Al Potter and the Plague of Frogs

The doors of the scarlet train slid open all along the Hogsmeade Platform, expelling a swarming mass of students. Al was dwarfed in the crowd as it swept him along, a sense only bolstered by the sudden appearance of an enormous boot directly before him. His eyes traveled up an expanse of shaggy overcoat to a great, gray, bristly beard, just above which twinkled a pair of kind, black eyes.

"Hagrid!" said Al.

"FIRST YEARS THIS WAY!"

Al struggled to raise his voice above the noise of the crowd. "Hagrid!"

Still the gamekeeper failed to hear him.

"HAGRID!" Al hollered, waving his arms. His attention seemingly drawn to the flailing motion around his knee, Hagrid finally looked down.

"Al!" he cried. "I'm sorry, didn' see ya there! One second--" He let his eyes roam over the crowd a moment, and shouted again, "FIRST YEARS OVER HERE!" Hagrid bent down, angling an ear towards Al. "Were you shoutin'? My hearin's been gettin' worse all year, I'm about as deaf as bats'er blind--"

"That's okay!" said Al, speaking loudly and clearly. Noticing the growing numbers of short students gathering about, he asked, "Where are we supposed to go?"

"Lemme give one more shout," said Hagrid, and he straightened up, bellowing a final time for first years.

"There you are, Al!" said Rose, appearing at his side with Peter and Ana in tow. "I lost you in the crowd--"

"It's fine," said Al. "I found Hagrid," he added, a bit unnecessarily.

"ALL RIGHT!" said Hagrid. "FIRST YEARS, FOLLOW ME!" He turned and began wading through the throng of older students. The first years hurried to keep in his wake.

Hagrid led them away from the dirt road running off the Platform and into the woods, where they hiked single-file for some time. The trees on either side were overgrown and gnarled, completely blocking out the stars Al had seen blinking to life outside the train. A gentle breeze cooled his face and hushed through the leaves overhead.

Presently the path opened up, depositing them on the edge of a vast lake. It shone dark but for the hundreds of golden squares rippling on its surface--a reflection of the windows lit in the castle that loomed high over a cliff rimming the lake on the far side. Al gazed up at the towers and turrets, the parapets that stood black against the evening sky beyond, and all anxiety was for the moment forgotten, replaced by an awe that rooted him to the ground. His father had been very particular about none of his children seeing Hogwarts before the start of their first years, and now Al thought he knew why...

The trance was abruptly broken by the sounds of creaking wood and splashing water. Shaking his head, he saw he was one of only a few waylaid at the edge of the forest, among them a blond boy and a rather round girl, who were now similarly glancing about, a bit startled.

"Come on, Al--we've got room for one more!" yelled Rose from the shoreline, where she, Peter and Ana were hunched in a small, rickety boat--one of several stationed at the water's edge. Al hastened to climb aboard, settling on the back bench. Rose and Peter were sharing the middle, where the rower would normally sit, had the boat any oars.

"What a view, huh?" said Ana, curled at the prow with her chin in her hands, drinking in the sight with a sigh.

"Yeah," agreed Al.

"Everyone aboard?" he heard Hagrid shout somewhere along the line of old vessels. "All right--ONWARD!"

With a gentle lurch their boat pushed off from the strand, propelling itself slowly towards the castle. For the moment there was nothing but the light splash of water on bobbing wood, though murmurs grew among the boats as they skimmed the center of the lake.

Al heard one boy talking rapidly nearby, his voice carrying over the general hum of students. He strained to make out what he was saying, but Al need not have bothered, as the speaker abruptly gave a petrified yelp.

"Oh, Merlin!" the boy yelled. "I saw a face! A horrible, fishy face--snarling at me! In the water! I saw--Oh, Merlin--"

Al squinted in the dark, and thought it was the blond he had noticed at the edge of the forest, waving his arms in panic. The light from the distant windows glinted off his hair.

"That'll jus be some grindylows swimmin' up to say hello!" said Hagrid over the raised voices of the students within hearing. "Migh' not want ta stick yer hand out, though!"

"Oh, god--" Al heard the boy say, faintly.

"That one hasn't shut up since we got off the train," said Peter.

"He's just excited," said Rose, shivering a bit in the wind sweeping the lake.

"We're all excited," Peter replied, unconvinced this warranted one of them chattering like a monkey.

"I think I see a cave!" Ana exclaimed, pointing to a patch of long vines, through which the water seemed to pass, easing beyond the exterior of the cliff.

