JPATNM ~ Chapter 7: In Which Peeves and Magical Bugs Are In The Limelight

When trouble comes, it’s your family that supports you.

- Guy Lafleur

Chapter 7:

In Which Peeves and Magical Bugs Are In The Limelight

~ Albus ~

A week dressed in doom and gloom greeted Hogwarts as September progressed. The students of all Houses other than Slytherin walked to the Great Hakim stuck dazed with sleep as the morning sunlight never entered their dormitory windows. The loudest and merrier group was by far the Slytherins - accustomed to the green flames burning peacefully in their common room and nothing but a dim got from the Dark Lake ominously illuminating their friends’ faces.

Albus Potter, as any other student who had ever been sorted to Slytherin, found the eerie atmosphere finally growing on him. He had to admit it wasn’t too horrible - Grimmauld Place was after all quite bleak most of the year, no matter what mother had attempted to do to make it warm and homey. What else could be expected by a Victorian age house of a rich pure-blood family of wizards in the heart of London? Besides, staring at the creatures swimming through the waters of the lake were a fascinating sight to see every morning.

Rose had her nose buried in Charms for “Beginners - Grade 1”, revising the few lines she hadn’t already committed to her memory.

The cheery conversations amongst students paused and were replaced by a shy Hufflepuff’s shrieks, as she fell prey to Peeves’s latest, foul-tasting trick.

“Good morning, Peeves!” Scorpius Malfoy breezed by the ghostly trickster, as the Hufflepuff ran off. His keen eyes were always wary of any more aces hidden up Peeves’s sleeve.

“And a very good morning to you, Mr. Malfoy,” Peeves retorted courteously in return, tipping his pointed hat to Malfoy. Peeves snickered and slithered through a wall, but not before sticking a poster saying “Support the House Elves, Support S.P.E.W.!” on Malfoy’s back.

Albus and Rose managed to exchange a knowing look and a chuckle before the blond wizard, before the thought crossed his mind. Making a grimace of annoyance, he ripped off the paper, crumbled it into a ball, and hid it in his robes. The two cousins sighed in disappointment. That Malfoy had proven to be very intelligent. It would have been fun if he had let the flier there for a while.

“I wonder why he thinks he can win over Peeves with flattery. No one ever won over Peeves,” Rose said matter-of-factly.

“But uncle George and uncle Fred did,” Albus disagreed.

“Good point.”

“Oh, did Potty Potty Jr. make a good point?” Peeves sing-sung as he floated out of the stone walls and into the two students’ faces.

“Get lost, Peeves!” Rose snapped at him.

“And here’s Miss Graney-redhead, playing all high and mighty. A brave one, are you?” Rose’s eyes turned into two thin slits. “Apparently not enough for a Gryffindor!” He cackled at his own remark, satisfied with how easily he had angered the girl.

“What about you, Peeves?” Albus asked. “You’re not brave enough to stay back and deal with the consequences of your pranks, and you’re not ambitious enough to ever try anything bigger! What House were you in then?!”

“Not b-brave enough? Not ambitious? I’ll show you something big, Potty Jr!” he exclaimed, as a gigantic bucket of ink materialized overhead.

At that moment, Albus regretted ever bothering to open his big mouth and try to make a fool of Peeves, but even more, he regretted not having studied ahead in spells like Rose had to magically get himself out of that situation. All he could hope for was a miracle, when something tugged the back of his shirt and sent him flying to the end of the hall, Rose landing on top of his stomach, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He rolled over, struggling for a breath while an argument he couldn’t pay attention to took place ahead.

“Sorry, Al,” Rose said, touching his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to fall on top of you, I’m not sure what happened.”

“Did… you do it?” he asked, between panting breaths.

Rose shook her head. “Must have been James’s doing.”

“James?” Albus asked surprised. He found the person he least expected to see there, standing in front of Peeves with the most confident stance, yelling his lungs at the ghost. The bucket hung overturned still in the air, dripping ink here and there as a large puddle of black spread across the corridor from the cracks in the stone.

