SOMETHING'S OFF

Three and a half steps.

This was about how far he could get before the magical stairs would decide to trap him.

Since his arrival at Hogwarts, Terrence Swanson wondered if someone had thrown some kind of a recognition spell on those damn stairs. It seemed he was the only student in the whole school to whom this happened: yes, sometimes, the stairs were moving randomly to connect with another floor, but why was it that no one else but him got stuck in the middle of nowhere?

He pulled the leather strap hanging from his belt, on which he had hung half a dozen watches – muggle and witches indifferently – and sighed.

Forty past ten and some irrelevant seconds (some watches tended to go at their own pace), nobody was going to pass by for a while.

Good. Luckily, for once. I need to think.

He pushed back the line of watches in his pocket and fumbled in his class bag for the headsets he had bewitched so they would play the tracks of his old MP3 (Merlin, how magic was practical: he hated carrying tons of batteries each time he went back to school).

Eventually he found them, dusted them to get rid of the Valerian powder which bottle had opened and sprinkled all over the bag. He put them on, drew his wand from the back pocket of his uniform pants and pronounced the incantation nonchalantly.

- "Orchestra auribus."

The only problem with this spell was the sound which never kept to the headphones. It had a tendency to twirl around your ears, which was completely useless when you wanted to listen to music while the rest of the dormitory was sleeping - or studying.

Terrence shrugged. It was not a problem. He had become used to go to one of the empty rooms of the third floor when he needed to concentrate.

In the end, he was rarely alone up there.

Most of the time, Albus was curled up on the window-sill with a book and read quietly while his best friend immersed his genius brain in music, mumbling incoherently and scratching on scrolls as if his quill itched with chicken pox.

Often, Wendy joined them there and painted the various places of the castle, sitting cross-legged on a pile of threadbare cushions. Occasionally, a house elf appeared in a light "pop" and ate his snack made of slices of zucchini / hazelnut cream / aioli crouched next to her, commenting on the picture in a shrilly voice. It was an unusual phenomenon for these shy creatures with big ears, especially since they should have been the first to remind the students that using the empty rooms was not really allowed. The three friends had given up understanding after they had noticed their asking question turned the strange little people hysterical - or made them disappear for weeks.

Terrence suspected the house elves to be under the same mysterious attraction for Albus as all the other magical creatures.

One.

Albus, who had never been sick in three and a half years, had suddenly fell off his broom because of a pain in the chest that had appeared out of nowhere.

Two.

Albus, who was the last person in the school who would have meddled with dark magic or associate with hooligans, had a scar left by a curse impossible to achieve even for a skilled wizard.

Three reasons to suspect a trick. Three threads well tangled.

Bobbie didn't look at ease ...

There's definitely something fishy...

Terrence nibbled his lips. He stepped aside following the reggae song, snapped his fingers. His hips and chin began to move in rhythm with the bass. He was humming softly, so immersed in his thoughts he did not notice that above him, Nearly-Headless-Nick and Moaning Myrtle were in full groove, trying to mimic his dance moves.

The stairs did not move, still locked on nothingness. The song sounded disembodied under the high ceiling and the two ghosts waddled carefully, copying the way Terrence spun on himself and made his heels slide on the side.

On his way back from the Great Hall, Neville Longbottom stopped down the stairs and looked at the show in front of him. He pushed back his robes and put his hands in the pockets of his corduroy pants. He did not know if he should laugh or apostrophize the oblivious dancing student. He shook his head and took a step forward.

The recalcitrant staircase recognized him immediately and set in motion to the left to connect with the second floor. Terrence, still deep in thought, did not notice, but the two ghosts pouted as they spotted the professor. They parted - Moaning Myrtle had been trying to force Nearly-Headless-Nick to pass under her arm lock - and disappeared under the applause of a dozen women wearing only braids of flowers. The satyr who had sat down to watch the show stood up and went back to chase after the ladies who escaped in the following painting, cheeping.

- "Swanson. What are you doing here while your friends are all in their bedrooms or studying in the Great Hall?" Neville asked, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder.

Terrence came back to reality in a startle. He took off the headphones that went silent with a gurgle.

- "Oh, Professor. Sorry, I didn't hear you coming ..."

He grinned apologetically at the tall and skinny man who taught them Herbology. Despite his horsey face, bushy brown hair and light stuttering Neville Longbottom was nevertheless one of their favorite teachers. His kindness was notorious, his sense of justice recognized by all, and while some students were making fun of his overflowing passion for the smallest bit of green, he undoubtedly remained the most consulted adult in Hogwarts. He always had time for a cuppa, never tired of comforting those who were homesick and was of good advise when exams drove you crazy or when you had an argument with a friend.

