JPATNM ~ Chapter 10: In Which the Potter Curse Befalls Albus

Anger is a killing thing: it kills the man who angers, for each rage leaves him less than he had been before - it takes something from him.

- Louis L’Amour

Chapter 10:

In Which the Potter Curse Befalls Albus

~ Albus ~

It wasn’t easy to tell if there were actual baby dragons in the room, or if it was just the aftermath of trying Uncle George’s new, highly experimental pastilles. Albus decided that was not something he would share in his next letter to his parents. He held on to the wall of the first-years’ bedroom, which consisted only of untidy boys’ beds and trunks open and disheveled, as he willed the room to stop spinning.

He made a mad dash for the bathrooms, where he left everything he had eaten last night. He hoped to feel better now; he had nothing else in his stomach anymore after all. He took his time washing his face and brushing his teeth, hoping the sickly shade of his skin would recede to its average, pale tone.

A new wave of nausea overcame him on his way to the Great Hall and he ran up to the infirmary after all, the easy solution of taking something from Madam Pomfrey becoming more attractive with each passing second. She required nothing to be said, realizing the problem by merely looking at his grimacing face and she motioned him to a bed, hurrying back with a basin and a large bottle with a puke-coloured liquid in it. It didn’t inspire Albus very much. He leaned over the basin.

Once he was a little better to stand upright, Madam Pomfrey gave him two large spoonfuls of the disgusting liquid, that left a bitter taste at the back of Albus’s throat. The nausea receded soon enough though and the boy laid back on the propped pillow in relief.

“Something you ate last night probably didn’t agree with you, Mr. Potter,” she remarked.

Albus nodded. He most certainly wasn’t planning to mention the probable cause of the problem.

“But there is some germ going around, I’ve had other students with similar symptoms in the past week. I don’t think you need to stay here, but take care of your stomach for the next days, no exaggerations in the portions and opt for solid food, bread and such instead of soups.”

Albus nodded.

“Well, you seem well enough to me, all rosy on the cheeks. What are you waiting for? Off you go! Chop chop!” commanded Madam Pomfrey, clapping her hands.

The boy sprang instantly to his feet. “Could you please give me a note? For my absence?”

“Why, I can, but I don’t think you will need it.” Albus looked at her perplexed. “The snowstorm last night covered everything, reaching up to the middle of the castle’s main gate; even poor Hagrid can’t get through. The Headmistress canceled all classes for the day.”

That explains why Rose didn’t wake me up, he realised. He walked over to the windows of the infirmary, taking in the changed landscape. White stretched on beyond the windows of the Hospital Wing, the snow-covered ground looking far closer than it should from the first floor of the castle. The Lake had a thin layer of ice laced over it, turning it more grey than black.

When he turned around, the school’s matron had retreated to the nurses’ office and so Albus left quietly. Feeling much better, he turned to the Great Hall, which was still crowded with a few slow eating students, and in relief saw that the Slytherin table still had some of his favorite lemon tarts piled on an elaborate tray.

He slid down quietly in front of an unused dish and silverware and collected a few desired treats in front of him. Farther down his table the Zabini sisters had a heated disagreement about something that was related to their mother’s favourite daughter. Evannina Luppet, the petite Slytherin with the ebony black hair picked up a cupcake decorated with a spiderweb made of chocolate and chuckled to herself as she watched the girls fight.

It took Albus a while to realize that only two seats farther down sat Malfoy, alone this time, his eyes flinging past the pages of a book as he took careless bites of a red apple.

Albus didn’t like Malfoy particularly much. It had nothing to do with the fact that he came from that certain family and that their parents had been enemies at school. He was too strange, that was part of the problem. It was simply unfathomable for a boy their age to be so diligent with school work without ever missing a thing - even Rose did miss a thing, or even more, in Astronomy which was her least liked class. He never seemed like he enjoyed himself, didn’t even make an effort to laugh, not even a fake chuckle. How could that be?

Besides, Albus had more reason find him dislikeable. Rose had deemed him her nemesis and it wouldn’t be proper to like your cousin’s nemesis and even without this taken in mind, he had the creeping suspicion that Scorpius was somehow changing Rose. It didn’t matter there was no immediate interaction between the two; they had an effect on each other, bringing out the worst of each.

