Alexander Bay
Alexander slowly made his way down the length of the Hogwarts Express, glancing into every compartment as he did. With the train already heading out of London, most of his fellow students had already found compartments to sit in. There was no sign of him.
As Alexander passed two first-years, they looked up at him in awe, and he couldn't help but grin to himself. Alexander had always been tall and, having spent much of his life playing Quidditch, he had the athletic build to go along with it. Add that to blond hair, blue eyes, and a strong jaw, and it had granted him good cards with the aspiring young witches his age. He headed back, carriage by carriage, peeking into every compartment. Almost at the very end of the train, he found who he had been looking for.
He was tall for his age, almost as tall as Alexander, and while of athletic build, lacked his brother's bulk. His features and complexion were proud and fair, while his hair was a rare shade of silver blond. Alexander met his brother's cold ice-gray eyes, the eyes he had inherited from their mother. He had come much more after their mother than ever Alexander had.
"Nervous, little brother?" Alexander inquired, grinning broadly. "What are you reading there? Oh, Magical History, I see. Did they use Helton the Fool's works in Magical History on Svalbard?" Alexander asked mildly.
"No. They, unfortunately, preferred Ferdinand's take," Maxwell admitted. "According to him, the Goblin Rebellions were the fault of the International Confederation of Wizards." Alexander snorted. "According to Father, the continued existence of the Goblins is the only thing the Confederation is to blame for."
Then, what did you expect from one of the most exclusive schools for magical lore and arts in the world? What went unsaid was that while the school did not have robes, the grooming standards, at the very least, required access to a private tailor. As such, Maxwell was wearing an attire more reminiscent of the Muggle world, with a white button-up shirt, dark blue vest, and trousers.
"Are you at the very least excited?" Alexander asked. "You will love Hogwarts. It might not be our summer residence in Athens, but I dare say the weather is a good deal more agreeable than you are used to on Svalbard."
Maxwell closed his book with a snap and set it aside. "I guess," Maxwell said unenthusiastically. "Though I guess it comes with a few perks. If only that, I get to spend more time with you and Amalia. Speaking of Amalia, shouldn't you be in the Prefect's carriage with her? Or are you going to have her suffer through the journey on her own? One would think, after she graced you with her presence for half the summer, you would be more eager to stay at her side."
Alexander gave his brother a grim look. "You are aware she was there to support you during the tournament."
"For which I am very grateful, but the point stands," Maxwell said.
"If I have to listen to our new Head Boy, Tommy Madison from Hufflepuff, deliver yet another speech about doubling down on our efforts to keep the other students in bed, I fear Tommy will suffer an accident at my hands," Alexander admitted.
Maxwell did not crack a smile, though that did not say much. His brother had never been prone to betraying his feelings. Even as a child, their governesses had complained that even as a mere child, Maxwell was notoriously hard to get the measure of. Though his brother was controlled, and reserved, it was still an image Maxwell fostered when out in public. His younger brother had perfected the art of keeping his face, especially his eyes, completely devoid of any expression, and showing emotions with his mouth in limited measure.
This summer's events had only served to further ferment his brother's already quiet and guarded disposition.
"Why he was chosen for the role is beyond me," Alexander continued. "Madison is as dense as a pixie."
"Perhaps those qualities particularly define him," Maxwell offered helpfully, and Alexander snorted. "It certainly is. Then, Hufflepuff needs to be tossed a bone now and then. They made fourth place in the Quidditch Cup two years in a row."
"My dear brother," Maxwell said, "I will never understand your obsession with that game."
Alexander laughed. "Perhaps you won't. But seeing as I humor and fully support your chosen craft, the least you can do is show interest in mine."
Alexander was just about to reply when the door to the compartment opened, and the old lady with the trolley beamed at both of them.
"Anything from the trolley, my dears?" she asked.
"Some of everything?" Alexander asked smoothly and pulled forth his purse.
"If you eat all that, your broom will no longer carry you," his younger brother warned.
