Chimaera of Judgement

CHAPTER SEVEN: Seek, And Ye Shall Find

The following week rushed past so quickly Albus was sure he'd been slipped a broken Time-Turner. Other than a nice long tea with Hagrid on Sunday afternoon, during which they tried to avoid eating his appropriately-named rock cakes and laughed about things going on both in and out of school, most of their time outside class seemed to be spent poring over homework or sleeping, neither of which seemed like the spark of life exactly.

All throughout the week, Rose became increasingly nauseating about him trying out for the House team, and it was all she could talk about as they pored over their homework Friday night. Finally, when Albus found himself rewriting the same sentence for the fifth time, he became so frustrated that he snapped his quill in half.

"Would you give it a rest?!" he growled, digging in his bag for a spare quill. "How am I supposed to explain why Uric the Oddball was so odd if you keep up a constant flow of 'Seeker' in my ear? It's starting to sound more like 'kill Rose'!"

"But I know you'd do well if you'd just buck up and-"

"FINE!" he bellowed; several paintings stared down at the two of them in outrage at his volume. "If it'll butter your crumpets, I'll do it, but don't blame me when I get laughed off the pitch - again!"

Though he'd known she would start grinning like a cheshire cat, he still found he couldn't look at her and returned to his essay, which he immediately blotted and had to start over anyway.

They spent a good deal of the next day in the library, bent low over their textbooks and scratching away with the end goal of devoting Sunday to their Quidditch dilemma. Their fingertips were very nearly bleeding from overwork by the time they returned to Gryffindor Tower late in the afternoon to stow their schoolthings, hoping for Albus to get in a bit of practise. As they were heading through the castle, Rose's Nimbus Two-Thousand-Twenty-Five over her shoulder, they heard a commotion from a corridor on the fifth floor. Trotting along it, they spotted two Hufflepuff girls arguing ferociously near the statue of Gregory the Smarmy, gesturing and shouting.

"Hey!" Rose said loudly. "What's all this?"

"She's stolen my grandmother's ring!" Upon closer inspection, Albus recognised her as Belvina Hitchens, a notoriously paranoid fourth-year with a rather long nose. "I had it a moment ago, and now it's gone, and it was a birthday present, and she has it, she's taken it!"

Albus put himself solidly between them, lest they suddenly decide to attack. "Who's taken it?"

"Dorika!" she screamed, pointing at the other girl, a third-year with tight golden shoulder-length curls who looked thoroughly bewildered and close to tears. "She's the only one here, isn't she?"

"Calm down, the pair of you," Rose ordered. "The way your arms are windmilling about, the ring might've flown off your finger."

Belvina looked up at her indignantly. "Where would it have gone, then? Why didn't I hear it echo off the floors?"

"Well... maybe it ended up in the swamp," Albus suggested, leading them over to the roped-off puddle of swamp water beneath a window. "That would've made more of a 'plop' than a 'clink', wouldn't it?"

"Go get it back!" she demanded. "Dorika should do it, it's her fault!"

"I'm not putting my hands in that muck!" Dorika squeaked. "I didn't do anything, please, you must believe me!"

"I do," Rose sighed wearily. When Albus raised his eyebrows at her, she told him in a low voice, "Everybody knows Dorika Dunsmore is such a goody-two-shoes she wouldn't so much as look at you wrongly; somehow I don't think she went from that to sneakthief."

"You sure?"

"Bottle her sugary sweetness and you could put Honeydukes out of business."

"What did this ring look like?" he asked Belvina. She considered a moment, still breathing heavily.

"Well, it's goblin silver, and set with a large ruby... kind of shaped like a flower. It's irreplaceable, I mean it, you can't-"

"Oh, this is barking," Rose burst out, raising her wand. "Accio Ring!"

Nothing happened; Albus thought he heard a noise from somewhere deep within the rest of the castle, but that could have been anything.

"She's hidden it already," Belvina insisted. "Make her turn out her pockets, make her-"

"We're not strip-searching her in the middle of the corridor," said Albus flatly. "If she'd had the ring, that Summoning Charm would've brought it out. You must have lost it earlier."

"Come on, don't be a prat, she has to have d-"

"Five points from Hufflepuff!" That closed her mouth in a hurry; Rose stowed her wand and renewed her grip on her broomstick before continuing. "Now, if you're through insulting prefects, why don't you put up some flyers on the bulletin boards and have done with it?"

"B-but- but I-"

"Go!"

Jaw set, Belvina whirled and stomped off down the corridor. Dorika hesitated, looking timidly between the two elder students, then hurried after her; before she could flee the scene, however, she bumped into Puerilis Logan, whom, being the sturdier of the two, knocked her to the floor. When all he did was raise his eyebrows at her, as if daring her to complain about it, she scrambled away, sobbing.

