Chapter 8. Albus Potter.
He trudged down Hogwarts corridors, only vaguely aware of where he was going. Actually, he was asleep standing up, with his eyes open. All-night vigils in the school's corridors were taking their toll. Maybe he ought to practice more, to get the knack of it.
Too bad he never saw Lily and Scorpius return – they must have needed more than a few hours to remember everything. Albus very much hoped that his sister would be all right soon.
"Hey, Potter!"
He started and looked up – it was a boy from Ravenclaw, with whom they were in the same Herbology class.
"Do you know who upset Alberta? She left breakfast in tears…"
Albus frowned. His first thought was that it was apparently breakfast time and he ought to go to the Big Hall. Then his brain kicked into gear, and his frown got deeper.
"So, who was it?" the Gryffindor inquired, a tad severely.
"What are you going to do, beat him up?" the Ravenclaw sounded almost amused, skeptically looking over Albus' slender frame.
"I am not going to fight," Albus replied grimly. As if… He is not a troll, to stupidly flail his fists! "So, who upset her?"
"The new Slytherin chap."
"Are they multiplying?" Albus asked, confused, heading towards the Big Hall.
"If you stop running away from school, you won't miss all the interesting stuff," the Ravenclaw quipped, somewhat cryptically, waved, and walked toward his House's tower.
Curiosity and concern for Bertie now completely roused Albus. He practically flew down the steps and entered the Hall, still filled with students. Several professors had just taken seats at their table.
At the entrance, Albus almost bumped into Broon, frozen with rage. The fact that his friend was enraged was clear to Albus from Alex's tense expression. The chap's stare was fixed on the Slytherin table, and Albus easily grasped that their motive for being here was one and the same. Only Broon was clearly about to let his fists fly.
Albus halted next to Alex and followed his gaze.
"Who is he?" the boy asked quietly, nudging Broon and pointing at a complete stranger, who was sat apart from the others at the Slytherin table, picking apathetically at his food. Straight black hair fell over his eyes and pale cheeks. Prominent, still unhealed scar, left uncovered even by the bangs, streaked above his right eyebrow. The stranger wore the Slytherin uniform, but the others appeared to steer clear of him, trying to keep their distance at the table, by did not seem to bother the boy at all.
"Expelled from Durmstrang," Broon practically spit the words out, as he continued to glare at the Slytherin. "Why the… was he admitted here?"
"They say the Dumbledore's portrait himself asked for him," Marin stopped next to the two boys.
"Says who?" Albus grunted.
Marin shrugged her shoulders and smiled at her brother:
"Stop going all crazy; he didn't even lay a finger on Bertie."
"Then why was she crying?" Al turned toward his friend.
"Because that boy said that she smelled of dogs… or wolves," Marin explained, a little perplexed. "Can't imagine why she got so offended… He is just a boy with bad manners…"
And Marin walked over to her table, casting occasional furtive glances at the new arrival. Albus sighed heavily: Bertie must have been scared that this Slytherin knew her secret – that her mother and Uncle Ron were werewolves.
"How could he smell that?" Albus continued to stare at the strange Slytherin, who was still picking at his food, apparently without appetite.
"They say he is the son of a vampire," Broon shrugged his shoulders, "and that daddy rubbed off on him a little."
"A vampire?" curiosity began to overshadow his concern for his friend. "Is that possible?"
"Anything is possible in this loony bin," Broon sneered, turned on his heels, and walked out of the Big Hall, as if reminding Albus that they were still technically on the outs. Fine, then!
Potter cast another glance at the new Slytherin and headed for his own table, feeling hungry spasms in his stomach. He sat down on the bench and almost at once, Amanda sat next to him. He smiled faintly at her.
"How are you?" she patted his shoulder affectionately. "Didn't have a wink of sleep, did you?"
He shook his head, pouring himself juice and picking up a treacle tart. Sweets worked well for him to get his strength back…
"Any news from Lily?"
He shook his head again, feeling too lazy for words. He sighed heavily and looked up, only to look again at the strange boy.
"Is it true that Dumbledore asked for him?" Al asked Amanda, after thoroughly chewing his food.
"For the new Slytherin?" she timidly glanced at the object of their discussion and immediately lowered her eyes. "The portraits on the sixth floor were whispering about it… They disapproved of Dumbledore."
"Why?"
"Well… First, the boy was expelled from Durmstrung."
"What for?"
"I don't know. I think there might have been a duel," Amanda ran her finger above her eyebrow, hinting at the Slytherin's scar. "Secondly, he is strange…"
"In what sense?" Albus suppressed the desire to get into the new boy's head, to get all his answers at once. But he was feeling so sleep-deprived and tired that even this simple act felt too much for him now.
"You see – no one would sit next to him. He is not introducing himself to anyone and keeping to himself."
"So, what of it? He is new at school," Al took more pie, feeling his appetite perk up, along with his curiosity.
"Everyone is scared of him."
"Because he is a vampire's son?" the boy guessed.
"Because he is odd," the girl shrugged her shoulders. "They say he is an orphan… His father apparently killed his mother by drinking all her blood."
"Wow… And then he killed himself by drinking his own?"
"Very funny," snorted Amanda. "No, I heard that the Aurors chased him down… Well, he resisted and they…"
"Poor lamb," Al was not thinking of the vampire, but of the boy who sat at the practically empty now table. It appeared that this Slytherin was completely alone.