"Which is why I am sure I will be joined in this worthy cause," Alexander smoothly replied.
As it turned out, Maxwell did not need much convincing from that point on until the door regretfully opened again and an ill-tempered blond witch entered.
"Why am I not surprised?" Amalia Malfoy greeted them drily. "You had me sitting in the Prefect's carriage making up excuses for your absence, like some cretin."
"Forgive me, I couldn't bear to listen to the meeting for a moment longer," Alexander offered hopefully. "Besides, what kind of brother would I be if I did not stand by Maxwell in these trying times?"
Amalia only raised an eyebrow. After a long, painful moment, the witch slammed the door shut behind her and dropped down next to Maxwell.
To appease the witch, Alexander tossed her a licorice wand.
"You have guard duty tomorrow night," she finally warned. "With me."
Alexander grinned at the witch and kissed her on the cheek. "There are worse fates."
A small smile curled Amalia's lips, but finally, she turned her attention away from her boyfriend to the younger of the brothers. "Are you holding up okay? The Prophet hasn't been kind."
Maxwell shrugged. "It was only to be expected; they have never been too fond of our family. I have done little to disarm their quills in the past few months."
"One would expect they would be a tad bit more grateful that you brought the Golden Laurels back to England," Alexander agreed. "The past century has been embarrassment after embarrassment. Besides, from what I can tell, it is only the powers that be that hold you in such low regard. I recall ranks of screaming witches and wizards welcoming you back."
Amalia sighed, her eyes finally softening as she looked at Maxwell. "The Prophet is a rag, but people read it. It's all well and good when they write what we want them to, but unfortunately, it is drawn to scandal like a moth to a lamp. The undistinguished reader will believe whatever they read."
"The pendulum can't always swing our way," Maxwell reasoned lightly.
He wasn't wrong, Alexander thought to himself. And he knew that the professors, especially Dumbledore, would be watching them like hawks. With his brother now attending Hogwarts, he would have to limit his usual academic pursuits outside of the classroom.
The countryside sped past the window outside. One by one, the hours of the day lazily crawled by. Even the occasional patrols he and Amalia were sentenced to perform as Prefects did little to break the monotony. Finally, though, the sun began to set, and they changed into their school robes. While Alexander and Amalia wore the colors of their houses, Ravenclaw and Slytherin respectively, Maxwell's were still black. Their father had tried to arrange a private sorting over the summer break, a courtesy they had unfortunately been denied.
As the night grew older, the train at long last began to slow down before finally coming to a screeching halt. "Are you supposed to come with us, or are you...?"
"Maxwell, Alexander," a clear voice finally greeted them, and they turned around to find a well-kept wizard in midnight-blue robes and graying hair approaching them through the pushing and shoving crowds of students. "Amalia," he then greeted the third in their group.
"Professor Dumbledore," Alexander greeted the Charms teacher; the trio quickly turned around to face the approaching wizard. Amalia quietly muttered a greeting under her breath, while Maxwell nodded politely. "Professor," he said quietly.
"Maxwell, as it is your first year at Hogwarts, I would like to invite you to join me and the first years on the boats," the professor offered, though Alexander was sure that while it was phrased as an invitation, there was little room to decline. "Do not fear; you can rejoin your friends later."
"It would be my pleasure," Maxwell replied smoothly, apparently accepting his fate without further argument. "I will catch up with you later."
They looked after him with some trepidation. Then Amalia took his hand, and they headed toward the Thestral-drawn carriages.
"This is going to be a long year," Amalia muttered under her breath.
"On the bright side, Quidditch starts soon," Alexander replied, and Amalia rolled her eyes, despite having joined her own house team as a chaser halfway through the past year. Finally, they found an empty carriage that could take them. They hadn't been afforded much privacy recently, so the ride was a welcome excuse to exchange a few sweet words and private kisses as the castle slowly came into view.
"Can you imagine?" she finally whispered. "Maxwell, stuck in a boat with a bunch of first years?"
