Chapter 2: We Begin Again

~Albus~

I stepped into the carriage of the Hogwarts Express with a yawn, casting half a wave over my shoulder at Mum and Dad before disappearing inside. I had absolutely no reason to be tired. A solid ten hours of sleep is more than enough for any teenager. Too much, some would say, but hey, I like I sleep. I'm always up for a catnap. Maybe it was just the prospect of starting school again tomorrow – God help me, it was tomorrow – or possibly the promise of a long, boring train trip across the length of England.

Wading my way through the students that dotted the carriage hallway – was it so hard to find a seat? To plant your bum and make it easier for everyone to get around you? – I glanced into each passing closet-like cabin for one that was vaguely empty. Really, life would be so much easier if we could just skip this whole train system entirely. What ever happened to the good old-fashioned Floo network? Even a portkey would have been –

"Hellooooo. Hello. Hellooooo."

I stifled a snort that Rose, behind me, didn't quite manage to smother. In front of me, a fourth year girl glanced questioningly over her shoulder at the comment, caught a sight of the parrot clinging to the inside of his cage swinging from my fingers and glaring at the world, and smirked before looking away.

Well, there was that. I doubt birds, especially Caesar, would take kindly to such treatment.

Passing a rowdy cabin, I felt a faint touch on my back and paused to glance over my shoulder. Rose jerked a chin into the cabin, giving an apologetic little smile.

"I'm gonna hang in here, if that's alright with you."

It wasn't really a question, or a request. Not even a suggestion that I might like to join her. Rose was a popular girl, even if she was a little on the quiet side, and despite that quietness always liked to be in the thick of things. And the thick of things on the Hogwarts Express happened to be the already jam-packed cabin of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw seventh years that appeared to have set in for a party of sorts before the train had even left the platform.

I shrugged, nodding, and gave a vague, waving gesture of 'suit yourself' towards my cousin. She offered a half-grateful, half apologetic smile in return that widened into a grin as she stepped through the doors of the cabin. "Patty, I haven't seen you all sum-" was cut short into muffles as the door slid shut behind her.

My cousin, the social butterfly in terms of both her quietness and her fluttering. No one would be able to tell by looking at her in such a setting just how intelligent she was, nor the fact that she often lost herself in a book to the exclusion of all else for hours on end. That she could run rings around most of the Ravenclaws in our year and she wasn't even in their house. She took after her mum, or so Dad always said.

"Goodbye, lovely. See you next time."

Caesar's squeaky words were punctuated by a wolf whistle as he glared at the closed cabin door. There seemed to be a reproach in his unblinking gaze at Rose's abandonment, though that was likely just a figment of my imagination. Almost definitely, actually. Rose wasn't overly fond of my parrot, and the feeling was entirely mutual.

Hefting the cage and resettling my day-trip bag on my shoulder more comfortably, I continued my wander down the carriage. The train had set into motion, and if anything that only seemed to entice students from their cabins and into the too-narrow hallway all the more. I hadn't thought we would be running quite so late – we left home nearly an hour before the train was set to depart – but then I hadn't taken into account the fact that Lily never kept Fickle in his cat carrier and the pug-faced creature menace was more neurotic than a Niffler on Sugar Pops.

I'd know. I've seen the comparison. It's not a pretty sight.

The end compartment of the third carriage was blessedly empty. I don't know how I scored that one, but if some deity or other took pity on my poor seventeen-year-old mind to grant me this reprieve from animated children, too-loud conversation and exclamations of "I haven't seen you in ages!" then who was I to complain? I never could fathom such displays of excitement; it all seemed rather unnecessary to me. Was there really a reason to scream instead of just talking quietly?

As I stowed my carry-on in the luggage department, however, and had just snugly settled Caesar's cage onto the seat, the cabin door was rudely thrust open. A startled imp stood in the doorway. Seriously, he was about half my height, and I'm not exactly tall.

The thick-browed adolescent scrunched his freckled nose in disgruntlement at my presence. Similar expressions washed over the faces of his two similarly diminutive companions as they craned their necks to peer over his shoulder. I regarded them all with a half-raised eyebrow.

I didn't get a chance to speak though. Imp One beat me to it.

"Oi, what are you doing in here?"

I felt my other eyebrow rise. Surely that should be fairly self-explanatory? "Excuse me?"