- "What troubles you, lad?"

Terrence rubbed his nose. He hesitated, then stuffed the headphones in his bag and lifted blue eyes to the man who smiled kindly.

- "You know Albus' family, don't you? His mother passes on her greetings to you each year."

Neville Longbottom's eyebrows furrowed.

- "Yes", he replied cautiously. "His parents are childhood friends. Why?"

The teenager pondered for a while, as if he was not sure he wanted to share his thoughts.

- "Do ... do you know where does his scar come from, then? It appeared when we were treating him for his fall during the Quidditch workouts. Al doesn't remember how he got it and Nurse Abbot seems to find it important. Is it a curse? Or a family tradition of some sort? I heard his father has a famous scar."

The brown irises of the teacher widened in surprise.

- "What scar? Albus doesn't ..."

He paused and blushed violently, as if something had just crossed his mind.

- "These are questions far too personal", he said in a troubled voice that he tried to make sound severe. "I don't think I need to answer."

Terrence had not missed the change on his face and did not insist.

That makes it four.

Neville cleared his throat.

- "You should go to bed, Swanson. It's late."

- "Good night, Professor."

The man waited until the teenager had obediently climbed a few steps, then whirled around and ran down the stairs toward the infirmary. Terrence, standing on the second floor, watched him disappear around the corner of the ground floor and sighed.

There really was something fishy.

He walked thoughtfully to his dorm, gave the password to the leprechaun who guarded the door straddling on an old goat that chewed a tuft of grass with a supremely bored look, and tacked between the fifth-year guys practicing their spells in the common room decorated with scarlet tapestries. A pair of cushions had exploded and feathers were flying everywhere. Some girls were sitting by the fireplace trying to go over their lessons in this infernal racket and there was a rat in great distress on the chandelier, blowing in spite of itself a huge ball of turquoise chewing-gum.

Terrence gave him a look of pity but simply climbed the spiral staircase to his room.

- "Holy Pogrebin, Swanson, warn when it's you!" someone squealed indignantly when the door opened.

A paper swallow was fluttering around the room and it smelled of skunk inside.

- "What, you thought I was a teacher?" retorted the blond boy with a smirk.

He tossed his bag on the first four-poster bed on the right - his - then flumped face down on the left one.

Craig Finnigan and Samuel Flint-Fletchey, who were lying side by side on the burgundy quilt, had just enough time to roll to the side. Flint-Fletchey fell heavily on the carpet, while Finnigan scooped away the magazine.

- "Watch out for me poor Cassiopeia", he protested, rolling his eyes.

Terrence grabbed the magazine and flipped through it quickly.

- "I thought your favorite was Melisande."

Samuel, who had gotten up and had circled around the bed, came to lean on him.

- "Not anymore since she had her nose redone", he said.

- "It's not her nose Craig's interested in", Terrence scoffed.

Finnigan looked offended for about three seconds, then chuckled.

- "That ain't true. Come on, give it back, Swanson. If you wanna have a peek, it's twenty Knuts."

Terrence gave up the magazine and jumped off the bed.

- "No thanks, that's fine. And, mates, the house elves were briefed regarding the readings of the students. If they get their hands on your copy of Blue Laces, you can say goodbye to Melisande and her pretty legs ..."

- "Cassiopeia", Samuel corrected.

- "Don't worry, Malfoy put a charm on it", bragged Finnigan. "They'll believe it's the Quibbler."

Terrence shared a look with the blond boy who owned the fourth bed and who merely shrugged, then he smirked.

- "And you really think a spell cast by a 4th year student will confuse centenary elves!"

- "Shut your trap, Swanson, you aren't funny", Flint-Fletchey grumbled.

The two teens resettled on the messy bed and put the quilt on their heads like a tent. Two seconds later, their delighted giggles were mingling with the sound of turned pages.

Terrence shook his head, amused.

- "Nutters..."

He went back to his bed, shoved his bag in the nightstand and went in search of his pajamas. The top had landed on one of the posts of his bed and the bottom was rumpled under the fringes of the mattress, next to an empty box of crumpled Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans and Fabius Macmillan's broken Sneakoscope (Fabius was sleeping in the other room with Samuel Flint-Fletchey and two other 4th-year boys). Terrence put on his pajamas then had to look for his toothbrush. It suddenly appeared before him, floating in the air.

He grabbed it and turned to Scorpius Malfoy who was putting back his wand on his nightstand.

- "Thanks."