In the last few months Rose’s ego had returned to normal, the hurt of being sorted to Slytherin fading to nothing now that they had found company in first years of other Houses and had all of the Weasley family to back them up if needed. But still, her reactions to other Slytherins were… worrisome. It had even crossed his mind to write to Aunt Hermione someday. She and Rose were closest than Rose and her dad, so Rose would listen to her mother. She was being mean to the Slytherins, sometimes with no real excuse for her actions. She was a talented witch, of course, and to some extent all that extra spellcasting was great practice, but Albus thought she was taking it too far. Even Malfoy, who was from a family of foul players hadn’t revealed such tricks, not yet at least.

He took another lemon tart from the tray. It would be better to wait until Christmas and see how it goes.

Albus felt eyes pinned on him and with good reason. Scorpius was staring at him.

“Do you need something, Potter?”

He realized he had been staring at Scorpius’s book. It was the second of Al’s beloved series, The Adventures of Silvio Tizzle. “That’s a good book,” he said. “Although it gets more interesting after the third.”

Scorpius’s look seemed to soften a little. “It’s not half as bad as I expected. A good read during breakfast. It’s not mine,” he hurried to add. “Opal had it lying on his end table and I borrowed it.”

“Have you read the first?”

Scorpius shook his head. “I didn’t even know it was a series, I just took it to keep myself busy. Classes are cancelled, but there’s no way to get out of the castle with so much snow.”

“If you’re interested, I can lend it to you.”

Scorpius stopped for a second, taken aback. He must be wondering if I want something from him. Albus also wondered why in the world he was making small talk with the Bleached Cootie. “That would be interesting,” he agreed.

Albus retreated to his shell after that, munching down his lemon tart awkwardly. A thought lingered in his mind, to say something more. He did want something from Scorpius after all. “Could you… do you think you could stay away from Rose? Not provoke her so blatantly?”

“I provoke her?” Scorpius shot back in disbelief. Albus knew that it was more like the other way around, but it was not in his best interest to agree with Malfoy at that moment.

“Yes, with showing off your knowledge. You make her act mean, in a way she doesn’t around others.”

Scorpius’s eyes narrowed. It was obvious that whatever little gap might have begun to be bridged amongst the two boys, was crumbling again. “Well, that is not my problem then.”

“I think it will become though.”

“Are you threatening me, Potter?”

“No, not at all. All I am saying is, you and Rose are probably the brightest students  of your year, whether you like it or not. But if you compete so much with each other, placing pins on each other’s chair and shooting hexes amongst yourselves, it won’t make a good impression. If this keeps up, it will intensify, and the professors will start to notice and take points off our House, because of her and because of you. I just want you to think if it is worth ridiculing Slytherin for your personal vendeta.” Albus was impressed with himself and how nicely he presented his arguments. He had to admit he didn’t care much about the points Slytherin was going to earn or lose, if they would get the Cup at the end of the year and all that, but he knew he had spoken in a language that made sense to Scorpius.

Scorpius let out an exasperated breath. “Very well. I will ponder on it. But you already know that half of this is your cousin’s doing. She is the one always on offense and keeping my mouth shut won’t do much good on its own. And I do not plan to keep my mouth shut so she can look smarter and get a boost of her ego.”

Albus nodded. “I will talk to her. But if she listens, I expect you to keep your end of the deal.”

“You have my word. If she plays fair, so will I.” He even extended a hand over the empty space between them on the bench and Albus took it. It was an agreement between gentlemen and somehow he had a feeling that Scorpius had meant it.

* * * * *

Days passed and the last exams of the winter semester were ancient history, Rose began to mellow down, more occupied by making plans for Christmas vacation than bothering with Slytherins - even the particular Slytherin she had sorted out.

Albus had been glad about it and decided to postpone giving Rosie a lecture as he planned. He didn’t need much convincing to decide that either; he hated fighting with her.

He was also glad the exams were over. Studying had been something out of a nightmare to him; not always because of the load of information he had to comprehend and memorise, but because of the letters.

At first he had thought of course, that James, who was acting more brotherly towards him, had finally given in to giving him the prank of his life and had enchanted the pages of his books. But it happened everywhere. Rose’s notes, the blackboards, the school announcement. Always the same thing, the letters danced before his eyes like a Gringotts goblin at the side of the rainbow. He squinted and rubbed his temples and the letters stayed put, but only for a while before the dancing began again.