"That is pretty funny," Alexander admitted.
The carriage rounded a corner, offering a good view of the distant castle growing closer. "Sometimes, I think we'd learn more useful things if we didn't have to waste time attending classes," Amalia mused, gazing at the castle's distant spires.
Alexander didn't answer, not desiring to once again rehash this old debate that seemed to come up every time they faced the prospect of having to sit in classrooms for extended periods or receiving more than the usual amount of homework. After a few more minutes, the shaky ride finally came to an end, and they joined the crowd of students flowing through the grand double doors into the entrance hall and, finally, into the Great Hall. "See you later," Amalia said and headed over to her own table after squeezing his hand.
"Eh, Alex," a fellow sixth-year greeted him from his left side. "Heard they made you Captain. When are tryouts?" Simon Burns asked.
"I don't know," Alexander replied loudly over the buzz of conversation. Silence slowly fell as the headmaster rose from his chair. Professor Black was an elderly-looking man with a pointed, graying black beard and squinting eyes. He awkwardly made his way around the teacher's table and shuffled over to the podium. "Silence!" he yelled into the already quiet room.
"Ah, yes, good," he then awkwardly muttered when there was no change in the pressing silence, apparently only now realizing he already had everyone's attention. "Everyone, there are a few changes in our plans this year," he began, then shuffled around a few papers on the podium. "Ah, no. First things first, of course. Professor Dumbledore, bring in the new ones... first years, I mean!" he yelled and clapped his hands. The doors swung open, and their Charms teacher led the gaggle of first years in, with Maxwell bringing up the rear of the group.
His younger brother was already tall, to begin with, and his height stood out even more when put in contrast to the group of younger kids leading the way. His face remained as stony and impassive as ever, likely cursing whoever was to blame for the sorting ceremony not taking place in a private venue.
"Before we begin with the sorting, I would like to welcome Maxwell Bay to Hogwarts," the headmaster announced. "He will be joining our ranks as a fifth-year."
The headmaster looked around the room nervously, realizing his eyes were on the young wizard. A few seemed to recognize him from the Prophet, perhaps even from the tournament itself. Especially the female half of the student body, Alexander noted, were eyeing the young wizard with open curiosity. That part had not come as a surprise. How had Amalia put it? Maxwell was as gorgeous as a pristine winter morning. It was, he was sure, why the Prophet, despite the Ministry really not appreciating any sort of dueling, had been so happy to plaster Maxwell's face on articles. He looked good in pictures and made them look good by association.
"Now, attention, please!" the headmaster tried to rein in the crowd's attention, and needed a few more tries to finally do so. He flicked his wand once, and an old stool with an even older-looking wizard's hat appeared next to him.
"You will be called up alphabetically to be sorted into your house. Once you have been sorted, you will take your place at your house's respective table," he announced and unfurled a roll of parchment with a dramatic flourish.
"Castor Amble," he called out dramatically, and the first student clambered onto the raised dais. Pale and clearly anxious, the hat was placed on his head.
After a few moments, the hat shouted out, "Hufflepuff!"
The first year jumped to his feet and almost ran over to his assigned table to polite applause from the crowd. He bit back a grin when he noticed Amalia making a gagging motion. Maxwell was the third to be called up. Unlike those who came before, Maxwell seemed utterly unaware of the countless pairs of eyes staring at him. He slowly, almost casually, walked up to the stool and sat down.
"Ravenclaw!" the hat called out, this time after only a brief moment of deliberation. Alexander grinned to himself as Maxwell stood up, and his robes turned blue and silver—the colors of Ravenclaw. The ghost of a smile appeared on Maxwell's lips, and with unhurried poise, he walked over to the Ravenclaw table to a particularly loud round of applause, especially from his new house. Whether this was due to his status as a niche icon, or his relation to Alexander, was hard to tell.
