Questions and Answers

Hugo's eyes flew open and he lay motionless, trying to ascertain just what had interrupted his sleep. He wasn't a restless sleeper as a rule, but something had wormed its way through his dreams. A gurgling rumble growled loudly in the silent bedroom, and Hugo relaxed slightly. He glanced at the softly ticking clock next to his bed and grinned, tapping his fingers lightly on top of his quilt. It was just after midnight and he could sneak into the kitchen for a snack. He wondered if Rose had beaten him to the stash of freshly-baked ginger biscuits Ron had made earlier that day. They were meant for the train back to Hogwarts, but both Rose and Hugo had a weakness for them.

Hugo normally didn't engage in making comparisons of himself with his sister. He remembered overhearing a conversation between his parents after a particularly disastrous exam in primary school. His mother had been beside herself with worry. Rose never failed anything. She was first in her class. Hugo readily admitted he was an indifferent student, especially of topics that held little to no interest for him. Ron had to repeatedly remonstrate to her it was unfair to compare Rose to Hugo. They were two entirely different people, and to expect Hugo to display the same brilliance as Rose was insupportable. Hugo didn't quite understand why his father had been so vociferous in his defense, but he was grateful for it. After that he only juxtaposed himself with Rose on the quantifiable. Their similarities were superficial at best. Sure, they both had red, curly hair, but Rose's was a blazing cascade of tight ringlets she usually wore woven into a plait as thick as her wrist. It resisted any and all attempts to be put into submission. His was much darker, nearly a deep chestnut with loose curls that he wore flopping over his ears and eyes. They both had Hermione's fair ivory-hued skin that fortunately did not have a tendency to freckle. Freckles would have looked terrible on Rose. They both had Hermione's slightly pointed chin, and arching cheekbones, but Hugo inherited Ron's long nose and Hermione's dark eyes. For the longest time, it seemed as if Hugo wouldn't have his father's considerable height, but in the last couple of months, he had grown a few inches. It gave him hope. Hugo didn't want to be the short one in the family. How either of them would look in their maturity, Hugo couldn't guess. Rose was still all knobby knees and elbows and his, while starting to emerge from childhood softness, were still round, the shapes of his bones obscured. She was driven; he didn't care for what he viewed as a grind of endless drudgery.

They did share one trait in common. Ron had passed on his prodigious appetite to them both, much to Hermione's consternation. In light of that, Hermione drilled table manners into them both from the time they were old enough to hold a spoon.

The appetite that was now attempting to gnaw its way through his navel.

Hugo flung the quilt away and slid out of bed. He padded down the corridor, feet clad in thick socks against the spring chill. He pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and stood as still as any statue in the park near the house. True, the aroma of baking pastry flowed thickly from the warm kitchen, but it wasn't what paralyzed Hugo. The dough for pasties had been rolled out on the counter, waiting to be cut out and filled. Hermione's hands gripped either end of Ron's prized marble rolling pin. Ron's jeans lay in crumpled folds around his ankles, chest pressed against her back. Hugo caught a bare glimpse of the edge of his father's bottom underneath the edge of his shirt before he fled as silently as he came in.

He blindly scurried back to his bedroom, but not before blundering into Rose, emerging from her own room. 'Oof!' Rose glared at Hugo. 'Look where you're going,' she hissed.

'Where are you going?'

'The kitchen, you wanker,' Rose sniffed. 'I'm starving.'

Hugo briefly considered letting her go. But that was what Fred or Jacob would have done. 'I wouldn't go in there, if I were you.'

Rose's nose wrinkled. 'Why not?'

Hugo's lips pursed a little, trying to think of a subtle way to alert Rose that the kitchen would be off-limits for the moment. 'Dad's teaching Mum to bake,' he finally told her.

'Have you gone daft?' Rose hooted softly. 'Mum doesn't bake. Mum barely even cooks.'

Hugo gripped her wrist tightly. 'Rose. Dad. Is. Teaching. Mum. To. Bake.' He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

'What?' Rose started at Hugo, nonplussed.

Hugo sighed deeply. 'You're not usually this thick,' he told her. 'It's midnight. There's pastry dough and flour all over the kitchen. Butter. And we both know Mum's absolute crap at baking. And that Dad isn't really teaching her to bake.' Hugo drew himself up to his full height. 'Now. I've got a few bits stashed away in my room. You're welcome to share with me. Or you can go to the kitchen and see what's available in there.'

