Chimaera of Judgement



CHAPTER THREE: One Gift Becomes Three

The following weeks seemed to rush past, and in that time the school lists came winging their way toward students all over the Isles. Albus hardly spared his a brief glance; he was more looking forward to going back to Hogwarts itself than which specific books he'd be bringing. Besides, at that moment Lily had come bursting into his room complaining that his owl had left droppings all over her Transfiguration essay, and he was forced to spend the next half hour alternately apologising and shouting at her for needlessly pestering him about it.

The Potters had queued up in front of the kitchen fireplace, preparing to head off for a full day of shopping, when James remembered his birthday gold was still stashed in his secret hiding place (Albus knew it was in a magical book called 'How To Stretch A Sickle', which opened with a password to reveal a modest-sized vault; the only reason he hadn't taken advantage of this was because he knew James would pound him within an inch of his life if-and-when he found out). They were on point of leaving again when Lily decided she needed to change her jumper, because Joseph Moran was supposed to be meeting her and she wanted to look her best. Finally, when their father threatened to have the three of them pack the entire house without magic, they were off.

The Leaky Cauldron had a modest crowd that day; a couple of young children were giggling conspiratorially at the bar, perhaps hoping the toothless old barkeep would forget to check their ages and sell them a tankard of Firewhiskey. A mane of long, black hair disappeared up the stairs as soon as Albus had spotted it - perhaps a hag not wanting to be found in public? He even thought he saw a vampire in the corner booth, but when he looked again the person's hood was up, hiding his or her face from view.

Once in the dingy alley behind the bar, their mother took out her wand and tapped a brick. Instantly, the wall became an archway, and a winding, cobblestone street full of witches and wizards came into view, lined with enticing shopfronts and curbside peddlers. Waving over his shoulder casually, James took off into the bustling crowd of Diagon Alley before his parents could stop him, his hair now hanging just below his ears thanks to his mother.

"Never been much for family outings, that one," Lily muttered to Albus quiet enough so their parents wouldn't hear.

After dropping by Gringotts Bank for their gold and Flourish and Blotts for the new books, Lily ran into Hugo lingering around Eeylops Owl Emporium and stayed behind to chat with him, and Rose was found watching James through the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies with a kind of mingled awe and longing. Passerby might have thought she was desperately head over heels for the boy, but Albus knew what she truly ached for was the Firebolt The Third he was forking over a small fortune to procure.

"That broom is too good for him," she said listlessly.

"Everything is," Albus gusted. "C'mon, let's get you away from here before you drool on the glass."

Albus and Rose's parents had run into Neville Longbottom, an old friend and current professor of Herbology at Hogwarts, and said something about having a pint in the Cauldron with him before heading off, leaving Albus and Rose to wander into the Apothecary by themselves to stock their Potions ingredients.

"So what do you reckon? Go back to Fortescue's after this?"

"Eh, Fortescue's is decent, but the flavours all kind of... taste the same."

"Yeah," Albus said, digging into a barrel of newt eyes. "My dad says the ice cream was loads better when Fortescue himself ran it."

"We could go back to strolling up and down the street for no reason whatsoever."

It was as good a plan as any, which is how they came to find themselves dawdling around a secondhand shop when the first truly interesting thing of the day happened. Expecting to see a heap of grubby cauldrons and broken quills, what did they find instead but the white-blonde head of Scorpius Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins skulking in the back, snickering and leering at the customers.

"Quick, think up an escape plan," Rose hissed.

"Too late - he's spotted us."

"Well, well, well," he drawled as they neared, pale pointed face and pug nose haughtier than necessary. "If it isn't Almost Potter and his Red Rose, the kissing cousins."

As his friends snickered appreciatively, Albus saw Rose's face grow stony, and he couldn't blame her; neither of them had ever got on with the Slytherins.

"So, what're you doing here?" said Scorpius. "Shopping for your wedding? I suppose it's the best your lot can do; you can't even afford to look for spouses outside your own family."

Rose made to rush him, but Albus's hand flew out to stop her, realising an instant too late it would have been less embarrassing to let her attack the boy. Scorpius let out a bark of laughter.

"See how they can't help but lock fingers every other minute? Even us purebloods aren't that desperate to avoid marrying Mudbloods!"