She was right--and they were coasting straight for it, the fleet narrowing to proceed in groups of three through the vines. Al's boat entered the cave, all of them brushing trailing plants from their shoulders. Ahead, empty boats continued on through the tunnel, having unloaded its passengers on the rocky bank. They disembarked to join the other children, who were congregating at the base of a stone set of stairs. At the top was a stout wooden door.

Al turned when he heard the blond boy behind him, prattling on to a girl in his boat, which had just pulled up to the shore. As his shipmates struggled to swing their legs onto dry land, the boy finished was he saying with a laugh and leapt from the prow, sticking his landing with a crunch of gravel.

He straightened and caught Al watching him. Tipping his head to the side like an inquisitive puppy, he contemplated his observer, allowing Al to do the same. He recognized the boy from King's Cross, but could not recall his name. Malfoy's son... The one Uncle Ron said Rose shouldn't get too close to...

The moment ended as suddenly as it began--someone nudged the boy from behind, trying to reach the rest of the first years by the stairs, and Al lost sight of him among the group.

When the last students had stumbled from their boats, Hagrid trudged up the steps and knocked. The door flew open, and in its place stood a tall witch, silhouetted in the light spilling from the castle. She was entirely composed of spiky angles: all pointed hat, sharp shoulders and jutting elbows.

"The first years, ma'am," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Professor Hagrid," she said, her voice surprisingly gruff for that of a witch. She stepped back, motioning the students forward, and her front was bathed in light, revealing a lean face creased with age.

The children ascended the stairs, trainers scuffling on stone trodden smooth by the generations of first years before them. They were led through a short corridor and into the Entrance Hall, which would have been another cause for wonder had Al not noticed the muffled cacophony of older students beyond the double doors. They were all there--his brother, his cousins, the professors, some of whom his parents had known since childhood, and the hundreds of other students... All those eyes, focused on him...

Quite without his knowledge, his feet had kept pace with the others, and he found himself in a small room adjoining the Great Hall, where they were packed in tight. Standing by the door, the spiky witch cleared her throat.

"I am Professor Sinistra," she said. "Once classes commence on Monday, you will all have me three times a week for Astronomy. I am also Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, and Head of Ravenclaw House."

A few students certain of their futures in Ravenclaw grinned up at her.

"Soon I will lead you into the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony. You will be Sorted into one of the four Houses of Hogwarts School--Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, or Slytherin--according to where the Sorting Hat decides you're best suited..."

She went on, saying something about the House points system, but Al was no longer listening. Here was a second affirmation that his father had been mistaken: the Sorting Hat decides... He stared blankly ahead, trying to control his breathing so as not to hyperventilate.

"You all right, mate?" asked Peter, looking at him askance.

"We should be ready for you momentarily," finished Professor Sinistra, and she left them, closing the door behind her.

In the sudden outburst of whispers, Al heard the blond boy somewhere in front of him, claiming he already knew what House he would be in... his grandparents had told him all about the family legacy the last time he had visited them in France, where they raised Abraxans...

Al thought Abraxans were really cool. He wondered if any of theirs were named Pegasus--

He shook his head. He could not afford distractions, he had to think like a Gryffindor, focus on Gryffindor. Maybe if he pretended really hard that he was James, the Hat would be fooled--but how did James think? Al knew how James thought about him, but if he tried to convey that to the Hat it would think he were a self-hating lunatic and declare him best suited to St. Mungos--

"Al?" said Rose. "Erm, you okay? You're all sweaty..."

"M'fine," Al mumbled.

"He really is freaking out," said Peter, raising his eyebrows. Before Al could respond, Professor Sinistra reentered the room, a three-legged stool clutched in her hand.

"This way, please," she said, indicating a side door, and slowly they moved, in some semblance of a queue, out into the Great Hall.

The vast room was bright with candles floating high above and packed with students, all arranged along four long tables. At the back of the Hall, where the first years were emerging, sat the teachers. An old, round witch with wispy, flyaway white hair was seated in a large, ornately carved chair at the center of the table.

Must be Headmistress Sprout, Al thought. Attempting to ignore the waves of tension rolling through his chest, he forced his eyes from chair to chair, identifying familiar faces: Professor Longbottom, who gave Al a nod and wink; Professor Finch-Fletchley, whom Al had met last year at a Ministry party, but as he taught Muggle Studies Al wouldn't have him until third year; Coach Wood, the Flying Instructor, who had flown for Puddlemere United; Mr. Thomas, who was heading a new Arts & Spellcrafts program, his father said; Hagrid, sitting in a sturdy chair at the end...

The first years were made to stand before the teachers, facing the student body. Professor Sinistra placed the stool in front of them, set the frayed Sorted Hat atop it, and stood aside.