The freckled boy narrowed his eyes in a glare. "You heard me. This is our cabin. We got it first."

I bit back a long-suffering sigh. A first year, by the sounds of things, and full of self-entitlement. "No, actually, you didn't. The cabin was empty –"

"Yeah, 'cause I just had to go and get Jeremy and Timone." He gestured over his shoulder unnecessarily to his two companions. They nodded in fervent agreement. "But we had this cabin first, so clear out."

I could. I really, really could just leave. It would certainly be easier than trying to rationalise the situation with an obnoxious little eleven year old. He looked vaguely familiar; even without the sense of entitlement that reeked from the boy like a pungent odour, I could have placed him in the Gardenshire family. They reputedly fled at the sight of a pair of tweezers, coveting the thick brow of their ancestors.

"Look, kid, I don't want to argue –"

"What house are you in?"

I paused, blinking. That was unexpected. "What?"

Imp One sneered, his lip curling. "At Hogwarts. What's your house? You can't be a Slytherin, you haven't got the spine for that, obviously. What are you, a Hufflepuff of something?"

I only just managed to restrain my urge to smirk. The kid was really in way over his head. "Yeah, you guessed it."

Satisfaction stretched the sneer further. "Well, Hufflepuff." He seemed inordinately derogatory of the term, as though referencing to a rather unappealing character flaw. "You should really clear out for people who are obviously more privileged that you. You're just embarrassing yourself –"

"There's nothing really wrong with being in Hufflepuff," I broke in. Turning from the boys in the doorway, I settled myself in the remarkably uncomfortable and thinly cushioned cabin bench beside Caesar's cage. The parrot swung around the inside of the bars to my side, clambering like a rock-climber. "You seem to have a rather skewed impression of the house system, kid. Sorry for the rude awakening."

The first year spluttered indignantly, though whether it was at my interruption or the words themselves I wasn't sure. "I… you… Slytherin's the best house! You weak-minded Hufflepuffs just don't understand –"

I sighed loudly in exasperation, another deliberate attempt at interruption. It was actually loud enough to bring the kid's spiel to a stuttering halt. Usually I'm a non-confrontational person – I mean, non-confrontational to the extreme – but right now my complete lack of desire to find another cabin was motivation enough to stand my ground. I mean, that would take an enormous amount of effort. Besides, at this point they'd most likely all be full anyway. I didn't feel any particular inclination to share a day trip with strangers. Or not-so-strangers-but-still-unwelcome-companions.

Strangers always made me nervous.

"Look, kid, you might want to tone it down a few notches before we get to school. Most people won't take kindly to that sort of discrimination. That sort of thing, it's ancient history." I raised my voice slightly to drown out his spluttering attempt at a comeback. "Besides, you also might want to know your facts before you start insulting houses. Hufflepuff really isn't that bad. Your sister was nearly sorted into it. Said the only reason she wasn't was because she asked not to be placed into a house with colours that made her look so washed out."

The kid and his two cronies stared up at me wide-eyed. Their ringleader appeared to be on the verge of a heart attack, his face paled whiter than his sister's. "Phoebe wasn't nearly sorted into Hufflepuff –"

"Actually, she was," I corrected, leaning back into my seat. I poked a finger at Caesar through the bars in his cage, scratching idly at the back of his neck. He crooned, bowing his head to allow better access for my petting.

"Wait, no! She wasn't!" The Gardenshire boy sounded faintly desperate, panicked rather than confident in his insistence. "She would have told me."

"Maybe she knew you'd just get upset." I tried and failed to bite back a yawn, settling myself more firmly in my seat. Maybe the benches weren't quite so uncomfortable after all. "She tells just about anyone who'll listen, actually. You could go and ask her, clear things up." And leave me in peace.

Too perfectly, Caesar chose that moment to chime in. "Shove off, little cretin." His tongue clicked in the mimic of a chortle. "Goodbye, lovely."

Whether the first years would have really taken the suggestion – Caesar's or mine – was left to the unknown, as in their hesitancy to respond two tall figures stopped behind them in the narrow hallway. A cold voice managed to chill what I'd thought was a rather comfortably warm atmosphere.

"What exactly is going on here?"