“Now get lost and don’t bother Al again or I’ll come for you!” Peeves disappeared at the threat, although Albus could not realize what a second-year student could possibly do to a ghost that would make him run. That was besides the point after all; what was important was that James had stood up for him. After all that teasing and mocking and… well, the punch Albus had landed on James’s face, his older brother defended him.

“Wow, I did throw you a long distance after all!” James said, admiring it as if it was a commendable feat.

“Yes, James, you did,” Rose snarled disapprovingly. “It’s a sad thing for a student your age to not be able to control a simple flinging spell more.”

“Rosie, don’t get all know-it-all on me. I saved you from an inkbath and you know it.” James grinned impishly and checked nervously right and left. “Let’s get out of here, before Crubbs shows up and blames me for the ink!” He sprinted off towards the Great Hall and realizing that they might be blamed for it as well, Albus and Rose followed suit.

“Wait, wait, James!” yelled Rose.

“What?!” demanded her cousin, coming to a halt. “Clean up your shoes. You’re leaving a trail!” James checked his soles. They were indeed soaked in ink. “Oh, you’re so slow! Let me do it,” she said and impatiently murmured the incantation of a cleaning spell.

“You’re an angel with freckles,” James said and continued running, leaving Rose wondering if if she should appreciate the compliment or get offended about the freckle comment.

Albus remained quiet and in deep consideration he took his seat at the edge of the Slytherin table. He picked on some of his food, mostly tossing it around its plate and paying little mind to the crunchy bacon the kitchens’ house elves had gone in so much trouble to cook.

“You’re drooling, Potter. Daydreaming what it’s at the Gryffindor table?” Evannina Luppet shot at Albus, her amber eyes turning to thin slits, very similar to a snake. With her ebony black hair and her piercing gaze, she must be the single most remarkable first year of their House after Rose, whose orange, bushy curls stood out from miles away. She was quite like a typical example of what one might expect of a Slytherin.

“No, I was wondering what kind of slithering creature crawled over your nose to make such a big pimple appear. I’d get that looked if I were you,” Albus retorted, a little bit of James’s harsh prankster side coming to him. There was of course no pimple on Evannina’s face, but she didn’t know that, and blushing crimson she looked down, combing through her hair indifferently, as she tried to hide her nose with it.

“Did you and James switch brains or something?” Rose asked, snickering over her book, but shooting a sorry look at Evannina. “She was kind of harsh with you though, so she had it coming.”

“She had…”

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t figure out what was going through James’s mind. He hasn’t spoken for a week and now he storms at Peeves, scaring him away in the fanciest manner to defend me.”

“Maybe he feels bad about the train?”

“He could… did you notice that his knuckles were bruised? Who could he have fought with? Those Slytherins that chased after him mustn’t have bothered him, I haven’t heard anything.” Albus’s gaze traveled to the Gryffindor table, noticing melancholically all the familiar heads of his extended family, chatting merrily, pointing at each other with spoons and bread loafs coated in jam and making jokes to each other. He saw Roxanne jumping over from the Ravenclaw table, looking offended, smacking her twin brother straight in the back of his head and going back to her friends. As Fred turned to glance at her though, scratching his head, Albus felt quite shocked. “Hey, look how banged up Freddie looks,” he said, nudging his cousin.

Rose’s eyes traveled across the table as well, noticing something even more peculiar. “James is sitting between the first and the second years. Why is he so far away from Fred?”

Simultaneously the two of them reached the same shocking conclusion. “James and Fred had a fight!” That explained both James’s hands and Fred’s face.

“That’s practically impossible. I can’t find a reason for them to fight. None of them takes each others’ jokes seriously after all,” stated Rosie, perplexed at the riddle in front of them. She could not think of a single reason for them to fight so badly. “Go and find James after breakfast.”

“What? Why?” asked Albus, still somewhat reluctant to talk to his brother, half expecting another Slytherin joke.

“Because he’s your brother and you need to make up! And to learn what happened between him and Fred!”