- "It was with my stuff", pointed out the other boy gruffly. "I almost brushed my teeth with it."

He looked disgusted.

- "Sorry", muttered Terrence, fishing his toothpaste in the inkwell set on Albus' nightstand.

Like the corner of the bedroom where lived Malfoy, Potter's area was pretty neat. There was a stack of books beside the bed and an open Quidditch magazine on the vermilion bedspread - next to Fabius Macmillan's sleeping cat - but it had nothing to do with Finnigan's walls covered with posters (Lingerie pages from 'Witch Weekly' and specials from the Quidditch World Cup edition of the 'Daily Prophet') or the monumental mess near Terrence's bed. In between the cauldrons jagged by failed experiments, the flasks with questionable content, the objects without head or tail picked up everywhere and the textbooks tamped with thousands of sticking notes, it was a miracle the elves could still change the sheets once in a month.

- "What have you done with Potter?" Scorpius asked nonchalantly, turning a page of his book. "Lost him on the way? Your remembrall doesn't work?"

Terrence grinned. He was far from being fooled.

- "Al's in the infirmary, he got hurt during Quidditch workouts. Nothing serious", he quickly added when the gray eyes of the other teen flashed fiercely.

Of all beings strangely fascinated by Albus, Scorpius Malfoy was the most surprising one. Probably because he was human - though Terrence sometimes wondered if it was mercury flowing in the veins of the boy with pale complexion. He did not have many friends - well, to be exact, none at all. He might have had some if he had been sorted into Slytherin where were mostly kids from rich families, but since he had been put in the Gryffindor house, the ties had been cut out.

Terrence had not quite understood why, but most children from wizarding families were suspicious of the little sickly-looking blond boy. During their first year, Scorpius, who seemed to have set as a goal in life to be as invisible as possible, had suffered a lot of bullying, especially from James Potter's gang. Then, once, during Potions, he had found himself paired with Albus and the magic had worked.

Just like the rabid dog that guarded the back entrance of Honeydukes, like the perverse Grindylow they had studied during their third year, like a lot of other creatures shivering with fear or anger, the boy with almost white blond hair had been mysteriously tamed by the big green eyes.

They did not become the best of friends – Scorpius was too much of a loner for that - but warmth enlivened Malefoy's dull voice when he was in the same room as Albus. Growing up, he had become a little more open, a little stronger too (he gave himself a manner of disdain to hide his discomfort) and their seniors had learn to leave him alone.

Terrence was almost sure Mr. Potter was in there for something. James would never have listened to his brother, but he respected his father - even remotely.

- "She's keeping him for the night?" Scorpius was surprised enough to put the book aside.

He frowned.

Terrence considered wise to change the subject of the conversation.

- "Are you done with the thirty centimeters we're supposed to write on Chapter 9 of History of Magic?"

Malfoy hesitated.

- "Yeah. Not you? I thought you had it done last Tuesday already."

- "I forgot about it", Terrence muttered sheepishly. "I don't want to do that tonight, it'll take forever..."

He foraged in the mess around his bed.

- "I'll do it tomorrow – with a fresh mind."

The alarm clock he was looking for bounced off his head before falling to the floor with a pathetic dreling.

- "This was also in my stuff", snorted Malfoy, his dark eyebrows annoyingly narrowed.

- "Sorry."

Terrence turned the key up to five o'clock then put the Muggle device on his nightstand, pushing away the pencil box and the spice jars that were his Herbology homework. Scorpius was putting on his pajamas. Samuel and Craig were still giggling stupidly in their makeshift tent. Terrence was considering setting on fire the fringes of the scarlet quilt to force them to go to bed, when the door of the room opened up.

- "Albus?" said Malfoy, popping his head out of his pajama top.

His well-controlled nonchalant voice and his usual annoyed pout did a good job to hide his concern, but his gray eyes were anxiously scrutinizing the teenager who had just entered.

Terrence turned round, surprised.

- "What are you doing here, mate?"

Albus smiled, sitting on his bed ("plumping down on it" would have been more accurate, mentally noted his best friend.) He was holding in his arms the chewing-gum rat whose fur electrified when it saw the cat curled up on the scarlet quilt.

- "Pamela Crivey's cauldron exploded and half of the students studying in the Great Hall are now in the infirmary. They're covered with hairy pustules, it's gross."

He shuddered retrospectively and stifled a little cry of pain when the rat bit him, pedaling at full speed on his knees to run away from the waking up cat.

- "It's really contagious so Nurse Abbot sent me back", he explained whilst putting the terrified rat outside with a gentle pat on its funky head. "And that's good, 'cause I didn't want to spend the night down there."