As one, all three boys spun around towards the boy and girl staring down at them with flat, unforgiving eyes. They had to crane their necks to peer up at them, which made the two seventh years seem taller than they really were. Not that they weren't tall to start off with; both Rhali and Ozzy were taller than me, Ozzy by nearly a head. And really, I'm not that short.

It was Rhali that was the one to really drive off the boy's cowering, however. Imposingly tall as Ozzy was, no one could quite master the glare of the Hamphyn daughter. She'd reputedly learned the expression before she could walk. It proved its effectiveness in that moment as the boys barely spared a moment to mumble something unintelligible – I thought I heard Phoebe's name uttered in there somewhere – before darting in rapid retreat down the hallway. Apparently the threat of an unknown, looming storm was a more compelling motivator to 'shove off' than my rational attempts at urging them to leave. Rhali watched them go with her chilling gaze.

A gaze that abruptly warmed the moment she led Ozzy into the cabin. "Hi, Ally. We were looking for you."

It would have been disconcerting how quickly Rhali could change her expression if I hadn't spent nearly six years growing accustomed to it. A skinny girl with long, tawny-hair always knotted in a tangle of tiny braids that look almost like dreadlocks, she was Slytherin by placement if not by traditionalist expectations and hardly as intimidating as the first years perceived her as. Or I thought so, anyway. One only had to hear Rhali's nickname for me to discern as much; I hadn't been able to shake it – not that I really cared – since the day we became friends. It was a rather abrupt decision on her part, arising with a spontaneous, "Can I call you Ally? I think I'm gonna call you Ally," and it had stuck ever since. I could only be thankful that Ozzy didn't mimic her.

I almost think sometimes that, if Rhali's propensity for slipping naturally into a glare that flattened brown eyes to black was abandoned, she would have made a rather apt member of Hufflepuff. As far as the traditionalist view went, anyway. Sometimes. Well, occasionally. For, though she postured and bad-mouthed, she wouldn't follow through with any threats of violence if it cost her life. Or her dignity. Not that she wouldn't give a mean tongue lashing to anyone being an idiot, of course.

Rhali was certainly more of a kindly, coddling Hufflepuff than some of the people in my own house, anyway. Danika Reed in the year below me was one of the biggest bitches I'd ever met.

Rhali slumped into the bench across from me with a groan. I would have placed her at being at least fifty years older than her seventeen years by the world-weariness of that sound. "I hate inducting the Firsties. Especially those pompous pureblood savages that pass as children." She stuck out her tongue in distaste, kicking her legs up onto the bench beside me.

"What was that all about, anyway? He looked like he was going to have a fit." Ozzy fell into the seat beside me. The dark-skinned boy had similarly dropped any illusion of intimidation and was now as fresh-faced and amiable as the Gryffindor he was supposed to be. He crossed slender arms over his chest and leaned back in the bench in a mirror of Rhali, feet rising and everything.

I shrugged carelessly, picking at the lock on Caesar's cage to extricate him from the confines. Ozzy kicked the door to the cabin shut helpfully, warding off any escape attempts the parrot might feel inclined to commit. It was unlikely, though, seeing as he was both far too lazy to even attempt flight and far to loyal to abandon me to my friends. "The usual. Firsties being Firsties."

"It'll be at least a month until we manage to iron out the worst of those bad habits," Rhali grumbled, sliding further down her seat until she was nearly horizontal, a bridge between the seats. We really must have made a pathetic sight, the three of us, and hardly that which is suitable for seventh year students to assume. None of us were what one might term role models; far from it if the sunken, deflated posture of our seating arrangement was anything to go by. Mum would have scolded me for sitting like a slob if she'd been there.

Ozzy patted Rhali's shin more in amusement than commiseration. "Don't pretend you don't like cowing them into dropping their 'stuck-up little bastards' act." He grinned lazily at the flat gaze Rhali turned upon him. "And just think, this is our last one ever."

We emitted a collective moan of appreciation, the three of us, in perfect pitch with one another. That's what happens when people get to know each other so well. Rhali, Ozzy and I have been friends since first year. Exclusive friends. It hardly mattered that we came from three different houses, and Rhali and Ozzy were 'supposed' to be at one another's throat because of it. If my years at Hogwarts had taught me anything it was that time had quelled the supposedly bloodthirsty rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. They were more like friendly foes these days. The ultimate quidditch rivals.