Regardless, Alexander scooted over to free the seat he had hopefully kept free for his younger sibling, freeing the one he had tentatively reserved. Part of him had feared his brother would be put into Gryffindor. Maxwell's tenacity would have certainly had him in good standing, though he doubted the rowdy group would have been much to his brother's taste. They had a superb Quidditch team, though; that much could not be denied after the pasting his own house had gotten in the deciding game last year. And with Hufflepuff being Hufflepuff, and the Slytherin team in shambles and still trying to recover from several unplanned changes in its roster, not much had stood in its way from winning the Quidditch Cup after that. Slytherin was, of course, a good match, but Ravenclaw, in his opinion, was the perfect outcome.
Maxwell smoothly climbed into the now-vacant spot next to him and offered him the ghost of a smile that didn't reach his eyes before his attention was drawn away again. His housemates eagerly greeted their newest member, and his attention was fully occupied with shaking hands and introductions. A few, he could tell, knew exactly who his brother was. "At least not Hufflepuff," Amalia yelled over from her seat to some laughter from her housemates.
Fortunately for Maxwell, the next student was called up just then, and attention was drawn back to the headmaster. Most of them, at least; Evelyn Peverell, a pretty brunette in her fourth year, seemed to have a hard time taking her eyes off Maxwell.
One by one, the crowd of first years slowly shrank until the last one found her new home in Hufflepuff, filling up the ranks of those who had departed the past year.
The rest of the Sorting Ceremony continued without much fanfare, and Alexander caught himself staring at his brother more than once. Maxwell seemed almost aloof as if the spectacle before him was a curious novelty rather than the introduction to his new life in one of the world's most prestigious magical schools. When the last name was called, and the young witch bounded over to the Gryffindor table, Professor Black took the podium again.
"Yes, yes, huzzah! Excelsior! New ungrateful brats to waste our time with! Oh yes, a few announcements to make. First of all, the Forbidden Forest is as the name would suggest forbidden. Why I must repeat this every year is beyond me but here you go. Stay out of that forest. You have the entire valley to explore but insist on going inside there. Due to organizational considerations on a Ministry level, it is supposedly with great pleasure that I may announce that the postponed Triwizard Tournament will fall on this year," he announced, his tone making it very clear that this was the last thing he wanted. The entire hall exploded into excited conversations.
If Maxwell seemed excited at the prospect of having a chance to partake in another prestigious and potentially hazardous international tournament, he did not show it. Amalia, on the other hand, exchanged that old conspiratorial grin with him that had gotten them into more than one detention over the past few years.
"It is, of course, not recommended that anyone under the fifth year join," he continued, once some semblance of quiet had returned. "All those willing to participate and have any questions may address them to your head of house. Our partner schools, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, will arrive at the end of October, and with their arrival, ceremonies will commence."
"On another note," he continued, as if eager to move past this topic, "the Mayor of Hogsmeade would like to encourage all of you to mind your manners. He does not want a repeat of last year's incidents. If the lot of you can't behave, I will have to restrict visitations to Hogsmeade. A few of you would be well-served by spending more time studying and less poking around in the village anyway. Now, with that out of the way, let the feast begin!"
He clapped once, and a vast feast appeared on the large serving plates in front of them. "This," Maxwell announced, "I could get used to." Amidst a resounding clamor and the clinking of polished silverware being lifted, the student body eagerly commenced their meal.
The feast that followed was nothing short of extravagant, with platters of mouth-watering dishes and delectable desserts stretching as far as the eye could see. As the evening progressed, the initial excitement gradually gave way to contented satisfaction.
"They don't have feasts on Svalbard?" Alexander asked, with some amusement. "Nothing on this scale," Maxwell admitted.
Once second and even third helpings had been devoured, the following stuffed slothfulness began to take hold. "So, you guys going to submit your names?" Ernie Lewis, a Muggle-born Hufflepuff in his third year, finally asked, looking back and forth between the group of guys sitting at their end of the table. It didn't seem to occur to him that the female half of the equation might harbor similar ambitions. He would have bet his wand that Amalia definitely would.