Terrence put his hands on his hips, biting his lips, then his shoulders relaxed.

- "Well, must mean she thinks you're all okay, then."

Malfoy nodded vigorously from his bed.

Albus took off his uniform pants and put on his pajama bottoms. He got a T-shirt from his trunk after discovering that crushed reseda (from the mess under the bed next to his) had stained his pajamas top. He paused, a hand on the top button of his shirt, then climbed onto the bed and shut the curtains.

Scorpius' eyes narrowed suspiciously and his dark eyebrows joined in a bar above his stormy eyes. Terrence made but one bound to his friend's bed.

Albus sighed when the teenager's head popped in and pulled down his t-shirt on the bandage across his chest.

- "Does it hurt?" Terrence asked quietly.

- "No", said the other boy, a little annoyed. "I just wanted to avoid questions."

- "Is it still showing?"

Albus nibbled his lip and nodded after a moment, looking down.

- Did you remember something?" Terrence was asking when Samuel jumped on his back, making him lose his balance. The curtains were torn off and crumpled to the floor.

- "Oï! What are you two whispering? Did Potter finally got himself a gal? D'you have a tip for the test in Charms?"

The blond teenager freed himself from Flint-Fletchey, who was stocky but a head shorter than him, and dumped him in the trunk in front of Finnigan's bed.

- "No and let go, Sam! Go sleep in your digs."

- "look what you've done, git", Albus added, bending down to pick up his curtains.

Scorpius didn't miss the wince of pain he couldn't suppress in the movement and scowled even more.

- "Fight, fight, fight", was chanting Finnigan, excited like a flea, dancing around his bed with an Irish accented neighing.

- "Shut up, Craig", hissed Malfoy. "Some people want to sleep, in here."

The boy with cropped hair glanced around and stopped right away. The freckles on his cheeks swelled briefly, and the second after, he was pushing his friend out of the room – and throwing Fabius Macmillan's cat in the staircase.

- "Yeah, get the heck out, Flint-Fletchey. I've seen enough of you for today!

- "See you tomorrow, sugar!" Samuel cackled behind the door.

Terrence shook his head, overwhelmed by their stupidity.

Craig was now faxing himself into his pajamas, hurrying to get in bed. Albus had closed his eyes, curling up under his scarlet blanket. Terrence sighed and settled for the night as well. Malfoy blew out his candle and relit it the next moment to swing a flash onto the swallow who continued to flutter with an annoying paper noise.

Then everything went quiet.

Terrence joined his hands under his neck on the pillow, and grinned in the dark.

Some things did not change. All the inhabitants of the room went to sleep when Albus did and Potter had never noticed it. The first night, he had said sheepishly, "sorry, I think I snore..." and had taken a blow from Finnigan's comforter: "you better not!"

Then he had fallen asleep and the boys had discovered a secret they had carefully guarded until then.

Albus was not snoring. He was purring.

And in the silence of a dark room at the top of a tower in Scotland, in a scary castle after an exhilarating but exhausting first day at school, the gentle and reassuring sound had been like a nightlight for the three eleven years old boys.

Four years later, it had become a habit. A bit like jumping over the thirteenth step of the stairs when going to Divination, or wear earplugs whenever Peeves showed up in the study room, like always carrying with you a piece of carrot to give to Bert Hammersmith's Flemish Giant before it'd bite your rear end, or watch for the moment when the houses banners along the Quidditch pitch unfurled before a game.

Finnigan even claimed he had trouble falling asleep when he was home, in the absence of discrete and warm purr.

Scorpius Malfoy would have never confessed it, but it was one of the things he missed most during the holidays.

And Terrence...

Terrence opened his eyes wide in the dark.

Speaking of weird things...

A purring wizard, we never heard about this in class...

Albus, how many secrets do you hide?

He wanted to stay awake longer to think about the new issues raised by the latter observation, but the effect of the purr was just as strong as it had been during his first day at Hogwarts, and his eyelids were already heavy.

He yawned and turned to the side.

In the opposite bed, Malfoy was already in deep slumber. Finnigan was snoring loud, mouth ajar and legs stretched out.

Terrence closed his eyes.

I'll think about it tomorrow...

The swallow's ashes were still red on the floor, like tiny rubies. The moon was sliding by the low window, bathing the room in a blue ethereal light. On Craig's nightstand, sand slowly crumbled through the hourglass clock.

Everything was peaceful.

That night, Terrence dreamed of the day he had met Albus for the first time.

TO BE CONTINUED