In the last session of Firsties Quidditch, as Professor Bazel’s extracurricular activity had been nicknamed, three catchers had been set before each team’s rings and a chaser had been asked to aim each time at a different, specific catcher. For some reason, Albus had confused Felix with Ben and aimed the wrong person. He honestly could not tell them apart at that moment. It had been especially embarrassing because some of the other years’ Quidditch players had come to watch, see what this Firsties Quidditch was about. He wished no one had seen his goof, but he was sure everyone had. Just the thought made him red as a beetroot.

“What’s gotten into you lately?” Rosie asked one day, when they went to the Owlery. They reached the last floor, where Albus’s owl liked to nest and they were welcomed by the scent of hay and dew.

“Gotten into me?”

“You are clumsy, stumbling all over the place. Just climbing up here you did it three times.”

“Yes, the stairs are terrible here. Splinters and nails are jutting out of everywhere, it’s only normal that I do!”

“But you have eyes, same as I do, to dodge them. And besides, that’s not the only thing. You have had more headaches than I could bother to count. It looks like the Hospital Wing is your favourite hangout. If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you have a thing for older women.”

Albus’s eyes widened, offended by the implication. “I don’t like Poppy Pomfrey!” he said, suddenly glad there was none other than the rousing owls around to hear his outburst.

“Well, of course you don’t,” Rose agreed. “My point is, that you are being strange.”

“I believe I might be allergic to reading.” Albus was quite frank as he said that.

A small pout showed on her lip, her hand on her hip. “I highly doubt that. You’re reading your Silvio Trizzle book just fine.”

“Not really. The headaches are getting really bad. Teddy sent me the new novel with Mouse, but I haven’t gotten past the middle.” That was what frustrated him more than being unable to study for the exams.

“Whoa, that sounds bad. There has been no Silvio Trizzle book you haven’t read in more than three days.” Albus nodded. “It might be something serious, Albus.”

“I think it’ll pass. The letters can’t keep dancing forever.”

“Dancing letters?” A wave of relief rolled over Rose. “That’s it, Al! You should have said so sooner!”

“Said what? Rose, you’re making no sense.”

“It actually is your eyes. I believe you’re taking after your Dad!” she said it with excitement, which Albus had hoped was merely the excitement of the discovery. Because he absolutely did not like where this was going.

“You’re not saying that…”

“I’m saying, that you probably need to get a pair of glasses.”

Albus lingered at the Owlery for a while longer, busying his mind with feeding his owl some treats. She probed with her beak against his fingers, for him to loosen his clutch to the paper bag and gobbled them down greedily. Observing her, a name came to him. “Octavia,” he murmured.

“What?” Mitchell Opal, the neatest Slytherin of the last decade stood behind him, as he sent one of the school’s owls off with a letter.

Albus was taken aback; he didn’t know since how long his classmate was there. “Um… Does she look like an Octavia to you?” he asked.

Opal shrugged, brushing off any possible feathers from his cloak. “I’m not sure what an Octavia would look like… But maybe yes.”

He nodded. “I think she does. It’s a good name for her.”

* * * * *

After that recent discovery, the upcoming Christmas break was looming over Albus like an angry raincloud. He dreaded the mere thought of going home. Why you may ask? That was quite clear. Once he went home, he would have to buy a pair of glasses.

There was nothing in the world - with the sole exception perhaps of History of Magic - that Albus hated more in the world than glasses. He didn’t like how they looked on his face and he didn’t like the teasing that followed glasses bearers. Four eyes, squint, nerd and all the rest that followed suit.

He meant to keep it a secret for as long as he could stand it, postpone the humiliation until it was a necessity. Rose, however, whom he hadn’t shared that thought, had already written to her parents about it in a letter, who in turn had told the Potters, who had sent a letter assuring him that they would get him a pair first thing they did when he returned to London.

In the meantime, he stumbled all over the school, on armors’ weapons, uneven stones in the hallways and more, confused the quantity of potions ingredients with colorful results and skipped buttons on his shirt more often than not.

“Everything okay, Al?” Neville asked once, when Albus was the last to come out of Glasshouse No. 3.

“Yeah, I’m good, Professor Longbottom.” He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling tired.