"And his eyes are frightening," Amanda said, giving a shudder.
"What made you think so?"
"You'll see. And he is odd," the girl concluded, getting to her feet. "Hurry up, the bell will ring soon."
"Ami, what's his name?" Al managed to ask before his cousin left. She shrugged her shoulders and was soon gone from the Big Hall.
Well… If Grandpa Albus himself had asked for this boy… Uncle Ron, cheer: I have gotten to the Slytherin House at last.
The Gryffindor took a look around him: there was hardly anyone left in the Big Hall; most had gone to their classes. The new Slytherin also got to his feet – his movements were unhurried, almost careful, as though he was trying not to touch anything.
Albus smiled with the corners of his mouth and followed suit by also getting up. They met in the doorway, and Albus realized why Amanda would speak of the boy's eyes in a whisper.
Albus had never seen such bright blue color, matching only his own green. Only those blue irises were rimmed with red circles, so thin that it might be impossible to discern from a distance.
"Are you going to the Defense?" Al addressed himself amiably to the Slytherin.
The chap inhaled almost imperceptibly, and a crooked grin distorted his pleasant features, donning over them a mask of young Satyr, similar to those featured in their History of Magic textbook. He kept silent, continuing on his way.
Al couldn't help himself then and attempted to do what he ought to have done long ago: tried to enter the Slytherin's mind. He was met with a firm rebuff. This was news! How interesting!
"Got a brass set?" the newcomer's voice was smooth, slippery, not very pleasant to the ear.
"Were you trained or did you always know how to put up a block?" Al asked with growing interest, keeping up with the vampire's son gliding step.
The Slytherin did not reply, only wrinkled his lips. Yes, one couldn't call him the soul of the party… But what an interesting character…
A half-blood orphan. Something familiar stirred in his memory, but Albus had no time to sort out the mess.
"I like sweets. How about you, preferring blood?"
The Slytherin practically froze on the spot, fixing Al with a blue stare. The boy's hand reached for his pocket, where his wand must be hidden.
"I meant no offence," Albus corrected himself calmly. "It's just that everyone says that you are the son of a vampire…"
"I am." The Slytherin spoke through his teeth, resuming his path.
"What is your name?" they were now going up the stairs, paying no mind to the bell.
"Leave me alone, will you?"
"I am Albus Potter."
The Slytherin rolled his eyes and said nothing.
"Yes, I know, few people like Potters, there are too many of us for that; still, my brother James is friends with Scorpius Malfoy, who used to be a Slytherin."
"A Malfoy? With a Potter?" the newcomer stopped again. The blue eyes no longer looked frightening; it just took getting used to.
"Yes, I know, it is odd," Al smiled. "But they…"
"Have you no one else to torture?" the Slytherin smirked nastily. "Searching for thrills?"
"No," Al sighed heavily, "I just thought that you might feel lonely here…"
They boy scowled and walked on, and not toward the classroom where both of them were supposed to have class at the moment.
"I am never lonely."
"As you wish," Albus quickly dismissed the thought of yet another detention.
"Get lost, will you?"
"Do you live at an orphanage?"
The Slytherin turned around sharply, his blue eyes narrowing threateningly. The red rings grew more pronounced.
"Do you want to spend the holidays at my place? To be honest, it gets pretty crowded there, I have a large family, but at least it's never boring. We have a house elf, and Grandpa Arthur has a ghoul living in his house."
The red rim around blue irises thinned, tight lips relaxed into a more natural form. The Slytherin lifted his hand, to sweep the long bangs away from his face.
"What's in it for you?" his voice was still unpleasant.
"Maybe I like vampire kids," Al snickered.
"And do you know many of those?"
"One, if I count you," the Gryffindor shrugged his shoulders, thrusting his hands in his pants pockets.
"You smell of werewolf."
"I am friends with them, too," Albus smiled. "Do you have anything against wolves?"
"No, not at all."
"Then why did you upset Bertie?"
"Who is that?"
"The girl who also smells of wolves."
The Slytherin made a face, indicating that he had no memory of doing that. Well, he just needs some manners taught to him. But that would come later…
"Do you have an acute sense of smell?"
"And of hearing," the Slytherin added, leaning against the wall. "The caretaker with the skeletal cat is about to be here."
The boy seemed to expect Albus to up and run off, but the Gryffindor merely shrugged his shoulders: if you are afraid of Filch, keep out of the Forbidden Forest. Albus leaned against the opposite wall and smiled.
"So, what's your name?"
"Robert Condé."
"An Englishman?"
"A vampire's son," the Slytherin snickered, as though that explained everything.
"And where is your home?"
"I have none."
"What about the orphanage?"
Robert shuddered; the red rim became pronounced again.
"Fine, sorry; consider that unsaid."
The Slytherin kept silent; the eyebrow below the scar was twitching slightly.
"Get ready for the guests," Condé whispered and, a few moments later, Filch appeared in the hallway. His old, lined face lit with pleasure at this encounter, and Albus sent him a jolly smile in return: joint detentions usually served people well.
This warrants a letter to Uncle Ron. And a visit to Grandpa Albus.
I get your meaning now, Grandpa. You always said: Potters were called upon to stand in the way of big and small evil. And it's best done at the very beginning, when evil still has a chance to change course…
Al smiled again at the path he'd just chosen for himself.