“You’re such a nosy little thing sometimes, Rose Weasley,” Albus huffed in defeat.

* * * * *

First period was Herbology, and Professor Longbottom was very lenient on tardiness, so that was the perfect opportunity to find his brother. He hurried after him, James’s robes waving behind him as he took a turn towards the exit of the castle to the back courtyard, leading to a classroom still unknown to Albus.

Huffing and puffing, the young boy placed a heavy arm on his brother’s shoulder, finally reaching him. “You walk too fast,” he complained, while James looked at him perplexed.

James straightened his body and cleared his throat, trying not to look as nervous as he was. “What’s up?”

Albus fiddled with the sleeve of his cloak, still too long for his arms - but he would be thankful once he grew into it later, according to his mother - unsure of what he wanted to say in the first place. He thought he wanted to thank James. Or maybe apologize. Or… ask about Freddie as Rose wanted.

“Hey, I’m sorry about the other day,” James said first, “I was really nasty at you. And since you actually were sorted in…”

“The most disliked House in Hogwarts?” Albus helped, half-heartedly.

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“But you thought it.”

“Maybe a little… at first. I went to speak to DeMolay, you know. She said you and Rose asked to stay?”

The little Potter shrugged. “It wouldn’t be fair, to ask Dad to make DeMolay switch us.” I don’t even know if he had the authority to do that, Albus thought silently to himself. “For everybody else who didn’t like their sorting.”

“But didn’t you tell the Sorting Hat you didn’t want to be Slytherin? Wasn’t that story Dad used to say true, about the Hat debating where to sort him and that his opinion mattered in the end?” James seemed outraged, his passion about opposing to his brothers sorting being brought back to life in such a little moment.

“I didn’t get a say. I was too anxious, but honestly, it felt like the hat had barely touched the hairs of my head when it sorted me.” James’s dark eyes sparkled in bewilderment, as if his mind was running through all kinds of ideas to fix the problem at hand. And Albus felt badly about trying to say he was starting to get over it, and that he would like to try dealing with the Slytherins after all. “But, what’s done is done, the sorting is what it is, and I am a Slytherin. Our common room is interesting. We have a view of the Dark Lake.”

Successful to his goal, he drew James’s attention to something new; it was obvious from the gleam of his eyes. “And the Giant Squid? Have you seen the Giant Squid?”

“I thought I saw a tentacle once. But I’m not sure.”

“Bugger!” James frowned upon himself, thoughtful. “I really wanted to show you the Gryffindor common room. You might not believe me, but I was thinking about it all summer.”

“It is a bit difficult to believe,” Albus agreed. “And speaking of difficult to believe… what did you fight with Freddie for?” There, I said it. Are you happy, Rosie?

“What makes you think we fought?” The motion of James’s shoulders lifting, hiding his praised hands under his own, still somewhat long sleeves didn’t go unnoticed.

“Because I can tell. So spill otherwise I’ll write Mom about it.”

James’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t! And she might already know…”

“What? How?” Albus shook his head. “Anyway, that is besides the point! Tell me because we both have classes to go to.”

James’s eyes widened, and right on que, the huge clock from the western courtyard stroke. “Oh, that’s it, Cemola’s going to hang me and torture me for everyone to see. I’ll see you later, Al!” he called over his shoulder, a tangled mess of black fabric and messy dark hair and his leather bag dangling on his side.

* * * * *

Of course, Albus was also late, but he got away with a mere, “Mr. Potter, class has already begun,” from Professor Longbottom as he slipped to the back of the Glasshouse, where Rose was waiting for him. She seemed bewildered for not standing at the front of the class as she usually did, but she didn’t want to draw attention to Albus’s absence.

“So?” Rose whispered eagerly.

“Nosy,” Albus shot back.

“Will you tell me? I’ve eaten out my nails waiting for you!” she complained.

“He didn’t tell me. Said something about the D.A.D.A. professor hanging him and ran off.”

“He’s avoiding the subject,” Rose said with certainty.

Albus shrugged. “Maybe. But he didn’t deny he fought with Fred. He looked honestly terrified.”

