck, you know."

Scorpius wrinkled his nose. "Tutshill Tornadoes are better," he remarked. "Second in the league."

"Puddlemere is first," Kayla pointed out. "Why'd you support the Tornadoes, anyways?"

He shrugged. "My sister does, it's a Ravenclaw thing, and you have to admit that they are good."

"Mmm," Amy muttered. She didn't want to admit that what the boy said made sense. "What about the Chudley Cannons-"

"My uncle Ron supports them," Al said. "Rose's mum, my aunt Hermione, thinks he's nuts for that."

The twins snorted in unison. "She's pretty darn right, your aunt."

"You have a subscription to Glamour Witch?" Patricia asked Rose, leaning across the table. It was clear that she had no interest whatsoever in the twins and the boys' discussion – Rose felt the same. She had always thought that Quidditch fans were mindless nuts – though a few exceptions could be made to her new friends. They seemed smarter than most of her male cousins, the cousins she had grown up playing with. There were a few girl fans in her family, such as Lily, Victoire, and Molly – Victoire and Dominique played Chaser for their respective House teams – but they were fine as well, except Dominique, who was extremely snotty, in Rose's opinion.

"No, I don't," she replied while the Irish girl seemed shocked. "I did see the magazine in Flourish and Blotts, though," she added, hoping that Patricia would continue. Caroline looked bored from the Quidditch conversation – Rose did not think that she had understood the rules fully when the boys had discussed it in the boats – and quite eager to pursue it in another subject.

"It's one of the best!" Patricia's cheeks flushed excitedly as she caught two older Quidditch players staring at her from the other end of the table. Rose sighed internally; however, she had to admit that Patricia was rather entertaining. "I'll show you in the dorm..."

She chattered on and on, Rose and Caroline glancing at each other in boredom. Finally, Rose got tired of Patricia's babbles and began commenting on the food – it was a trick she had learnt from her mum and Aunt Gin, when their husbands would bore them with their men-talk, changing the subject.

Patricia's brown eyes widened, but she nodded and toyed with her stylish earrings, piling yet another pumpkin pasty onto her plate.

The Headmistress stood up again a short while later, beginning without a pause her yearly speech. Rose's mind drifted; she thought that listening to the elderly witch was rather boring. She preferred learning the rules from others than wasting such a time to daydream.

After what seemed to be an eternity, McGonagall bid them goodnight, telling the prefects and Head Students to bring the first years to their common rooms. Victoire called the firsties at the Gryffindor table, accompanied by a fellow seventh year by the name of Jared Delaney.

Rose smiled as the ten of them lined up, following Victoire and Jared like baby ducks following their mother. She had dreamed of seeing the Gryffindor common room, where so much had happened in the past, for years.

Her wish was finally being executed, and she was glad.

Victoire and Jared waited for the first years to gather around the Fat Lady's portrait – consisting of a sleeping, extremely fat woman painted on an only slightly cracked canvas – before the girl cleared her throat as to attract their attention, beginning her introductory speech. She had done this for two years now, and she was still slightly nervous and even a little proud. She still remembered when Kenneth Thames had showed them how to enter the Gryffindor common room, six years earlier.

Al, unnoticed by any of his peers or the seventh year prefects, stood a little farther off, having a rather pleasant conversation with a recently put up portrait, named the Half-Transfigured Duck Man. The Duck Man did sport, in fact, a rather unsightly orange-yellow beak, and a quacking voice.

"Fat Lady!" Victoire said, snapping her fingers. "Wake up; I have first years with me, and they're tired and ready to go to bed!"

A beady blue eye opened, and then another as the Fat Lady woke up. She scowled, yawning unattractively, and smoothed her pink silk dress before addressing herself to Victoire in a grumble. "I can't have any sleep, girl? I'm dead, for Godric's sake! And you still haven't spoken the password!"

"This, here," Jared turned to the first years before his classmate could annoy the Fat Lady further, "is the charming Fat Lady, in case you hadn't figured it out. She requests a password for you to gain access to Gryffindor Tower. The password, for now, is wolfsbane."

At his last word, the Fat Lady scowled again, and she swung, to reveal a portrait hole. The first year Gryffindors climbed in, one at the time, and then the prefects followed. None of them paid Al any second thought until he had returned, and Al himself only noticed when the portrait closed, the Fat Lady slumbering once again.