"I'm already counting down the hours," Rhali muttered, a small smile settling on her lips.

"Me too," I agreed, stroking Caesars head where he nestled in my lap. "Though to be honest, I didn't account for the fact that the train trip seems to take three times as long as it realistically should."

Ozzy clicked his tongue in disgruntlement to punctuate Rhali's rolled eyes and nod of agreement. "So long," he groaned. "And nothing to alleviate the boredom. Who the hell had the bright idea to install Smoke Detector Charms in every carriage, anyway?"

I didn't know, but could only agree with Ozzy's sentiment. We three had discovered that little treasure at the end of our second year of Hogwarts. Suffice to say that none of us would be lighting any more fires in the cabin, contained or otherwise. The trip was long enough without having to stop off for an excessively long evacuation procedure.

I buried myself more comfortably into my seat – quite a feat as, yes, I agreed with my first assessment that they were actually quite uncomfortable – and closed my eyes. At the least, I could probably manage to get a couple more hours of sleep in. Maybe ten hours wasn't enough?

Ten hours wasn't enough sleep. Nor were the additional eight hours of dozing on and off, punctuated by smatters of conversation between my friends and I. Still, it served to fuel me for the feast and when the biting chill of the evening air slipped through my robes as I alighted from the train, I was well and truly awake.

The carriage ride was partaken by the three of us as an exclusive party as with our train trip. It always happened that way; people didn't avoid us so much as just naturally… drifted away. Like driftwood on a current. Not that I'm complaining. I don't hate people – I don't – but it was as comfortable to be around only Rhali and Ozzy as it would be my family. More so even, sometimes. We settled ourselves into the carriages with the mandated slump of teenagers and it rolled into movement. Invisible horses, they were. Apparently thestrals, though I didn't really understand the need to subject the beasts to such laborious treatment. Was a simple Animation Charm of the carriages so difficult to cast?

The sorting was a monotonous affair of Weatherwell pouting her lips and gazing sternly upon the new arrivals just as she had done every year since I'd been at Hogwarts. I spared a small wave for Neville at the staff table before subsiding into unobtrusiveness, Weatherwell was not above deducting points for disruption of the sorting. I think it's expected of the Deputy to be a hard-arse, maybe to compensate for the geniality of the headmaster or mistress at the time. Headmaster Tyril was certainly not the stern type. I don't think I've ever seen anything but a friendly smile on his wrinkled face, not even when he got caught in the crossfire of a makeshift dual that turned his short white beard and curly hair a vibrant pink. Testimony to his amiable nature, he kept the pink do until the charm wore off nearly a week later. He even made the effort to wear matching robes. Weatherwell was mortified.

When the sorting finished and the hat disappeared with Weatherwell as her stout, hasty step retreated from the hall, the tables bloomed in colour. Warmth and the heady aromas of dinner flooded the room. An appreciative 'mmmm' echoed throughout the Great Hall and the next ten minutes were as close to silent as the entire student body could assume as everyone tucked in.

"Did you have a nice summer, Albus?"

I glanced to up from the platter of roasted vegetables I was manoeuvring towards me distractedly into the face of Grettle Jamison. A fresh-faced blonde girl, always perfectly made-up – I don't know how she could look so presentable after sitting for hours on a train and stewing in boredom – Grettle was the seventh year prefect of Hufflepuff and seemed to make it her duty to affiliate with each and every student in her house on a personal basis. I didn't begrudge it of her; it was commendable of her to attempt to ensure the wellbeing of her fellows. That didn't mean that I encouraged as much or urged her to pursue such with me personally.

I shrugged and turned back towards the dish. "Yeah, alright. Too short. How about you?"

From the corner of my eye I could see Grettle beam at me. Was a reply really so unexpected? Though being Grettle, it could be she simply responded as such to everyone. "Wonderful! I visited Danny in Spain for most of it; I've never been before. It's gorgeous. He's got a lovely place set up for himself."

It took me a moment to recall who Danny – Daniel Vargas, I think his name was – actually was. "You two are still together, then?"

Grettle blinked at me confusedly. "Of course. Why wouldn't we be?"

"No reason." I reached for the salad bowl and began filching out the cherry tomatoes. "Just that it might have been hard for you with him already finished school. Thought you might have taken a break or something."