Rose nodded, her fluffy hair bobbing up and down in agreement. “Orianna Cemola is a force to reckon with. Your Dad had worked with her before she left the Auror Force, remember? He said she was terrifying. And she never appreciate any kind of humor.”

Albus shut his eyes closed, indeed scared of his brother’s fate. In that case, it was a miracle that James had survived the first year intact.

“Please, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter, concentrate in the class. The Drachonychus is a very typical pest and an enemy to all magical herbs, it will be very useful for you to be able to recognize it for Herbology in all the years to come,” Professor Longbottom said, half pleading, hoping to draw the attention of the two Slytherins he was was counting on to keep the lesson going.

The two cousins mumbled an apology, which was truer for Albus than for Rose, who grinned mischievously, in a way which might have made the curls of Hermione Granger curl even more than normally. They got the hint though, and slowly slipped between more indifferent students until they were at the front of the counter where their Herbology professor stood. On top of the Passiflora …, the magical vine they had learned about last week, crawled more than a dozen critters, all of them bright purple, with eight thin legs that ended in a curled claw, having long, fleshy tails and dragon-like wings folded on their backs.

“As you can see, they do resemble little dragons to some extent, therefore the name. Don’t be fooled though, they don’t breathe fire, and their wings aren’t used for flight. They weave very delicate webs, thinner than the ones of spiders, and with a tongue which you won’t be able to see without a magnifier they drain the plants of their fluids. It is disastrous when growing herbs to remove their extracts, but also for other uses, because plants with too many Drachonychus on them will wither and die.

“Both the Drachonychus claws, as well as their otherwise useless wings can be used as potions ingredients, and are also rather pricey.

“Your assignment for today is to get a bottle from those shelves by the entrance and collect as many Drachonychus as you can, hopefully to clear the whole Glasshouse of them. You’ll get additional credit if you collect more than ten, and the one with the most can make a request of any kind regarding the class. Well, almost, any kind,” he added. “Don’t ask for the impossible and expect me to oblige. You may start.

“Oh, and I forgot to say, there is a drawer over here with tweezers for the squeamish who don’t want to touch them with their hands. And they don’t drink human fluids, only the ones of plants, so worry not, they can’t hurt you!”

The students had already begun to get their bottles before Neville had finished giving instructions, but he didn’t seem discouraged. He knew that the extra credit and the request of almost any kind were enough motive for the young, ambitious Slytherins. He was glad he had thought of a way to outsmart the cunning, little people, encouraging them to learn something in the process. It had worked wonders for him for the past three years.

Rose’s competitive nature was taking over, her eyes flaming at the prospect of requesting an extra class on the field, wandering around the forbidden forest and being taught about the native species. Albus, although without any knowledge of Rose’s secret request, felt her excitement being contagious, although no request had come yet to his mind.

Instead of running after the curly head of his cousin, he chose to go to the other way of the Glasshouse, where her hands couldn’t reach and collect in a matter of seconds everything in sight. Rose was quite the champion at collecting bugs around the Burrow in the summers they spent at their grandparents’ houses, much to their grandmother’s dismay. As much as Molly Weasley was glad to see her grandchildren happily spending time at her home, she loathed that time of the day Rose would merrily go and discover the most impressive bugs, and bring them in the house to show them to her.

Reminiscing on those summers and Grandma Molly’s shocked yelps, Albus collected easily the Drachonychus from the almost dead plants on the counter in front of him. He did his best not to laugh, or even as much as chuckle at the Slytherin girls who cowered and in groups of two and three, towered over a single bug, the bravest one poking it with the pincher before the rest let out a cry of disgust. He wasn’t used in such ridiculous displays of repulsion towards bugs, having grown up between Rose, the bug collector, and Lily Luna, his baby sister who at some point couldn’t go to bed without the wiggling foot of a salamander in her little palm.

He was well over twenty five Drachonychuses by the time the clock struck 10. “Alright, everyone, cork your bottles show me what you got on your way out.”