“Neville. Please, it’s the last week before Christmas break. I’m your family friend now, who is coming for dinner next week at home. So will you tell me what is worrying you?”

Albus shook his head. He did not want to share the ridiculing fact even a second before necessary.

“Is it about a Slytherin? Are you having problems with your classmates?”

He shook his head again. “No, nothing of this sort.”

“Everything okay with James? I heard you had some issues at the beginning of the year. You’ve been getting along suspiciously well so far,” he said with a knowing smile.

“I have to admit I’m equally surprised. But James has been perfect.”

“Then? It can’t be so bad, whatever it is.”

Albus thought about it. Compared to the things Neville had imagined, perhaps it really wasn’t that much of a big deal. He leaned in, double checking no one was close to them. “Do you promise to keep it secret?”

“Of course. Unless it involves some shady business going on in the school. Then I would be obliged to report it to the Headmistress.”

Albus shook his head once more. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just that… I need glasses. We’ll go get a pair once I’m home for Christmas. But I hate glasses.”

A mixture of expressions overcame Neville’s face, each succeeding the previous in a surprising speed. He looked like he was about to laugh, but of course he wouldn’t, glasses were not a laughing matter, and then he frowned, looking solemn, and cleared his throat. “Well, Albus, you need to take care of your eyes. You do more damage to them by not wearing any.”

“I know…” Albus agreed. He might hate the idea, but he could not deny that. “But… Glasses are a reason to be teased. And… Dad wears glasses. I look so much like him, that’s what Mum always says. So if I also wear glasses, people will see more of this, and then remember I was sorted into Slytherin and am nothing like the Great Harry Potter.”

Neville sighed. He brought his wand out and summoned two chairs, in the warmth of Glasshouse No. 3 and led Albus back inside. “I think, my boy, that you’re thinking about this all wrong. Whoever said that you are nothing like Harry Potter, and whoever cared even if you’re not? You are your own person and don’t need to be like your father to be great.”

“But those people in the Daily Prophet… they had a whole front page about me not being a Gryffindor. Said that Dad might have passed me a bit of… Voldemort.” He whispered the word, the meaning even scarier than glasses.

Neville rolled his eyes, unable to hold it in any longer. “Albus, let me get this straight. A bunch of journalists who have never met you say a bunch of nonsense about your Dad passing, in some impossible way, some piece of Voldemort to you, and you pay attention to what they say? Because I think that is all boggus.”

“Boggus?” Al repeated, surprised by the childish word Neville chose to use.

“Yes, boggus. Absolutely and completely boggus. Nothing about that article made any sense. Besides, what about Rose? She was also sorted in Slytherin.”

The boy shrugged. “I never thought about that.”

“Well, I did. So I tell you that article was nonsense. The Hat chose to place you in Slytherin, for reasons that transcend both you and me. Did you know that I always expected I’d be sorted into Hufflepuff?”

“Really?”

“Well, I was just a plump, shy boy, full of angst and awkwardness. I never thought I was Gryffindor material like my parents. Even my Grandma did not believe I had any hopes of that. But that’s what the Hat chose, because it saw something that me and everyone around me couldn’t.”

“I wonder what it saw in me and Rose that made us Slytherin. Are just this evil?”

“Evil? I doubt it. But I think that I can see that shine of ambition in Rose’s eyes. Maybe that’s what caused it.”

“What about me? Because I’m not nearly as ambitious as she is.”

Neville paused. He realized that this pep talk could easily come to slap him in the face, making things worse than they were before he said anything. “Time will show us, right? I didn’t feel brave enough until my fifth year to prove to myself that maybe Gryffindor was the place I should be.”

Al gave him a weak smile. “Thanks, Neville. I think I am feeling a little better. Grandma Molly always says that sometimes others help you look at a situation with brand new eyes.”

“I’m glad I helped.”

“But I still find glasses terrible. I don’t think anyone can convince me otherwise.”

Neville chucked. “Oh, I bet you will find a pair to your liking. You can’t hate them all.”

“Yeah, an invisible one!” Albus said, sticking his tongue out. “I’ve gotta go, I’m late for my next class,” he said, hopping on his feet by the open door.

“Wait, wait. Give me a piece of parchment. I’ll write a note, saying I held you up.”

“Thanks. That would be great,” he agreed.