Far from taking offence, Grettle beamed only more broadly. As though I'd shown heartfelt concern and regret at such a possibility. Was that what I sounded like? "It's nice of you to worry" – apparently I had – "but we're still going strong. He's working with his uncle at the Mendez Harpy Sanctuary." God bless Grettle, she sounded like a proud mother.

And proud mother she continued to sound as I was regaled with every aspect of 'Danny's' newfound livelihood. I nodded periodically as I worked my way through dinner, barely listening with half an ear. Apparently Grettle had been waiting for someone to soak up her words; we were hardly close enough for such an extended conversation otherwise.

As I was stabbing the last of my carrots with delicate precision, I noticed that Grettle of the Gab had finally stopped talking. Thinking she'd been distracted with, I don't know, one of her friends or something, I spared her a glance. Only to see her frowning pointedly at my plate.

"Um… what?"

Grettle glanced up at me, her frown shifting to simply mild concern. "You know, you should probably be eating a little better than you are, Albus. Seventh year really requires you to be at your best. Brain food would be more –"

"I eat brain food." I reached across the table and ladled another spoonful of spinach onto my plate. I don't know what the house elves do to it, but it's delicious. "Greens are healthy."

Grettle only frowned, muttering "something more than vegetables" under her breath as her lips pursing in an apt impression of Weatherwell. She didn't object further, however, instead turning back to her own dinner. Unsurprisingly, she'd hardly spared a moment to eat anything through all of her chatter.

Yes, I'm a self-proclaimed vegan. Have been for nearly four years now. Mum looked horrified when I confessed my newfound lifestyle choice; there was something in the Weasley genetic make-up that forbade anything short of stuffing their children with every item of food at hand. Mum was no less persistent on the matter. I think she was sent reeling at the prospect of being denied the opportunity.

Dad was good about it, though. He pulled Mum aside and I don't know what he said to her exactly – something about making my own choices – but she subsided. Rigidly. Every now and then she'd bring up the subject, though. It was definitely something innate within her; Nanna was exactly the same. Even after so long Nanna still couldn't quite grasp the concept of veganism.

I can't exactly say why I made such a choice, only that the possibility occurred to me one day and I just… took it. I'd never been partial to meat in the first place, and the moral aspects of veganism seemed a good enough reason as any. Everyone always thought I was either really brave and told me they admired my decision or that it was kind of stupid and they couldn't fathom it. James was a bastard about it, of course, claiming that it was my love for plants that drove me to consume that which I was so passionate about. Lily always whacked him over the head when she heard him proclaim as much. She was one of the ones that called me 'brave'. She even joined me in my decision for a while before caving with a disconsolate wail of "I just miss chicken so much!"

It's not a profound decision on my part. Not at all. It was just a part of my character that wholeheartedly embraced any interest that passed my way. Call it a character flaw – or perhaps spitting in the face of my younger, indecisive self – but I'd even heard mum call me 'impulsive' at times. To which James always snorted and affirmed that I was certainly airheaded enough for acts of impulsivity and that was she sure that I wasn't Auntie Luna's son?

Honestly, that wouldn't be so bad. Auntie Luna was great. A little eccentric in an 'Earth's child' sort of way, but great value all the same.

The feast finished with an explosive array of puddings, ice-cream and tarts that the hordes devoured like a swarm of locusts. A tactical manoeuvre by the teaching staff, I'm sure, for when Tyril stood up to give his customary speech there was not a one that begrudged him as each student bathed in the satisfaction of a full stomach and dopey weariness.

Not that Tyril had a huge amount to say. He never did, really. The stoop shouldered man offered a warm smile to his students as he welcomed them back once more, reaffirmed the restrictions on the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake – still in place from two years ago when two third years boys claimed they'd been captured by mermaids; the hysterical insistence of their parents ensured that 'precautions were set in place' – before sending us all off. I waited until the masses thinned before following; it's always best to let the Firsties and the excessively enthusiastic younger years blow off their excitement at being back in the relative freedom of school.

The Hufflepuff Basement was just around the corner from the kitchens, distinct from the placement of a small stack of barrels atop the hidden passageway. I always wondered how anyone could possibly overlook the apparent randomness of the stack of barrels – nowhere in Hogwarts boasted similar furnishings – to the point that I had to question the intelligence of the rest of the school at large that they actually believed the Basement was the only common room that been entered by a non-Hufflepuff in centuries. Go figure.