Rose's mouth twisted momentarily. 'What do you have?'

Hugo swung around on one heel and led Rose into his bedroom. She firmly shut the door and shuddered dramatically, and recalling a similar incident she'd heard about that involved James and his parents, placed several charms meant to silence any and all outside noises. Rose took the apple Hugo offered and her face screwed up in disgust. 'What's wrong?' Hugo asked. 'It's perfectly good. Unless you fancy something else?'

Rose gazed at the shiny red apple. 'No. It's... it's fine...' Her eyes crossed momentarily. 'Ewww. Ugh. Ugh. Mum and Dad... Oh, Merlin! In the bloody kitchen!' She took a bite of the apple and chewed it slowly, thinking about all the pasties she'd eaten and found herself wondering just how many of them had been baked in the throes of passion. 'That's just unsanitary,' she added, her lip curling slightly. 'Besides, parents aren't supposed to do that.'

Hugo peeled an orange, carefully removing wayward strands of pith. He hated the pith. 'Be that as it may,' he began, 'they seemed to be doing that.' He poked a section of orange into his mouth. 'And having a good time to boot.'

'Oh... Oh... Hugo!' Rose cried softly. 'Now it's in my brain. And I'll see it when I close my eyes. Thanks ever so.' Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. 'You do realize I'll never be able to eat one of Dad's pasties again unless I've seen him bake them solo.'

Hugo reached for his wand and twirled it lazily between his fingers. 'Want me to Obliviate you?'

'Merlin's y-fronts, no!' she exclaimed. 'Knowing you, you'll do it wrong and make me forget last month. Besides, you're only a third year, and that's above your pay grade,' she added archly, finishing the apple and tossing the core into the waste bin next to the door. 'At least we're going back to school in the morning.'

XxXxXxX

Al walked up to Greenhouse Four and knocked on the slightly ajar door. 'Come in,' Neville called.

'You wanted to see me, Ne - erm, Professor?' Al asked.

Neville sighed and indicated the battered chair in front of his equally battered desk. 'Come sit.'

Frowning, Al gingerly sat in the chair and settled his bag on his knees. 'I didn't think the Career Advice conferences were until next month.'

'They're not,' Neville said somberly. 'This is actually about Gryffindor's Quidditch team.'

'What about it?' Al felt a fissure of cold fear trip down his spine.

Neville gave Al a pitying look. 'It's difficult for me to say this, Albus, especially considering how much playing Quidditch means to you.' He folded his hands on the scarred desk. 'You're not allowed to play for Gryffindor while you're playing for England,' he said heavily. 'It's considered a conflict of interest.'

'You're lying!' Al accused vehemently. 'Dad's told you to say that!'

'Your father has told me nothing. This is school policy,' Neville stated coldly. Al started a little at the expression on Neville's face. Neville usually bore an avuncular expression, but his face was hard and unreadable. He slammed a heavy book in front of Al. 'Page three-hundred sixty-two.'

Al gazed at Neville skeptically for several moments as he flipped through the pages. He ran a finger down the cramped script until he came to the following citation. Students committed to engage in play with the teams of England, Ireland, or Scotland, are not permitted to similarly engage in said activity with any House team of Hogwarts. By the orders of Dilys Derwent, Hogwarts Headmaster, seventeen forty-eight. 'That's ridiculous!'

'It's the rules.'

'But why?'

'I imagine it was best for the student,' Neville replied. 'So you're not stretched so thin between practicing with a national team and a House team.'

'I'll fight it!' Al vowed.

'How?' Neville shot back. Al's mouth opened and closed several times. Neville did have a point. No longer did Al have the resources of his family behind him.

'I'd like to look through this,' Al finally said.

'Do you think I've purposely misled you?' Neville said, aghast.

'I'd just like to see for myself,' Al insisted.

Neville pushed the book across the desk in reply. 'Better go before you're late to Professor Trentham's class.'

Al scooped up the heavy book into his arms. 'Thank you, sir,' he said stiffly.

'I hope, Mr. Potter, that in the future, you will take a moment and think about the ramifications of your actions before execute them.' Al nodded jerkily and dashed from the greenhouse. Neville turned in his chair. Eric had been quietly playing behind him with a small pail and shovel in a small sandpit they'd installed there for him. 'Don't ever do anything like that,' he said sternly. 'In fact, just stay off brooms, period. No Quidditch for you.'