"Honestly," Rose breathed as they turned toward the staircase again, "you'd think everybody was waiting for us to become prefects before they started acting up."

Two hours of practise later, Albus felt no better about his chances than he had before, though he noticed he was several times more tired. To his credit, he had performed magnificently, using Rose's Nimbus while she threw a bagful of apples at him from a school broom. He never missed one, though she continued to throw them more and more wildly until night fell around them, forcing them to go inside due to complete loss of visibility.

If he was uneasy going to bed, he felt entirely panicked in the morning. Rose kept trying to stuff toast down his throat, but he could do no more than sip tea and pray the day would soon be over. Then he noticed James crossing the entrance hall and realised he was probably heading for the pitch, and decided they ought to do the same. Taking a last, bracing swig of pumpkin juice and wishing it were something a bit stronger, he slowly stood and exited the Great Hall.

It was an overcast, muggy sort of day; there was no wind to speak of, and at least the sun wouldn't be in his eyes. Squinting, he could see James, Olivia Wood, Macmillan, McLaggen and Creevey were already there, along with maybe a dozen other hopefuls. Finally, they reached the pitch and were immediately hit by a heady wave of chuckling.

"It's Plummeting Potter!" Macmillan laughed with Puerilis Logan; evidently he was trying out, also. "Cheers, good man, we needed a bit of humour during our tryouts!"

"Oi, Albus!" James bellowed, scowling and stomping over to him. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Isn't this where the Gits Asking Stupid Questions Club is meeting?" he shot at him evenly. Macmillan might get under his skin now and then, but his brother he could handle. "If so, I think I'm in the right place."

"D'you think I want to be standing around when you make a laughingstock of both of us again?"

"Well, excuse me for breathing your air." He looked over at Rose. "Forget this, there's no point in-"

"Oh, no you don't," she said through clenched teeth. "I didn't chuck produce at you all night for nothing! You'll try out and you'll have fun doing it if it kills you!"

"You put him up to this, did you, Rose?" James demanded. "Did you somehow forget last year's memorable swan dive, or were you just hoping to catch another with your Omnioculars this time?"

"That's enough!" Olivia called over to them, also silencing the continuing laughter of the rest of the attendees. "For exactly this reason, I've asked the ref to oversee these tryouts, and I'm sorry to say my actions were well placed! You lot sound like infants!"

"Hang on," Aiden McLaggen said, eyes narrowing. "You did what?!"

It was no bluff; at that moment, Madam Chang came striding onto the field, long, shimmering black hair flying behind her and catching in the twigs of her Comet Three-Eighty. Albus's heart plunged downward into his stomach; he'd always carried a (very, very secret) torch for the school's flying instructor and Quidditch referee, though he knew he was far too young for a woman of her experience and beauty. How was he supposed to perform his best when he knew she'd be watching him?

"What's wrong with you?" Rose muttered in his ear; he decided not to answer her.

"All right, everyone, let's settle down," Madam Chang called briskly, lowering her broom handle-down so it stood in the earth like a walking stick. Idly, he admired the way the sun glinted off her long eyelashes, and how striking her pose was, and mused that someone ought to do a painting. "I'd like these tryouts to move quickly and in an orderly fashion, if you please. Now, Olivia," she said more directly to the Captain, "are you calling for all positions?"

"Just a Chaser and a Seeker," she said at once. "I'm more than satisfied with my beaters, and Rose has never failed me yet."

As Rose's ears went scarlet, Albus noticed Elliott Creevey's droop; he supposed he'd be discouraged if there was talk of replacing him, too.

"If you're sure, then," she said, clearing her throat and addressing the field. "All students wishing to try out for Chaser, form a queue over here; those hoping to become Seeker, over there. Come on, chop chop!"

Though he'd rather not have the object of his private longings there to watch him bumble around on a broom, at the same time he saw the wisdom in Olivia's decision; though they shot him a great many ugly looks, the rest of the team could make not a single snide remark for fear of Madam Chang's wrath. They did, however, feel free to jeer indistinctly when a potential teammate slipped from their broom or fumbled the Quaffle, which the referee was trying her best to ignore.

Overall, they were awful. Martin Finnigan would have made a fair go at it if he hadn't missed an easy shot with the Quaffle, beaning Rose on the head and causing her to chase him around the pitch for nearly a minute before Madam Chang shouted her down. Logan's attempt was nothing short of worthless; half the time he couldn't even fly straight, let alone manage to catch anything. Meanwhile, poor little Belinda Toussant, a second-year with an overabundance of freckles, couldn't find the Snitch to save her life, though this might have been because she was so nervous that her sweaty hands kept sliding off the broom. Finally, when McLaggen had to make a quick swoop to save her from smacking into the ground, she gave up and ran off toward the castle, sobbing.