"Get bent, Malfoy," Albus snapped, still struggling with his cousin.

"Then again, when your parents are already blood-traitors and Muggle-lovers, it's all just posturing, isn't it?"

Rose's teeth were bared. "Better a blood-traitor's daughter than son of a ferretty, cowardly git!"

Malfoy's eyes flashed, and in the blink of an eye wands were out. "Tough words, Rosebud. Got the wood to back it up?"

As they glared each other down, Albus's eyes scanned the scene; the stringy Genevieve Nott hanging on his every word as if spellbound, the sallow Atticus Malkin paging through some mouldy old book as if not even paying attention, the burly Timothy Goyle looking bluntly determined to crush all opponents. He noted one was missing from their number.

"I'll protect myself if necessary," Rose was growling, fingers gripping her wand still more tightly.

"Like it'd be any challenge snuffing a Weasley," Scorpius said, spitting out the name as if an unexpectedly bitter candy. "But then again, if I did, three more would probably spring up underfoot. Y'know, like a fungus."

"Where's Pucey?" Albus asked casually; the vindictive beast that usually hibernated in the back of his mind was awake and hungry. "Only I'm surprised you feel safe breathing the same air as other wizards without the full force of your personal guard."

The malicious grin slid off his face. "What's that, Potty?"

Albus blinked innocently, pressing his advantage. "Oh, didn't you know? Word around the school is that you can't block even the simplest jinxes. Or was that not you who got sent to the hospital wing by Elliott Creevey?"

Malfoy was now quaking with anger. "Why you-"

"Careful now, Scorpius," came a cold, sneering voice from behind them; Albus and Rose whirled to find themselves looking up into the sharp features of Scorpius's father, Draco. Aside from the pointed nose, yet colder eyes and receding hairline, the two Malfoys might have been stamped from the same mold. "We wouldn't want to spill any magical blood out of hand - no matter how marginally the blood qualifies."

Albus could feel his cheeks rising with colour as Scorpius's friends giggled. It seemed unjust that they were being insulted by an adult, when raising their wands to him would be unforgivable in the eyes of the wizarding community. Apparently, Scorpius also felt he'd been handed an injustice.

"But Father, they-"

"Enough," he snapped. "I don't see why you would want to visit such an... unpleasant establishment in the first place. Not that young Mr Potter and Miss Weasley aren't right at home. Come."

Simultaneously gleeful and surly at his father's handling of the situation, Scorpius and his friends stalked past, Malkin pocketing the book as if he owned the place and Goyle making sure to squeeze his girth right between Albus and Rose, shoulders thumping roughly into their upper arms.

"Merlin's greying pants, are they irksome," Rose hissed, staring at Genevieve's scraggly black plait as it disappeared through the doorway. "You'd think after Voldemort snuffed it they'd hang up the blood wars, shake hands and have done with it."

"Yeah, well, don't let 'em get to you," Albus whispered, rubbing his budding bruise. "I mean, they're a lousy sort, but it's not like they could really take us."

"I dunno," she breathed skeptically, at last stowing her wand. "Two on one aren't good odds, are they?"

"Well, er, maybe not. But we'd win out over them in a civility contest any day." Catching the look in her eye, he added, "Not that it's any comfort."

Eventually, they met up with the rest of their kin in their Uncle George's joke shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It was easily one of the most popular sites on Diagon Alley, and Uncle George raked in gallons of Galleons every day from this and his other three branches. While most customers couldn't stop laughing and grinning, Albus noticed both his and Rose's parents appeared bittersweetly sad inside; he could never get a straight answer out of anyone when he asked what was wrong, but he suspected it was because George's twin brother, Fred, had died in the legendary Battle Of Hogwarts some twenty years prior. There was a moving portrait of him behind the counter, scarcely twenty years of age, snickering at a private joke and waving to the patrons. The surviving brother, meanwhile, was distinctly older, sported a handlebar moustache as red as his hair, and was missing an ear, and therefore a vast majority of the customers did not realise they had been twins. Despite past tragedy, he never came off depressed in the slightest, and warmly greeted his relatives whenever they dropped in, hastening to show off his latest inventions. Albus was sure to buy at least one of each, as well as to stock up on a few old favourites.