Eric smiled widely, displaying a row of small, gleaming teeth. 'No booms, Daddy.'

Neville smiled, in spite of himself. 'And if I ever catch you doing something so deviously underhanded, you'll thank your lucky stars your great-grandmother isn't around to punish you for it.'

Eric giggled. 'Okay, Daddy.'

Neville tweaked Eric's nose before lifting the boy in his arms. 'Let's go inside, eh? Time for your nap, little man.' He shifted Eric into a more comfortable position, hoping when Eric was Al's age, he wouldn't have the same issues Harry and Ginny were facing.

XxXxXxX

Al approached Rose in the common room, the large book cradled in his hands. 'Rosie,' he whispered. 'I need your help.'

Rose looked over her shoulder. She studied Al warily. 'Why should I help you? You seem to be doing quite well on your own.'

'According to this, I can't play for the Gryffindor team anymore...' Al set the book on the table next to Rose's elbow. 'But that stupid law's, like, three hundred years old. There's no way it's still active. Neville made a mistake.'

Rose opened the cover and paged through it a little. 'Al, it's over three thousand pages long. It'll take me days to just skim through it...'

'Don't you know some spell or something that'll narrow it down a little? I mean, bloody hell, Rosie, you've probably heard your mum use it a thousand times.'

'Just because I've heard Mum use it, doesn't mean it's appropriate for me to do so,' Rose countered sharply. One bright red brow rose slowly. 'Unlike some people I could name,' she added pointedly. It hit its mark. Al flushed dully. 'And most of those books will have any updates to the laws right after the original one. So you can tap the book with your wand all you want. It's not going to change anything.' Rose shoved her books into her bag and stood. 'We can replace you,' she said. 'Yeah, whoever it is won't be as good, but you're not irreplaceable.' She slung the strap over one shoulder and started for the stairwell to the girls' dormitory. 'What makes it so much worse, Al, is that you let us down. Bully for you. You get to play with England. But you let that take over everything. And you forgot you were part of a team. Our team. A Gryffindor Seeker first.' She spun on her heel and stalked up the stairs.

Al felt his face redden at the rather public reprimand. He stood next to the table, unable to meet anyone's eyes. Scorpius rose silently to his feet. 'She's right, you know,' he said quietly, almost so softly, it nearly didn't reach Al's ears. But it rocked Al back on his heels as if Scorpius had punched him in the teeth.

Al's teeth set and the muscles of his jaw tightened. 'You too?'

Scorpius tucked his books into his bag, shaking his head. 'No. I like Quidditch as much as the next person, but I don't live and die by it.' He paused, recollecting his behavior during games and the past few years when Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup. 'Well, not like Professor McGonagall did. That woman bled scarlet and gold. But you didn't even bother to think about how it might have affected everyone else, did you? So no, I'm not angry. Just disappointed.' He peered at Al, searching for any remnant of the boy he'd met nearly five years before that had unconditionally accepted him as a friend. 'It's just the Al I knew wouldn't have done that.'

Al's eyes narrowed and his stomach knotted with the realization that in this, at least, he was completely on his own. He gathered the large book and slipped from the room, uncomfortably aware of everyone's eyes on him. Scorpius stood next to the table, fiddling with the strap of his bag. Lily was studying her History of Magic notes with far more absorption than she usually gave them. 'You knew about it, didn't you?' he asked. 'All of you on the team?'

Lily slowly removed her glasses and held them up to a lamp. She polished them on the hem of her shirt, taking care to remove all traces of the smudges and dust. 'Neville might have mentioned it to Maddie, Fred, and Jacob in Herbology. And they could have told the rest of us, save Al, before Neville had a word with him.' She carefully replaced them on her nose, blinking owlishly behind the glinting lenses.

Scorpius picked up his bag, settling the strap on his shoulder. 'I see. And I suppose that gave you time to come up with a plan for a new Seeker?'

Lily drew a small Snitch in the margins of her notes, blushing slightly. 'Perhaps.' She couldn't help the small grin on her face that immediately told Scorpius just who the new Gryffindor Seeker would be.

Scorpius dropped into the chair next to her. 'Can you do it?' he asked softly.

'Of course I can,' she scoffed. 'Mum's doing. She made us learn to play two positions. Just like she did at school. She always said it was in case of an emergency.'

'Al's not going to like that,' Scorpius observed.

'No.' She set her quill down. 'He already thinks we're all against him.'