The Basement was a cosy arrangement of warm colours, polished brass and rounded walls. Circular windows depicted open meadows touched by moonlight, reflecting the hour it was. Overstuffed sofas dotted the room across yellow and black rugs and similarly coloured tapestries of moving figures bedecked the walls. The familiar smattering of potted plants and creeping vines gave an earthy feel to the overall setting. Personally, I think the addition of plants added a much needed dimension to the otherwise too homely room.

Someone had turned on the flat-screen in the distant corner, the opposite end to the fireplace, and the murmur of pictographic figures created a lulling melody with those of students in conversation. It could have looked out of place, the Muggle technology in the otherwise old-fashioned outfitting of the room, but Neville as Head of House encouraged embracing Muggle culture and with the repeated use of Stabilising Charms and Runic Inscriptions it worked well enough. We could even get most Muggle channels, not just the more limited viewing available solely to witches and wizards.

About half of the house was in the common room as far as I could make out. Ainsley and Dillon, two of the three other boys in my year, were chatting to three of the seventh year girls in good-natured conversation. Perfect seventh years, the role models for the Firsties that stuck out like a sore thumb for the awkwardness awe they gazed upon the unfamiliar room with. I passed them with barely a nod of my head before descending another level of the basement down shallow steps to the dormitories.

Xander, the other seventh year boy, was already sprawled on his bed in our room. This was not entirely unexpected; Xander is without doubt the laziest person I've ever met. I don't know how me manages to pass his classes. I've never seen him pick up a quill to take a note. If there is anyone who could less embody the Hufflepuff hard-working spirit, it was Xander. A nice enough bloke, though, if a little slow.

"Hey, Xander," I offered as I passed him, moving towards my own bed. He barely offered a grunt in reply. To be honest I'm surprised I got that much. I thought he was already asleep.

I always know which bed is mine at the beginning of each year, even with the shifting of rooms to make way for the younger years and that's because of the pots that sit on the bedside table. By the end of each year, I've usually accumulated quite an indoor garden around my bed. I know I'm not the only one who rings their bed in plants, though I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who doesn't solely choose flowers. Neville usually takes care of those that I can't cart home with me over the summer, and always, every year, I leave the empty little clay pots on my bedside. And each year the house elves move them to the new dorm.

Well, that and Caesar. It's a little hard to miss the parrot's wolf whistles and "hello, lovely little cretin". Though Tyril was remarkably lenient when it came to the species of pets his students could choose to bring along with them to school, the parrot could hardly live up with the owls. Most were at least three times his size and I was sure that he would quite adeptly crush them all to pieces if left in their midst for more than a minute.

I perched myself on my black-and-yellow-striped doona, bouncing slightly on the thick mattress, and kicked my trunk open while simultaneously unlatching Caesar's cage. He strutted like a king on his promenade and clawed his way onto my shoulder as I gently levered out the one plant I'd always brought back and forth to school with me each year. Or, well, a descendant of the plant if not the exact one. Green thumb though James way daub me with, this particular plant was rather prone to being destroyed. And not because I insisted on bringing it to school with me each year. I'm not that bad.

The little sapling had been a little sapling for nearly two years. In all that time, it had grown only about six inches of flexible stem – a good thing too, as I wouldn't be able to fit it in my trunk otherwise – and sprouted more leaves than the hairs on a dogs back. A pretty thing, the Mottled Harproot was so named for its magical properties; when the roots were ground and added to potions, a non-reactive calming, lullaby effect was elicited. A rich, wine-red colour with darker purple splodges on thin, dry leaves, even the colours were soothing to me. It blossomed in miniscule scarlet flowers once a year for all of two days.

Smiling to myself as I straightened the spine, I fumbled in my trunk to unearth the little flower support and staked it into the soil at the base of the travel pot. There's only so much that Preservation Charms can do for a living organism, and though they tended to help with the day trip to Hogwarts it was best to stabilise the little sapling at the first instance possible.

Nodding my head in satisfaction, I rose from my bed and placed the Harproot on my nightstand beside an empty clay pot. Plucking one slender leaf from a branching limb, I muttered an unacknowledged "see you in a bit" to Xander and departed from the room once more with a gentle closing of the door. It wasn't quite ten o'clock, the curfew for seventh years, but it was getting there. Though, I admitted to myself, even had it been later I likely would have proceeded to weave my way through Hufflepuffs and clamber awkwardly from the Basement. It was honestly the most awkward entrance to a room ever, I swear. What was Helga Hufflepuff thinking making her students crawl?