"What's the password?" he asked the Duck Man, aggravated. He had heard tales of Neville's first year, and his poor surrogate uncle had once stayed in the cold, stone corridor for hours because he hadn't known the password. "What's the password, Duck Man?"

The man shook his head, and fingered the exit of his portrait. Looking at the boy's green eyes, he had a sheepish smile. "Sorry, I have no idea," he quacked, raising a feathered hand in greeting as he disappeared, leaving a trail of muddy footprints.

"Oh, damn!" Al shouted at the portrait. "What the bloody hell was that?"

The air in front of him shimmered, once or twice; a tiny man floating in mid-air with a spotted orange bow-tie appeared, cackling at him, trying to hit Al with a handful of sticks that he had gotten Merlin-knows-where. When he failed, he cupped up his hands and yelled, "Ickle firstie! There's an ickle firstie lurking in the corridor!"

Swooping (Al ducked), he cackled once more and disappeared.

Before Al could even sigh in relief, he heard a soft, satisfied meow. His body rigid, his heart hammering against his ribcage, Al tried to make himself smaller than he was, although he knew Mrs Norris would be bound to sniff him out, anyways. A raspy cackle followed the meow, and the two staff that Al dreaded truly from tales stood in front of him.

For a tiny second, Al could have swore that he had seen a flicker of something like victory in Filch's brown eyes. Forcing himself to look at the caretaker full in the face, he could only feel disgust as his bright green eyes took in the toothless leer, the extremely oily hair, and the cracked, wrinkled skin.

"Ooh, lurking out of curfew, are we?" Filch smiled. "Come with me, boy. Someone's been bad."

His stomach sinking, Al could only bite his lip as he followed Filch reproachfully into his mothball-smelling office. Mrs Norris purred, stretching her skinny legs as she bent down and began drinking thirstily from her water dish. The first year sat on the chair, waiting for the Squib to return from his quarters. He couldn't escape, as Filch had locked the door, and his wand had been confiscated.

The door separating Filch's quarters and his stuffy office slid open. His greasy white hair hung from his face as he advanced on Al, handcuffs in his dry hands. The boy swallowed; even if he wasn't a Ravenclaw, he could definitely predict what Filch would do next. Had the man gone to the Dark side?

Just when his wrists would have been imprisoned in the rusty metal, Al heard a small whooshing noise, like an animal moving in bushes. He was puzzled; Mrs Norris was munching at her kibble now. However, the movement was so swift that Al may have imagined it.

The door burst open in the next second; Neville stood in the doorway, white-faced. His moody brown eyes, now angry, looked from the wary-looking Al to the stunned Filch, who had dropped the handcuffs in surprise. The Head of Gryffindor made a noise that may have been an attempt to speak in his surprise. He tried again; his voice was hard, and yet weary. It was the voice of an Auror on the job, even though Neville hadn't been working for the Ministry for years.

"What are you doing, Argus?"

"Er – I'm inflicting discipline, Professor," Filch said with a nervous undertone.

"I don't know what you were doing," Neville said slowly, deathly calm, "but you have no business inflicting bodily harm on one of my students. Minerva will certainly hear of this, Argus; Albus, you come with me. I'm bringing you to the Gryffindor common room."

"What – about the disciplinay action?" the Squib pointed an accusatory finger at Al. "I found him wandering after curfew!"

"He will have detention," the Professor replied, "but with me, in the greenhouses. I'm not too sure I can trust you anymore, really." He gripped Al's skinny arm, his grip almost pincer-like in his haste to get his friends' son out of this enemy territory (he couldn't help but think in Auror terms, in this situation).

Once Neville was sure that they were out of earshot, he asked, "Are you alright, Al? What was Filch doing to you?"

"I'm fine," he quickly explained. "How did you know?"

"I usually patrol the corridors during the first night," Neville said quietly, his gaze on Al strengthening. "I heard you yelling at the portrait, Peeves, and finally, Filch and Mrs Norris coming to get you. Sometimes, this habit comes in handy."

"It does," Al agreed with a nod. "Are you going to tell Dad 'bout this, Neville?"

They had arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait. Neville's eyes were not quite all there, in the dark corridor, but perhaps, somewhere far away. He blinked, having a grim smile, "Yes, I will, Albus. It's my duty to protect students in my House, after all; and Filch's obsession with 'disciplining' you may be more than his usual, crazed self."

"You mean, it might require an Auror investigation?"