'Are you?'

Lily's ponytail swung as she shook her head. 'No. I mean, what he did was pretty stupid, but it's done. I don't know what to do, yeah? I can support Al, but that would really tick off Mum and Dad, and I don't want to do that. Or I could shut out Al, like he thinks we're doing anyway, and then he'll be surly all the time, and he's a pill when he's angry. In case you haven't noticed.'

'Yes, I've noticed that,' Scorpius murmured.

'Most of the time, I want to smack him,' Lily grumbled. 'Don't know why he thought he'd get away with it.' Her face hardened. 'He's just made it harder for me to convince Dad to let me...' Lily busied herself with homework. 'To do what I want when I finish school. I won't be able to keep it secret from him.' She turned a page in the book in front of her. 'Now... either go away, or shut it. I'm horribly behind in History of Magic and this bloody essay's due tomorrow, and I've only written six inches. It's supposed to be three feet.'

'What's it about?'

'International Statue of Wizarding Secrecy.' Lily stuck her tongue out at the scroll.

Scorpius looked at his watch. It was nearly nine and at the rate Lily was going, it would be well after midnight before she finished. 'Hang on,' he told her. 'I've got my notes upstairs.'

Lily's face lit with nascent hope. 'You're going to help me?'

Scorpius chuckled. 'No. I'm going to get my notes and let you borrow them, so you don't have to search through a stack of musty books.'

'Thank you,' Lily said fervently. 'Maybe I won't be up all night.'

'You wouldn't be if you didn't leave your homework to the last minute,' Scorpius admonished with little heat as he headed for the spiral staircase. He ducked the book Lily Banished toward him.

XxXxXxX

Rose nervously smoothed her tie and stared at Neville. 'I wanted to play Quidditch,' she stammered. 'For the Cannons.'

Neville made a notation in Rose's file. 'And if that doesn't pan out?'

'I...' Rose fidgeted on the hard chair. 'I hadn't...'

Neville folded his hands on top of the file. 'Rose. We both know that the odds of anyone playing professionally for a career are small. Even for Albus,' he added sardonically. 'But you're not going to play forever, mind, so do you have an alternate plan in mind?'

'I thought this was where you gave me advice about my future career,' Rose said stubbornly.

'It is,' Neville said evenly. 'But it's also my job to make sure you've thought of the possibilities.'

'I'd rather be dead than go into the shop,' Rose muttered. 'And I don't want to work for the Ministry. I hate writing, and Healing leaves me cold. I don't do animals. I want to play Quidditch,' she maintained.

Neville inhaled deeply through his nose. 'Rose, what if you're concussed so badly your first few games, you're not allowed to play?'

'I don't really know,' she admitted.

'What do you know?' Neville asked gently.

'I know what I don't want to do,' Rose said earnestly. 'I thought maybe Gringotts. Maybe. It doesn't really matter, because we both know if it's not something terribly clever, it won't be good enough for Mum.'

'Rosie, I'm not asking you to forgo playing professionally. I'm just making sure you have something in place on the chance it doesn't happen for you. There's no shame in having a back-up plan.' He closed her rather thick file. 'Sleep on it. Come back and see me next week. Your schedule for next year isn't set in stone, and we can make changes when the term starts next autumn.' He grabbed a scrap of parchment from the basket on his desk and scrawled a pass to her class, then two more notes. 'You're in Charms this period, yes?' At Rose's nod, he wrote Flitwick's name across the top of her pass. He gave the lot to Rose. 'Pass those other notes along to Albus and Scorpius, would you? Just so they don't forget.'

'Thank you, Professor,' Rose said tiredly. She was getting heartily tired of everyone expecting her to behave just like her mother, just because she had received her mother's brains.

She slipped into Charms, having missed most of the lesson. Rose all but threw Al's note from Neville down on his desk, but politely handed Scorpius his, taking the empty seat on Scorpius' other side. Al swallowed heavily and tried to act as if he didn't care. Just a few weeks ago, he would have sat between Rose and Scorpius. Rose wouldn't have tried to get rid of the note with that moue of disgust. He opened the note and frowned. Neville's square penmanship jumped off the page. Al, I've had to reschedule your Career Advice appointment for four-thirty tomorrow afternoon. My apologies for the short notice. Professor Longbottom.