Later that evening inside the Leaky Cauldron, the Potters and Weasleys were all seated around several smaller tables that had been bewitched into one long table when more unexpected family members crawled out of the fireplace to join the modest banquet. Grandmum and Granddad Weasley, Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, cousin Victoire, and cousin Teddy Lupin, whom had been raised by his grandmother Andromeda Tonks from a year old. Albus's father always treated him with a special kind of deference, which was understandable due to certain parallels in childhood; neither one could remember their parents, having lost them when very small.

"So the Department Of Mysteries really agrees with you?" Granddad was asking.

"Oh yes," Teddy replied, taking a sip of his Butterbeer. "In fact, I'm rather suited to it; some days all I need do is sit around on my bum, and the rest of the lot do all the work."

"Why's that?" Lily asked him.

"Ahh." There was a cryptic gleam playing in his eye as his hair slowly changed from its usual mousy brown to a purplish hue. "Then there'd be no mysteries left in the department, now, would there?"

Lily and Hugo laughed and clapped at the parlour trick; even Albus, who'd seen him do it a thousand times, couldn't help but smile.

As the evening wore on and Grandmum Weasley started asking when Teddy and Victoire were going to set a wedding date, James wanted to pop over to one of his friends' house (he was of age and could Apparate now), and his father reluctantly agreed. This act put the first chink in the integrity of their party, and guest by guest it gradually broke apart. Before they said their goodbyes, Rose pulled him aside.

"Got something to show you real quick," she whispered.

Albus glanced over his shoulder. "What is it, and why are we whispering?"

"Well... only I reckoned you'd want a heads-up before September first." With this, she reached into the pocket of her cloak and withdrew something shiny. Upon closer look, he saw a gleaming letter "P".

"You've been tapped for prefect?" he said excitedly.

"Yeah," she said with a grimace. "And... I'm not really sure why. I mean, my grades are decent, and maybe I do have certain natural leadership qualities" - Albus snorted, and she ignored him - "but I'm in and out of detention like I'm stuck in a revolving door. Maybe they've got good reason for sending on this badge, but I'm dead flummoxed."

"But this is great," he said with a grin. "I mean, you'll have a few annoying chores to do now and again, but at least the other prefects won't be able to get shirty with you."

"I guess. Hey, listen." Her voice dropped even lower. "Don't tell Mum and Dad, okay? They were both prefects in their day, and I don't want them making a fuss."

"Hey, would I disobey a prefect?"

Rose punched him in the shoulder, then hugged him and said, "See you soon."

o o o

After supper a few days later, Albus confided in his mother about the honour Rose had received by owl post. She, of course, beamed at the news.

"Oh, that must be really nice for her! Of course, I was never chosen for prefect and it didn't matter at all to me, but then again, the power seemed to go to your uncle's head a bit, so I suppose it depends. But I'm happy for her."

"Yeah, me too." As he helped her put the dishes away (not being allowed to do it magically yet, he was moving things manually) he sighed, and as per usual, his mother caught it.

"You're not, then?"

"What? No, no, I am."

"Oh, Albie." She reached over to tousle his hair, and he batted her hand away with a mixing spoon. "Disappointed you didn't get the 'P' instead? Eyes green with envy?"

His already-green eyes rolled at one of her overused little jokes. "No no, not 'instead', not... well, I wonder why I didn't get one is all."

"Albus Severus!" Ginny Potter tutted loudly and pulled him into a warm hug; that ever-present flowery scent of hers filled his nostrils, and instantly took the edge off his anxieties - even as he squirmed fruitlessly to escape her grasp. "Son, you know we'll always love you no matter what - and we're right proud of you! High marks in all your classes, reasonably tidy room... haven't killed anyone yet."

Albus sighed again. "Mum..."

"It'll be fine." She pulled back, smiling reassuringly at him as she patted his cheek. "You'll get on that train next week and see that everything's the same; you and Rose will still be cousins, nothing a body can pin on their lapel can change that."

Suddenly ashamed that he had been jealous at all, he muttered, "Cheers, Mum."

"Anytime. Now, why don't you go and work on cleaning out the owl cages?"

"Aw, c'mon, do I-"

"It's your turn, you know that. Go on."

The rest of the week passed in a haze of blandness; nothing important seemed to happen other than the Thomases stopping by for tea one afternoon (which Albus had to miss, because he had trod on his sister's foot accidentally-on-purpose and was grounded to his room for the rest of the night). Finally, it was the end of August, and he was packing his trunk when a light brown wing cuffed him around the head.