But some traditions you just can't miss. And for Rhali, Ozzy and I, this was one of them.

"You did something to it, Ally."

"Hmm?"

"Yeah, yeah, you definitely did something to it."

Sprawled as I was on the two-seater sofa, it was a struggle to raise my head from the warm cushions to spare a glance for Rhali. She was stretched out on the thick floor rug in a half-foetal position, her eyes nearly closed sleepily and hands folded beneath her head. Her figure was blurry with the fogginess of my vision… No, wait, that was probably just the smoke clouding the air.

Ozzy released a sigh from the armchair across the room. It was not a large room, that which we fondly called our little 'Niche'. It was barely large enough for an armchair, a double sofa, a coffee table and a narrow, largely empty bookshelf, but it sufficed for us. The Niche had rapidly become our private sanctuary in the years we'd spent at Hogwarts.

"I gotta agree with Rhali. You've definitely done something to it. "

I smiled sleepily, the effects of the Mottled Harproot tugging me into comfortable folds of relaxation. "I might have tweaked it a little bit."

"How…" Ozzy paused to yawn. "How do you even do that?"

I only shrugged in reply. Talking required too much effort for this late into the evening and it was just so comfortable to be silent right now. Besides, we'd already more than talked our fill throughout the night. From the distant memory of the last chime of the school clock, it was somewhere around midnight.

Tradition dictated that, on the eve of each new term, the three of us would meet in our little Niche and discuss the summer. Not that we didn't know everything that each other were up to, but it was nice to simply chat with supposed purpose. To exchange light-hearted jibes and deep-minded troubles. That's what started it all, the mutual consolation of anxieties. It was also what spurred me to bring the Harproot along.

Only a single leaf it took, and the slow-burning properties – incredibly slow burning – ensures that a gentle waft of musky smoke curled in a steadily thickening cloud throughout the night. It was a property that was most likely known to specialists but not spoken aloud for fear being abused. I'd stumbled upon the little wonder quite by accident, and it was one of the best discoveries I'd made. Burning with fire would rapidly devour the inch-long leaf in a crackle of sickly sweet smog that left one on the verge of hacking out their lungs. On the other hand, a slow burn with Icefyre would draw out the maximum calming effects of the plant, dozens of times more potent than the mild influence of crushed herbs in relaxant potions. It was a blessing, that discovery, and the influence of the single, cold-burning leaf was like a sponge to the spillage of our collective troubles. With each passing hour, each passing minute, the stress of those troubles would ease beneath the gentle lulling effects of the drug.

Yes, I'm not oblivious. I know it's a drug. I'm aware that the relaxant effects of the smoke are probably the only thing that clamped down on my otherwise frazzled nerves when I voiced my concerns of the school year, of passing my classes, of what the hell I was going to do with my life when I finished school. Just little things that which could have a life changing impact if I happened to bollocks it all up.

I'm also not oblivious to the fact that the very reason I'm able to overcome these anxieties is in no small way attributed to the joint effort of my friends and my drug habit. I was a mess of a kid in my younger years, more than I think even Mum and Dad knew. Fretting about every little aspect of my lifestyle, about every possible decision I could make, it was only the first time that I fell beneath the relaxant effects of the Harproot that I realised just how much it was weighing me down. It was bloody exhausting.

So yeah, I have a bit of a drug problem. Or a bit of a drug solution, if one considers it from a different light. For it is a solution to probably one of the biggest issues I could face as a teenage boy. And I was careful; none of that Muggle crap that does more harm than good, that chews at your brain with addiction. I don't do that stuff… at least, not anymore.

The only effects of the Harproot that could be perceived as detrimental are a calmer demeanour that can be likened in its excessiveness to the sleepy mellowness of weariness, a forcibly neutral outlook, and the rather unfortunate effects of smelling like musky smoke for hours after immersion. All other cognitive functions remained well in order, and for someone like me who often struggles with tightly wound nerves, removing that tension helped me to function better. No ill effects at all, really, when you considered it like that.