They had narrowed the candidates for Chaser down to three when they called Albus up - the last contestant for Seeker. Gulping and trying not to look over to where Madam Chang was standing with her arms crossed, gazing evenly at him, he mounted the school's old Nimbus Two-Thousand-One and kicked off into the sky, allowing the feel of the wind in his hair to transport him for a moment before whirling on the spot expectantly. Now he had taken to the air everything was different; the ref was just another spectator, Macmillan's wisecracks were pathetic echoes from another life, and he was absolutely sure he would be perfect.

"All right, here we go!"

The Snitch was up, and he caught it. Then he let it go, Olivia counted to thirty, and he zigged and zagged through the Chasers and Beaters and caught it again. Instantly, he found himself wishing the broom could go faster as he performed dives and corkscrews, jerking at right angles to make spectacular catches, and buzzing so close to James's ear that his brother executed a Sloth Grip Roll in anticipation of being knocked clear off his Firebolt The Third.

Several minutes later, Olivia Wood was pacing up and down, staring at the students who hadn't already left in disgrace. Finally, after a lengthy, tense silence, she said, "Wendelyne Moore!"

Albus took in her unruly flaxen mop and recognised her as Brunhilda's friend from the Express. The girl now looked as if she were about to have a heart attack.

"Welcome to the team."

Squealing, she ran forward and hugged her new Captain, which she evidently did not care for as next moment she was shouting, "Gerroff me, Moore, or I'll box your ears!"

Clearing her throat in a dignified manner, she said, "As for a new Seeker... sorry, Elliott."

Creevey nodded sadly, frowning as he slumped against his broom.

"Albus Potter!" He blinked - no way... "What you did up there today was nothing short of miraculous. We'd be lucky to have you."

"Yes!" It was not he who shouted it, but Rose; she pumped her fist in the air before throwing her arms around him, laughing and pounding him on the back so hard he thought his breath might never come back. "I knew it, I knew you could do it!"

Before he knew it, both he and Wendelyne were being patted on the back and commended warmly by the rest of the team; James's words of congratulations sounded more like something in troll-speak, but he appreciated it all the same.

When he came face-to-face with Ryan, they both squirmed awkwardly. This was something Albus hadn't thought through very well; now he would be forced to play side-by-side with Ryan Macmillan. Was this going to work at all?

Before either could speak, Madam Chang was clapping him on the shoulder, beaming. He didn't know why she kept looking at him like that. Had he really done that well? It was rumoured she'd once played Seeker for the Tutshill Tornados (though he had no idea if this were true) - perhaps she was therefore more fond of players in her old position. Nevertheless, her hand on his shoulder and her almond-shaped eyes on the rest of him only made him begin to feel warm in the face, so with the excuse of needing a drink of water, he started back up toward the castle.

"Practise on Thursday after class, Potter!" Olivia called after him. "Don't forget!"

He'd scarcely had the chance to make his stomach stop fluttering by the time Rose found him at their House table, shoveling shepherd's pie into his mouth.

"Where'd you run off to?" she said as she dropped onto the bench across from him.

"Hungry," he replied shortly. Luckily, she was sufficiently excited for him to accept this load of bilge without question.

"That's right, no breakfast. Well, anyway, hey - you made the team! Bet you wish you hadn't done all that bellyaching now, don't you?"

o o o

A general sense of well-being guided him effortlessly through the next two weeks of the term. How could his life get any better than this? After four years of dreaming about it, Albus was a part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and he was actually getting on well with them - well, with most of them. Ryan Macmillan remained stubbornly flippant with him, making it sound as though James had had something to do with his getting on the team (a fact James categorically denied each and every time, as Albus knew, more because he wanted nothing to do with his brother than in any effort to help him). When that subject dried out, he fell back on his old favourites: Albus's famous father and the big shoes he had to fill, and Rose being his best mate. These things might have had any effect on him if he hadn't been drifting along on Cloud Nine, impervious to all character assassination attempts.

Not only this, but the word seemed to have spread that he was on the team, for the other Gryffindors had stopped ignoring him completely in the hallways and were now at least doing him the courtesy of smiling and nodding in his direction. Add to this the way Professors Longbottom and Hagrid had vigorously congratulated him, and he saw no reason to ever be depressed again.

That isn't to say nothing happened to momentarily distract him from his euphoria. One afternoon he was digging through his trunk, having accidentally broken yet another quill. He had just turned up a few of his spares when he came across the ragged old parchment his father had given him for becoming prefect.

He cast his eyes about warily; the dormitory was empty. Why not? It was a Saturday, most of his homework was done - he could spare a few moments to reexamine it. Not that it looked any different than it had done when he first acquired it, but his father's words came back to him.