Scorpius waited until Flitwick had written the night's homework assignment on the board and copied it down, then surreptitiously thumbed it open. It was merely a reminder that his Career Advice session with Neville was scheduled for three, just after the end of Charms. He packed his bag and joined the throng in the corridor, weaving in and out of the milling students until he worked his way to the sloping lawns that ringed the greenhouses. Neville's desk was in a corner of Greenhouse Four this year, so Scorpius lightly knocked on the scarred door and pushed it wide enough to poke his head through the resulting gap. 'Professor?'

Neville waved Scorpius inside and gestured to the empty chair in front of the desk. Scorpius sat down, his bag clutched in both hands on his lap, and waited patiently for the Herbology professor to finish perusing the file he read. 'So then,' Neville began, closing the dark purple file. 'What did you have in mind?'

'I want to work with Mrs. Granger-Weasley,' Scorpius replied promptly.

'Oh?' Neville's brows arched in surprise.

Scorpius set his bag on the floor and leaned forward earnestly. 'I know who I am, Professor,' he said. 'I could go somewhere else, go abroad, change my name, but every morning, I can look in the mirror and see it. I can't deny who my father is, even if I so desired.' He took a deep breath. 'I have to write my own story and do it with being me. Doing it under an assumed name would be like running away.'

'But why Hermione?'

Scorpius nodded slowly. 'I'm related by birth and marriage to no less than four Death Eaters. My grandfather, father, a great-aunt, and her husband. My mother's brother is under surveillance from the Aurors, because he can't keep his mouth shut about how much he dislikes Muggles. I'm related to people who wrote the most egregious examples of anti-Muggle legislation in history. People see me, and they expect me to be like them.

'I have to be where I can... I can make a difference... And I have to do it as myself.'

Neville spoke before he could stop himself. 'I don't think your father really wanted to be a Death Eater.' He closed his mouth swiftly, teeth clacking together painfully.

Scorpius usually mobile face shuttered, and his grey eyes hardened. His pale features whitened for a moment, then his cheeks reddened. 'My father,' he said with precision, 'was weak. He was a bloody coward. He was offered sanctuary and was too afraid to take it. Six of you - Al's mother and father, Rosie's mother and father, you, and that sort of dotty blonde lady. The one that writes books about magical creatures...' He groped for the name.

'Luna Lovegood. Well, Scamander now, but that doesn't matter,' Neville supplied quietly.

'Right. Her. Luna. The six of you were my age or younger, and you refused to be cowed by that... that thing my father swore allegiance to,' Scorpius said icily. 'If I were to go abroad, and live and work under a different name that would be the same as running away. If I took that option, then I'm no better than my father. And I am not weak.'

Neville leaned back in his chair. 'N.E.W.T. in History of Magic and Ancient Runes. Anything else is up to you.'

'Thank you, sir,' Scorpius murmured, leaning back slightly, heightened color fading slowly.

Neville deliberately folded his hands on top of his desk. 'I think,' he began, 'that you know exactly what you want to do and what you need to do to achieve that. If you like I'll write to Hermione. I'm sure she can suggest a few things for you to study. That is, if you don't mind.'

Scorpius' breath hitched slightly and he visibly relaxed. 'Thank you. I'd like that.'

'I'll send it out in the morning.'

Scorpius stood, swinging his bag over his shoulder. He started for the door, but paused. 'Sir?'

'Yes?'

'Once the World Cup is over, will Al be able to play with Gryffindor again?' Scorpius twisted the strap of his bag between his long hands. 'He's not taken to the news that he can't play here very well...'

'If his contract stipulates that his involvement with England ends when the whistle blows on the last game they play in the Cup, then he can play with Gryffindor next autumn.'

'Good. He needs it. More than he needs to play with England. He just won't admit it.' Scorpius yanked open the door and strode from the greenhouse.

Neville sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. 'Nobody would ever mistake you for your father,' he muttered.

XxXxXxX

Al plodded from the entrance of the school and trudged down the lawns. He spared a baleful glance for the grey, leaden sky above and made a face at it. True to form, the weather had changed from a somewhat breezy, soft early spring day to a gloomy drizzling kind of rain. Typical, he sighed to himself. Even the weather's against me. He stopped outside Greenhouse Four and stood for several long moments, the rain misting over his hair, making it stick in damp clumps. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open, the hinges squealing, muffled by the rain.