The evening's conversation stayed on the Triwizard Tournament. Even the arrival of the Ghosts, couldn't distract much from the big topic. That, and Quidditch, of course.
Finally, Professor Black rose to the podium and cleared the tables with a nervous clap of his hands. Once again, silence fell. "So, time to call it a night. You may head to your houses. Don't stay up too late; you all have classes tomorrow."
Alexander was grateful that the fifth-year Prefects would be the ones guiding the first years back to their houses and was instantly met by Amalia, who took his hand. "See you tomorrow at Transfiguration?" she asked as they headed out of the hall at the head of the crowd, with Maxwell close on his heels.
"You bet," he replied.
"Good night, Maxwell," she said.
Once they finally parted ways, Maxwell linked up with him. "Perhaps I overstep my bounds, but I am definitely not running after a gang of eleven-year-olds," Maxwell replied, and Alexander shrugged. "I don't really care, to be honest."
They quickened their pace, drawing ahead of the main crowd. With some pride, Alexander led Maxwell through the vast castle, and up seemingly endless flights of stairs, bathed in the flickering light of torches and fire braziers. "I definitely need to show you a few things tomorrow after classes," Alexander declared, glaring at a haggard old wizard in one of the picture frames who was squinting at them with suspicious eyes.
"I am looking forward to it," Maxwell confirmed.
At long last, they reached the top of Ravenclaw Tower, at the top of a set of wooden stairs worn out by generations of students, and in front of a double door adorned with a bronze, eagle-shaped door knocker.
"So this is where the riddle part comes in, I take it?" Maxwell asked. "The one that decides if you get to go to bed or not?"
"Yes," Alexander replied, and knocked once; the voices of his fellow students already beginning to fill the air in the staircase below them.
"I can be cracked, made, told, and played. What am I?" a cool feminine voice asked from thin air.
Alexander thought for a brief moment and then replied, "A joke."
Fortunately, the door swung open, sparing him the embarrassment of having to try again or wait for the crowd to arrive and witness his failure.
As they finally stepped inside, Maxwell's eyes widened subtly, a rare betrayal of his usually impassive face. The room was a masterpiece of elegant austerity and intellectual charm. Alexander had, in fact, renovated his own room back at his family's main residence in England.
Tall, arched windows adorned the circular walls; the midnight sky outside acted as a natural tapestry that captured the wonders of the cosmos. Moonlight flooded through, bathing the room in an ethereal glow that seemed to breathe life into the countless books, star charts, and celestial instruments that littered the room. The air itself, Alexander used to fancy in his first year, felt like it crackled with intellectual energy. It was easy to imagine this place as the birthplace of groundbreaking ideas and profound debates. Or so it should be; reality, unfortunately, had too often proven that the opposite was true all too often.
Tables equipped with inkwells and parchment were positioned throughout the room, attempting in vain to invite scholarly discourse. In reality, of course, it was used for homework at best, and lewd sketches at worst. His favorite part of the common room, though, was a magnificent celestial model hanging from the dome-shaped ceiling. The artisans, clearly masters at their craft, had created a magical re-creation of the universe that rotated ever so gently, its planets and stars moving in a silent but endless celestial dance.
Lest they lose them to someone else, Alexander chose his favorite seat, a small table surrounded by two armchairs close to the windows. Just as they sat down, a noisy crowd of Ravenclaws spilled in through the doorway. "Hey, Alexander, I heard you made Captain," a seventh-year brunette yelled and began to head over to him.
"Don't worry, your place as Seeker is safe," he assured her.
"And you are the little brother I have been hearing so much about," she then greeted his brother.
"Maxwell, this is Fiona Wraithwood. Fiona, this is my brother, Maxwell," he made the introductions.
"I know," she said, grinning. "I watched you this summer; that was some of the best dueling I have ever seen even if the summer ended on a darker note. Really looking forward to the next tournament in nineteen twenty-three."
Maxwell smirked. "Your praise flatters me, Fiona. I take it you will be volunteering for the tournament?"
"Naturally," she replied evenly.