Little did Albus know what would follow in only a few hours from then. On their way to Transfigurations, Rose made speculations about her grades on the exam; even though she would know her actual grade in only a few minutes. Professor Bedelin, with her kind face and peppy attitude, handed out the corrected test sheets, giving congratulations to the students with good grades and encouraging words to those who didn’t do as well. Albus got an A-, he gloated over it, drinking in the sight for as long as he could before the A began to dance before his eyes. He was exceptionally proud of it, since Aunt Hermione always said how Transfigurations were always considered.

“Well done, Rose, you got an A!” Professor Bedelin said as she handed over the paper. Rose looked satisfied enough.

“My, Scorpius, you gave me quite a surprise, analyzing the different variations of materials from the same spell. We only examined turning the rats to wooden sticks in class after all.” Scorpius took the test, and nodded, in his usual, courteous way. The damage had been already done though. Rose had heard the compliments, and the A++ on his paper was obvious. The demon named jealousy was already making its appearance.

Albus thought they were past the thickest of it, as his cousin did nothing during class. It was only until Scorpius stood up that what she had done was made obvious. Malfoy stood up and his legs folded back together, making him drop like a sack of potatoes. A few Ravenclaws who were left in the room chuckled as they took their leave. Albus wondered if he should go help Scorpius up. He didn’t know what kind of limb-numbing curse Rose had used, nor how to undo it. And Malfoy didn’t hang out with him. He probably wouldn’t like a Potter as himself walking up to him.

He gave an apologetic glance and moved out of the classroom with Rose.

“I think you are taking it a bit too far. What did you do that for?” he said in a low voice.

“Don’t tell me you feel sorry for Malfoy! That bleached cootie had it coming!”

“Because he knew more about this than you and got a better grade?” Albus demanded. “You are starting to sound quite absurd.”

Rose fell quiet. “I am not enjoying this as much as you might think,” Rose whispered. “I am doing it to protect us.”

“Protect us from what?”

“From all of them. They are bullies. They will isolate us we let them. I need to show them they can’t mess with us.”

Albus frowned. “You’ve done that alright. I think there isn’t a single first year in Hogwarts willing to test you, Rose Weasley the Hexing Witch. Now is the right time to stop, because if you keep this up, at the end of the day, you won’t be any different than them.”

Rose picked up her pace towards their next class. Her face was flushed, but Albus didn’t know if it was what he had said or her almost sprinting through the castle that was at fault. He took his seat in their usual bench in potions, across from Evannina Luppet and Mitchell Opal. Opal was the most entertaining person to watch during potions, paying more attention to not sprinkle anything on his cloak more than to his brewing potion.

He proceeded to mixing his ingredients with a burden off his shoulders, having spoken to Rose. Of course she had said nothing yet, but Albus recognized his cousin’s regretful expression when he saw it. Rose made no pleasant chitchat as she worked on her own potion, but he knew better than to push her. She wasn’t appreciating the lecture at that moment, but she would be fine in two days’ time tops.

Indeed, he was proven right about his cousin, who began having a more level-headed reaction to Slytherins, although struggling somewhat to escape the habit of jinxing them just for breathing the same air as her. The problem was another person, a factor he had not anticipated.

His beautiful Octavia made her descent to him on his last Sunday before the holidays, as he played snowball fight with a few other first years; a version of snowball fight with a magical twist of course. She landed on the lowest branch of a tree that Albus had been using for cover, demanding her owner’s attention. There were two letters on her legs, one from Mum, and one unsigned.

He collected them both, glancing at his Mum’s rounded handwriting first, telling him the details of when she would pick him and James up from Kings Cross Station. He shoved it in his pocket, and seeing no one was trying to throw snowballs at his direction, he opened the other folder. A small piece of parchment was inside, the kind he used for his assignments.

You are untrustworthy Potter. I should have expected you wouldn't honour our deal. You never even spoke to her, did you?

Pardon my using your owl to send this; there's no way I want mine to do it and people associating me with a person as yourself.

-SM

Albus felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. It didn’t matter that he spoke to Rosie, because when he did, it was already too late. Malfoy had been laughed at for a day or so after the incident of his inexplicably wobbly legs and he wouldn’t forget it anytime soon. He glanced at the Owlery for a brief second. He thought he saw a flash of blond at the window of the tower.