He paused just inside to shake the droplets from his hair and brush off the sleeves of his jumper. It wasn't until he looked up did Al see that Neville wasn't alone. Professor Williams sat to one side of Neville, looming like a sinister shadow in his dark robes. 'Why is he here?' Al asked sharply.

Williams spoke up first. 'We thought it was best to have more than one teacher here. In light of... recent... events...' he said carefully.

Al stiffened, setting his teeth in his lower lip to stem the torrent of sarcastic comments that immediately came to mind. 'I see.' His lips compressed into a tight line and he gingerly sat on the edge of the chair.

Neville didn't open Al's file, nor make any motion to pass it to Williams. 'So, Al, I suppose you ought to tell us what you're thinking of doing with yourself when you finish school.'

'Play Quidditch.'

'Hmmm.' Neville made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, and his hands clasped together tightly. Williams softly cleared his throat and Neville forced himself to unclench his fingers.

Williams set one hand on the desk, stained with the various potions ingredients he used throughout the day. 'Al, you are undeniably talented. Obviously. But what shall you do with yourself in the event that you are unable to play? Most players retire while only in their mid-thirties. In wizarding terms, you're only slightly older than a babe in arms.'

'I can coach,' Al replied confidently.

'There are only thirteen teams in Britain and Ireland,' Williams said smoothly. 'Not counting the national teams of England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. But everyone knows how difficult it is to break into the coaching ranks. Not everyone can be an Oliver Wood,' he concluded. 'We're not trying to dissuade you from pursuing Quidditch as a career, Albus,' Williams continued, not giving Al a chance to object. 'We merely wish to make you aware of all your options.'

'But Quidditch is mine,' Al said quietly. 'It's the only thing I've got that someone else hasn't already done.' He caught the puzzled look on Neville's face. 'Yeah, I know. Izzy's a scout and Rosie has this mad idea to play for Chudley.' He waved off both concerns. They didn't matter to him or his ambitions. 'I can't imagine doing anything else.' He toyed with the creased strap of his bag. 'And - how did you put it, Professor? - in light of recent events, it's not likely I can be accused of getting where I am because of an accident of birth.' He looked down at the packed earth between his feet. 'And frankly, if I wanted to do anything else, I'd have to use a made-up name and go somewhere else.'

'That still doesn't address the question at hand,' Williams said gently. 'What would you do if -'

'Write about it. Like Mum,' Al muttered, barely opening his lips. 'But not here. And not for the Prophet.' Admitting it left a bitter coating on his tongue.

Williams tugged Al's file from under Neville's hands. He flipped it open and examined the topmost page. 'If you continue as you are, I see no reason why you can't do nearly anything you want, should you change your mind. Charms, Potions, Transfiguration... You need those if you intend to become a coach someday. I'd keep Herbology. It helps with Potions. Defense is up to you. But given how unscrupulous some teams can be, I suggest you try to stay on with it.' Al's mouth quirked with something neither Neville, nor Williams, could identify. Resignation, perhaps. 'When the scouts come to see you play in the next year or two, Madam Pimm will act as your representative. As she does for all the students the scouts come to see. I assure you, this isn't something out of the ordinary. And as a former player herself, she will ensure that your best interests are met.'

Neville spoke for the first time. 'Do you have any questions or comments?'

'No.' Al's voice sounded rusty.

'Then you can go.' Neville waited until Al had disappeared around the side of the school before he drooped in the chair. 'Thank you.'

Williams grinned. 'Why do I always end up dealing with Harry Potter's sullen relations? First Teddy Lupin. Now Al. Is Lily going to be next?'

'Doubtful,' Neville sighed. 'But out of the all the staff here, you're the only one who either wasn't one of Harry's teachers, or isn't a friend. If they're dealing with you, they're not thinking that we've got some ulterior motive.' He pushed himself to his feet, and waved his wand at the lamp suspended from the ceiling. 'And right now, Al's managed to convince himself that everyone in Hogwarts that has more than a nodding acquaintance with Harry has an agenda to thwart him.'

'Do you?'

Neville lifted his old bag, stuffed with papers to grade. 'You know, Zachary, sometimes, I wonder if we don't. We former members of Dumbledore's Army can be a rather sneaky lot when we want to be. It's completely unintentional, of course, but we can sort of band together unconsciously. Especially if we think one of us is being threatened.'

Williams snorted. 'Albus Potter is no more a threat than I am.'

Neville peered at the rain-washed castle through the greenhouse windows. 'Only to our peace of mind, Zachary.'