"Dobby!" he cried as the beautiful tawny owl fluttered onto his shoulder. "Where've you been? Seems like you're always running off these days."

The owl's head swiveled to look at him, overlarge, greenish eyes boring into his before he hooted and took off toward his cage on top of the dresser for a sip of water. As he hopped inside, his claw brushed the envelope Albus's Hogwarts letter had been in, which fell to the floor with a clunk!

Albus had already begun folding another set of Gryffindor robes to pack when what had just happened caught up with him. Parchment envelopes normally did not "clunk" without reason. He paced over and picked it up, feeling something hard and flat in the bottom.

There it was; the gleaming prefect's badge he had been coveting all this time. How had he failed to notice it before? Glowing, he immediately pinned it to his t-shirt, imagining himself bossing around first-years with Rose and using the fabled prefect's bath (not with Rose) as he studied the effect in his dressing mirror. Then, he laughed, long and hard and joyously, so much that his parents came to see if he'd suddenly gone mad. Of course, even as his dad was congratulating him, his mother held suspicions that Rose had used a Gemino Charm on her badge and sent over the copy for a laugh. Eventually, when everything calmed down, they asked him what he wanted.

"What I... want?"

"Within reason, of course," Harry said with a grin. "That is, I remember your grandparents got Uncle Percy an owl when he was made prefect, and Uncle Ron got a new broom; why break with tradition?"

Albus's heart suddenly bulged with the warmth of endless possibilities. "Well, I don't know, this is... wow... I mean, a new broom could be cool, but seeing as I don't play Quidditch I'd never get a chance to use it, and I already have an owl... new dress robes? No, I got some of those last Christmas. Damn, what do I do?"

As his mother was admonishing him for swearing, he thought saw a scheming look creep into his father's eyes - a look that usually spelled trouble, though it didn't show up there terribly often. Albus was still apologising when Harry said, "Anyway, I'm sure we'll think of a suitable reward. Just don't start calling the first-years 'midgets'."

o o o

The following morning, when Albus had washed and dressed in Muggle attire, he went to close his trunk and found a present lying atop his things; the note on top said, "Congratulations, Albus." In his excitement, Albus nearly shredded the box along with the wrappings, and his shaking hands dumped the contents to the floor - which turned out to be quite puzzling.

The handsome, silvery cloak, made of what appeared to be the finest and smoothest silk, spoke for itself; it obviously cost a fortune, and he supposed it was to be worn with dress robes. However, the other gift needed quite a lot more explanation, as it was only a very old, very worn bit of parchment, spotted and yellowed with age. It had nothing written on, though he turned it over several times hoping a secret message was on the back, but found none; perhaps his parents had meant to write some birthday wishes on it and forgotten. He'd ask them later.

After a while, he shoved the parchment into his trunk and sat admiring the craftsmanship of his new cloak for a minute or two before his mother called up for them to hurry downstairs; then, he folded it up gently and replaced it inside its box, not wanting to harm it in any way.

As the family was loading up the sleek black automobile Dad had borrowed from the Ministry to bring them to King's Cross, his father asked him to help load the trunks into the boot.

"Already opened it, haven't you?" Harry whispered.

"What?" When his father only looked at him meaningfully, Albus breathed, "Oh... yeah."

"Like it?"

"Yeah," he muttered, grinning. "Thanks, thanks loads! That is one truly beautiful cloak; haven't got the chance to try it on yet, but-"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll love it."

"But Dad, I have to ask... what's with the blank parchment?"

His father nodded, obviously pleased that he'd asked. "Mm, yes. That's almost as important, and your mother would flay me alive if she knew I gave it to you, but what its-" He broke off as the rest of the family exited Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place and it shrank into nonbeing behind them. After they finished loading the trunks and pet cages, as they were striding around the car, his father whispered in his ear, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"You're what?"

"Memorise those words, Albus: 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good'. Repeat it back, quick now, son!"

Was dear old dad having him on? "'I solemnly swear that... that I-"

"'-am up to no good'," his father finished, nodding again with that same gleam in a startlingly green eye as he opened the driver's door. "Remember it."

END Chapter Three