There was quiet in the Hall, then the Hat stirred. A rip by its brim opened wide like a mouth and began to sing:

For centuries I've sorted students

Into the old Hogwarts Houses four,

Based on what I think to be prudent

Upon glimpsing what lies at their cores.

The iron willed and lionhearted,

Who boldness and bravery espouse,

And from the fight would not be parted,

I direct them to Gryffindor House.

For children born dutiful and true,

Whose wands are ever at the ready;

For the firm, and the diligent, too,

Hufflepuff calls, House of the steady.

To Ravenclaw, I send the sharp brains:

Those scholars of logic and reason

With whom complex thinking fails to strain;

Here, learning is always in season!

Slytherin, for the quick and astute,

Those students of high aspiration;

Who will, I hope, improve its repute

And supply some exoneration.

I sing much the same song once a year,

At the beginning of each new term.

I sing for both the old and new ears,

But again and again starts to germ

The notion that I warble in vain--

Though you applaud, you fail to take heed;

My message drains away with the rain.

So I repeat, a decades-old need:

The Houses must respect each other,

Put aside this distrust and distaste.

Or else, why did the Founders bother?

You put their great endeavors to waste.

Hogwarts today falls short of their dream,

Of what they envisioned at the start:

A school, throughout the whole world supreme,

Of youngsters joined in the Magic Arts.

Unity amongst any wizards

Is a fickle plant to have to grow

But sure as Yetis in a blizzard

The Founders would have wanted it so.

Finished, the Hat bowed its tip, waiting for applause--but the silence that preceded its song continued for a beat. Then two.

Then Headmistress Sprout stood up from her chair and began to clap, smiling fondly at the Sorting Hat. After a moment, the teachers and students applauded as well, though with a certain degree of reservation.

"Does it always--scold?" Al heard someone ask quietly to his left.

"My sister says it's been complaining more every year," said Peter, with borrowed exasperation.

"How can it say all the Founders wanted unity when Slytherin walked out?" muttered a girl behind him.

"It was only talking about their dream 'at the start,'" Al found himself replying. You're just full of answers today, aren't you? said his James voice. "Shut up," Al breathed.

"I was only asking," the girl snapped.

Al turned, alarmed, but before he could utter a word of apology Professor Sinistra's voice rang out above the whispers rampant in the Hall.

"You will step forward to be Sorted when I call your name," she said, picking up the Hat with one hand and letting a scroll unfurl to the ground in the other.

Al felt a nest of worms squirming in his stomach. He thought he might be sick.

"Ackerley, St. John!"

A scrawny, brown-haired boy staggered forward and perched on the stool. Professor Sinistra lowered the Hat onto his head. St. John sat perfectly still the few seconds it took the Hat to announce: "RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left burst into cheers as St. John ducked out from beneath the Hat and bolted for the first available seat among his housemates.

The Sorting Hat shouted its decisions rather quickly for the first few students. The As turned into Bs, and then Sinistra was calling for Peter Bones, as Argiletum Blotts marched to Slytherin.

Peter waited under the hat for all of an instant.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the Hat declared, and beaming, Peter made for the cheering students second from the right. Al stared after him, and immediately wished he had not. Sitting just beyond Peter, at the Gryffindor table, he saw James saying something from behind his hand to their cousin Ray, who doubled over in muted laughter.

He would have bet a Galleon they were talking about him.

"Dolohov, Anastasiya!"

Al turned to Ana, startled--they were already mid-D? Glancing at him, Ana mustered a smile, and went to the stool. The Hat engulfed her, so that only the braids were visible, hanging past her shoulders.

There was a long pause, and Al held his breath. The Hat tipped forward a bit, then back. Somewhere inside it, Ana had nodded.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Beside him, he heard Rose sigh. Ana raised a hand to the Hat's brim, peeking out from underneath. The Slytherins were clapping to the far left. Throughout the rest of the Hall, a few students leaned out from their benches for a better look. They recognized the name...

Ana removed the Hat, handed it to Sinistra, and walked to her housemates. She kept her back very straight.

Good posture, Al thought. Auntie Fleur would approve...

She sat down next to the Blotts boy, who gave her a shy grin. Al watched her--even as Harrison Drake went with cheers to Gryffindor, Anthony Edwards to Hufflepuff--waiting for some sign of dismay or panic. But Ana was calm, replying to something Blotts had said. She smiled and clapped when Danica Kalna, a bony, fair-haired girl, joined the table.

She's all right, Al thought. Or else hiding that she's upset...

As May Li made her way to Ravenclaw, the Malfoy boy stepped out of the line of remaining first years and dropped onto the stool.