"Ahem," he said tentatively. "I swear that I am up to no good." That didn't sound right. He thought hard, then tried again. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Nothing happened. Maybe he had to hold it the right way, or up to the light, or-

And then, without a visible source, ink was spreading across it; a message. As the words became longer and more plentiful, he read out, "Mr Prongs offers his compliments to Mr Potter for his admirable attitude toward mischief, but he does wonder why he's never learned to use a wand properly."

His eyebrows knitted as he shoved the paper away roughly. Was that it? He'd been given a parchment that insulted him when he said the secret words? That sounded like something he'd expect more from Uncle George than his own father. "Use a wand properly"... what did that mean?

Figuring at this point that anything was worth a shot, he took out his wand and tapped it gently. Nothing happened. Grunting with frustration, he thwacked it hard as he dared, lest he break wand or parchment in the process. At this, another message appeared under the first.

"Mr Wormtail wishes to say 'ouch', due to the rough treatment he has just received."

Before he could even ponder this, a third message jotted itself down beneath the first two.

"Mr Padfoot is curious whether Mr Potter can walk and chew gum at the same time."

It took a good measure of self-control to keep from crumpling up the parchment and throwing it in the fireplace, but he mastered himself; there must be a larger secret here, and as hurtful as the comments were, he thought they might be clues. "Use a wand properly ... walk and chew gum at the same time ..." Then there were the words his father had told him, which he wouldn't have made such a fuss about if they weren't necessary.

After a few moments, he put two and two together (he hoped) and readied another attempt; tapping it with his wand again, he said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Before he even knew what exactly he'd discovered, he could instantly tell he'd found his mark; ink was spreading everywhere, moving into every single inch of parchment and forming intricate, fascinating patterns. Near the top, a stretch of text proclaimed, "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, Purveyours of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present THE MARAUDER'S MAP".

And it was indeed a map - an exhaustingly-detailed map of Hogwarts and its grounds, showing every floor, every room, every corridor. More even than this, there were miniscule dots moving across it; screwing up his eyes, he saw these were labelled with the names of students and teachers. He scanned it eagerly; he could see old Urran was up the Astronomy tower, and Hagrid moving around by the vegetable patches, and Peeves bobbing along in the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom. Rose's dot was in the Gryffindor common room, which he knew to be true because he had just come from there. Then he found the one labelled "Albus Potter" in the fourth floor of the boys' dormitories, sitting exactly where he was. Giggling quietly in spite of himself, he paced around the room, watching the dot move with him. Then, he heard someone coming up the stairs.

"Shut up, Logan, I'll just be a minute; need my Herbology book. Oh, will you- fine, what is it?"

The steps faded. Heart thudding frantically in his chest, he stared at the map - if there was anyone he didn't want discovering him with this unique artifact, it was Ryan Macmillan - and there he was, moving down the stairs and back into the common room where the dot labelled Puerilis Logan was waiting.

"Uh... turn off now, please." Nothing. He tapped it with his wand and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Again, no reaction. "Nox!" It stood to reason there was a way to wipe it clean if one needed a password to view it in the first place - but how? Inspired by that line of thinking, he pointed his wand at it and whispered, "Scourgify!"

The ink flew from the surface, mingling with magical soap suds as it dribbled down his arm and onto the floor. He smiled in relief for a moment, then gasped; the map was slowly coming back into view as if he'd done nothing at all. Desperately, he shook it and growled, "How the bloody hell do I make you go blank?!"

Evidently, this bizarre, enchanted object had been waiting for him to ask, as he saw a small movement near his own dot; his nose an inch from its surface, he could just make out a tiny speech bubble enclosing the words, "Mischief Managed". When he tapped the map and said this, the ink began receding into itself until it was as featureless as the day he'd first seen it.

This was amazing. Now he understood what it did and how to use it, he found himself gazing through a window of endless opportunities. He could surprise people around corners and they'd be dumbfounded as to how he knew they were coming! Never again could Peeves ambush him with blackboard erasers and buckets of water! He would no longer get caught wandering the corridors at night by Urran!

And that's when it truly hit him: that's what the map was for. "Marauding" meant to wander around looking for treasure, didn't it? The map was a treasure in itself! In his hands was the means to avoid ever being caught breaking the rules again - Hogwarts was his to explore!

But another strange thought fell into his head; why did he have it? His parents loved him very much, but they'd always warned him to keep his nose clean - to work hard in class and try not to cause as much mayhem as James. Why then would his father hand him a map he knew would all but guarantee that his son would be "up to no good", as the very incantation suggested?

This mingled excitement and confusion was still bouncing around his mind when the door banged open. Not turning to look as he stowed the map in his suitcase again, he heard Macmillan muttering, "Like I care about his damn Gobstones tourney... how daft do you have to be?"

END Chapter Seven