Neville patted Al's shoulder in a fatherly sort of way, exactly like Harry would have done. "You're smart," he remarked. "Old habits die hard, Al, and I won't let this slide away... Especially since you're Harry's kid – loads of people out there hate you and your family. I'll be dropping a line sooner or later, mark my word."

Pulling his sleeve, he checked his watch. Smiling gently, he said, "It's getting pretty late; Filch was right about something, at least. The password's wolfsbane – clap your hands to wake up the Fat Lady. Goodnight, Albus Severus."

"Goodnight, Neville."

Scorpius was lounging near the fireplace, speaking with Nearly Headless Nick, when Al finally traipsed inside. The blond boy gave no sign of having seen him; he watched the red flames crackle once more before turning, looking over the red velvet of the armchair.

"Where were you, Al?"

"Long story," groaned Al, collapsing in an armchair beside his friend. "It's late, isn't it? Everyone's saying that."

"Close to midnight, in fact, lad," Nearly Headless Nick said solemnly, frowning in a stern way. Flexing his transparent fingers, he nodded, only to have his head give the impression of tipping over – much like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, actually. "Very late."

"It's only ten-thirty," Scorpius supplied, ignoring the ghost.

Al sighed, perhaps in relief; Scorpius was not sure.

"Goodbye, Nick," Scorpius waved. "I'm going to show Al the dormitory; we're tired. We've had a long day, you know."

Nearly Headless Nick glanced at him stiffly and floated through a nearby wall.

Luke was reading a comic book when they came in; Louis's curtains were already closed as they heard soft snores from his four-poster. The long-haired boy had declared that he always went to bed early, because he needed his supposed beauty sleep; Scorpius thought that he was a most peculiar fellow. Darcy was reading, also; he held the rare, leather-bound edition of Quidditch Through the Ages in his dark hands. Looking up with slight apprehension when they approached, he said, "Al, what were you doing?"

Al didn't seem to want to tell anyone but Scorpius; he shrugged, waving a hand dismissively, which of course only made Darcy more curious. "Nothing. Just got in a bout of trouble; Neville found me and brought me back to Gryffindor Tower."

Scorpius climbed into his four-poster and yawned, closing the curtains for a short while to change into his pyjamas. He parted them again to listen at Darcy, Al, and occasionally Luke's conversation; the lights eventually closed. Snores could be heard from all around the room; all were asleep but for two.

"Malfoy?"

Darcy's voice came, hard and unfriendly, from a few beds away. The warmth provided by the fire in the centre of the room seemed to have extinguished slightly, replaced in part by an icy tension between Darcy and Scorpius.

"What do you want?"

The other paused for a moment, thinking about a good response to that. He said, "I loathe your people for what they did to Mum."

"My family didn't maul your mum; Greyback did."

"He was in league with the Death Eaters."

"He wasn't one, officially."

"How do you know all of this?"

If Darcy could have seen better in the darkness, he would have seen the pinkish tinge appearing onto Scorpius's face as he contemplated what to say next. The blond boy closed his eyes while he answered, in barely a whisper, "My grandfather was mauled by Greyback in the rebellion."

"Oh," was all Darcy could say. He sympathized. It wasn't easy to have a member of your family afflicted with lycanthropy; he and Louis had determined that much before the Weasley had gone to bed. There was always a danger that they would slip up, with animal blood in their veins. "I'm sorry, Scorpius. I didn't know."

Scorpius was surprised that Darcy had called him by his first name, and not his surname. "It's fine, Darcy." He hesitated. "I don't think many would know, except the older students, and I'd like to keep it that way. He's... Granddad wouldn't want anyone else except our closest friends to know."

Darcy could understand why Scorpius wanted to keep it secret – sometimes he wished that he wasn't deemed "wolf spawn", wherever he went, especially in the magical community. It was good that Diagon Alley had welcomed him and his family; his mother would be safe (mostly) from prejudice there, getting to chat with others from their world daily. They had found acceptance, there. Nodding, he had a small smile. "Don't worry, the secret's safe with me – my brother Jed was the same." He yawned. "Goodnight, Scorp."

"Goodnight, Darce."

And that's the last chapter for the first day *sighs in relief*

Next up we have more with Filch... a glimpse of our villain... and a former Death Eater. After that it'll be a few scattered events of the next week... and then we'll have dear Harry and his Aurors.

Please read and review! :)