Well, except maybe a propensity for nodding off to sleep at unfortunate intervals exposed to it too frequently. At one point, in third year after a particularly stressful bout when faced with my first failing grade – astronomy it was; I just can't get a handle on the stars – I succumbed to the habit of unhealthily frequent use and slept through an entire day without stirring.

Everyone just thought I was under the weather and disregarded the anomaly as simply that. Thank God no one ever told Mum, though. She would have had a heart attack, to be sure.

I think it's probably as much because of my taste – or smell – for Harproot as it is my relationship with Neville that I have such a love for plants. For learning their properties, for tending them fondly, for growing them in new and intricate ways. I've become something of an avid botanist – not as restricted to Wizarding plants as a typical Herbologist was – and in recent years even began experimenting with splicing and hybridisation. I'm not ashamed to admit I've tampered with some illegal combinations, just to see their effects – rather explosive in the case of Fire Oats and Redneck Eucalypt – though I'm not saying I'd preach it to the world. Besides, I know when to keep my mouth shut. Fanciful hybridisations aren't the only thing I've dabbled in.

So Ozzy and Rhali weren't far off the mark when they suggested I'd 'done something' to the Harproot. I had. Magical, this time, and it just so happened to have the rather beneficial effect of sharpened potency. A good thing, too, as Rhali had talked for nearly half an hour about her parent's crumbling relationship that would have undoubtedly dissolved into misery without the calming effects of the faintly purple smoke.

Illegal or not – for I'd heard somewhere that smoking, even indirectly, was disallowed on school grounds – the Harproot did have it's benefits.

I snuggled further into my sofa, my cushion, and let my eyes drift closed. It had gotten to the point, the smoke thickened enough, that the three of us were teetering on the edge of sleep. A blissful, wonderful, comfortable sleep…

Somewhere in the distance, the bell chimed again. Once. One o'clock. We should really be getting back to the dormitories. One of the reasons we tended to stay out so late was to avoid passers-by and the possibility of them catching a whiff of the smoke upon our departure. We could, technically, leave now, but it was just so comfortable…

Evidently Ozzy realised the significance of the chiming bell too, and whether it was because of his his slightly larger frame or simply a marginally higher resistance to the effects of the Harproot, he struggled into motion.

"Come on, you pair. We should go."

There was a groan from Rhali as she curled tighter into her foetal position, barely reacting when Ozzy wavered to his feet and nudged her with a toe. He abandoned his efforts a moment later and approached my side. I don't know whether he thought I was actually asleep or whether he was just being nice, but he gently shook my shoulder.

"Al, time to get up."

I peeled one eye open from the thin slit it had fallen into and rolled an eye towards him. "Can't you just carry me?"

Ozzy yawned, scratching a hand over his buzzcut. "What, and get a face full of vinegar when I try to get into your common room again? No thanks, that stuff clings to you like a leech. I couldn't get rid of it for days after, last time."

"Not even if I say please really nicely?"

Snorting, Ozzy shook his head. He seemed slightly more awake now that he was on his feet. "Not even then. Especially not then."

"Ah, but we have no such underhanded booby traps in Slytherin," Rhali announced as she heaved herself into sitting. "It should be perfectly fine to deliver me to the dungeons."

"Or you could return the favour for once," Ozzy replied pointedly. He always did, after each time he dragged a smoke-dazed Rhali back to her dorms. Rhali gave him the same reaction each time, which was to blatantly ignore that he had spoken.

We ambled to our feet, those of us not already standing, and I scooped Caesar from his fluffed nest on the arm of the sofa. He was fast asleep, even when I lifted him up, which might have been worrisome had I not both rigorously studied the effects of Harproot on a bird and experienced his response beforehand. Never let it be said I don't take precautions before exposing my pets to illegal substances.

I didn't bother attempting to disperse the smoke before we left the room. Neither did Ozzy and Rhali. It could have been the house elves that did so in our stead or simply the effects of time on dissipating the fumes, but I'd never heard a whisper of musky, sweet aromas scented on the sixth floor eastern corridor before.

Which was probably one of the reasons why, when we opened the door and walked dazedly into the waiting prefect, he didn't even need to ask what we had been doing. The evidence clung all over us.

A/N: Hi again, everyone! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please let me know what you think by leaving a review if you have a chance. It's really appreciated :)