The students formed a cheerful line, comparing their collections and the most confident ones revealing the request they would like to make if they had the most. Rose found Albus and went to stand next to him. “How many have you got?” he asked.

“Twenty five!” she said proudly. “It seems I had collected all of them from my side, but Neville spoke before I could clear the rest of the Greenhouse,” she said in genuine disappointment.

“You should leave something for common mortals as well, Rose, not all of us have your speed.” Albus thought he also had the same number of bugs. Whose request would Neville accept in case of a tie? He struggled to think of a request regarding Herbology, but came up with nothing. The class was indifferent to him; not unpleasant, but not his downright favourite subject either, so getting extra credit was more than enough for him. As Rose stretched on her toes to see how many bugs the rest of their classmates had, Albus leaned to one side, hiding his bottle beneath his loose sleeve as he let a single Drachonychus escape into the greenhouse.

Eventually their turn came. “Albus, you almost had it, but it seems like Rose has one more bug than you do,” Professor Longbottom said pleasantly, as he attached a label on each bottle tagged with their name and the number of magical bugs collected. Rose was radiant with pride and Al felt glad he had gotten rid of the extra insect. They stepped aside as Scorpius and a few more students remained. His cousin’s confidence increased with each student who did not pass her record of twenty five.

Little did she expect she would lose to the washed out Malfoy, who breezed by them in his regal, little way, pressing his bottle to the desk with a light clang. “Seems like we have a winner,” the professor announced, after a short pause. Rose inched closer, expecting to be asked to approach, but the moment never came. “Mr. Malfoy collected the most Drachonychus, with a count of… twenty six.”

Albus felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. Rose lost to Malfoy… but if he had given her that spare bug, instead of wasting it away, she would have tied with him… But no, Rose would not have accepted it. She may not have that tendency to follow the rules as strictly as her mother, but still, her sense of fairness was too strong to cheat like that. Briefly Albus wondered if Malfoy’s friends had given him extras so he could beat Rose. It was plausible, but he had no proof.

“So what would you like to request?”

“It might not be possible…” Malfoy started, somewhat hesitantly. Many Slytherins’ eyes gleamed with false hope of requesting something such as not having Herbology again for the rest of the year. “I’d like us to have one class on the field.”

“The field?” The professor repeated perplexed.

“Yes, to take a walk around… well, preferably the Forbidden Forest, and you could show us this and that and tell us the names and properties of different plants. It would be very educational. But, of course the Forest is not a suitable place for first year students, so perhaps its fringes or the way to Hogsmeade would suffice?” He said it in a suggesting tone, but there was some kind of authority in it, in the way Albus had never seen an eleven year old speak before. Something suddenly came in the center of Al’s vision, and he realised it was his cousin’s ginger hair, almost frizzling out of annoyance. He probably was the only one who noticed her fists, clenched to her sides, the only sign she was holding herself back from blurting out something that would make her sound very childish.

Could she be really so infuriated for losing to a bug catching race? he wondered, but he already knew the answer. Most probably, yes.

“Why, that is a splendid idea!” Neville agreed, genuinely impressed. “It can be arranged for the end of the next week. Of course no Forbidden Forest, but I will prepare a route for us to follow in the school grounds. I will give you all more information on Wednesday.”

Albus scanned the crowd. Some Slytherins stood with their mouths gaping wide open, while others shook their head in disbelief or rubbed their temples, or pinched their hands to check if they were dreaming. He felt somewhat entertained that one of their own suggested such a… studious activity. It sounded almost like something Rose would have wanted.

“So, class is dismissed. Don’t forget to bring your gloves in the next lesson, because you’ll be getting a little dirty. I will teach you how to change pots to magical saplings,” he added, mostly doing a courtesy to melancholic, depressed Rose, who would probably like to study about it beforehand, since nobody else listened to Neville anymore.

Rose made her way towards the door slowly, her heavy footsteps kicking dirt off the ground. Almost like something Rose would have wanted… The thought lingered to Al’s mind, when the realization hit him. Oh, no.