"But she never called his name!" whispered Rose. It appeared Professor Sinistra had realized the same thing. She looked down at the boy, then back to her list, and raised an eyebrow.

"Malfoy, Scorpius?" she enquired. The boy seemed confused.

"...Y-es?" he said. Sinistra shrugged and set the hat on his head as scattered laughter was stifled around the Hall. Poorly stifled at Gryffindor, Al noticed.

The Hat took but a heartbeat to decide.

"SLYTHERIN!" it shouted. Scorpius pulled off the Hat and went, chin high with exaggerated dignity, to his table. Al would have chuckled if his insides were not tying themselves in knots. He hoped it would not cause intestinal problems.

McKenzie McDonald went to Gryffindor. His James voice was singing: ...L, M, N, O, P...

Al wished N and O were more popular letters. O was a bit awkward, he understood that, but N was only slightly different to M--why wasn't it just as common? It was prejudice, is what it was. It was--what was the word Aunt Hermione had used? She said it meant letter--epistle.

It was Epistle Prejudice.

...Or had she meant an owled letter?

"Potter, Albus!"

Oh, Merlin.

He saw Rose pat his arm, and was sure it would have felt reassuring were he not completely numb. He was glad his legs seemed to know what to do, as they carried the top portion of him to the stool and bent at the knees, forcing him to sit.

Al had time to observe that the prior butts had warmed the seat before he was enveloped in musty darkness.

"Albus Severus Potter!" said a voice in his ear. It sounded rather excited. Al had mixed feelings about this--on the one hand, if it were happy to meet him because it remembered his father, he might have an easier time convincing it to put him in Gryffindor; on the other, excitable hats, for all he knew, were the most difficult sorts of hat to reason with--

"Goodness! Slow down or you'll blow a nerve," warned the Hat.

Right, sorry, thought Al.

"I will have you know I am happy meet you, and not merely because of your father, nor am I prone to fits of excitement. I was hoping you'd be a better fit than your brother, and so you are, so you are." It paused, then asked: "Do you trust me, Al Potter?"

Not really, Al thought, before he could help it. Unbidden, one of his grandfather's favorite sayings came to mind: 'Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain!'

"I would advise you don't look up," said the Hat dryly.

Oh, Merlin, thought Al, and just resisted shielding his head with his hands.

"If that's sorted," said the Hat, chortling at the pun. "Then I suggest you do trust me, my friend, when I say that it needs you as much as you need it--"

What--?

"--and by 'it,' I mean SLYTHERIN!" it finished, shouting the last word.

Al went rigid, hands clamped on the rim of the stool. This was not supposed to happen. This was supposed to be something he worried about happening, something his brother teased him about happening, something his parents promised they would not mind happening--but it was not ever actually supposed to... happen...

Maybe--maybe if I just stay here they won't make me go, he thought wildly. No, said his James voice. They'll laugh at you, and then they'll make you go--

"Neurotic little thing, aren't you?" interrupted the Hat. "You let your brother torment you when he's not even trying!"

Someone cleared their throat outside the muffled darkness, and then the Hat was being lifted off his head.

No--thought Al, weakly.

"You'll be fine," said the Sorting Hat, then its brim cleared his face, and Al's shock was reflected at him a hundredfold. Sinistra was peering down at him curiously, holding the Hat high above where he sat. At the Gryffindor table he saw his cousins--Victoire, blue eyes wide; Fred, further down; Corey and Clay, for once speechless; then Ray. With dread, he let his gaze move on to James.

His brother was staring at him with the strangest expression--almost hungry, his eyes devouring the scene before them. And alongside the disbelief, Al could have sworn he saw a flash of something else. Something like... elation. But why...?

A clapping shattered the silence. Ana was staring at him, suppressed panic written across her face as she brought her hands together over and over, in a rapid, jarring rhythm. The Blotts boy joined in a moment later, then the bony girl. Even the Malfoy boy--Scorpius--began to applaud.

Legs taking control again, Al rose unsteadily from the stool, watching his feet in bemusement as they effected a passable stride. The clapping spread, with varying levels of enthusiasm, until the Slytherin table was applauding as normally as it had for anyone. It petered out as he reached the far bench, and Al slid gratefully into a space Ana had hurriedly cleared.

"Al!" she exclaimed quietly. "What are you doing here?"

Despite her distress, Al sensed she was fighting a smile. He expelled a breathy laugh, low and a bit hysterical.

"I dunno," he said, shaking his head. "I just--I dunno."

He inhaled as much as his lungs could take, glancing back at the stool and Hat, which had just declared Olivia Quirke a Ravenclaw. The stool looked so far away... he could hardly believe he had made it.

As the ceremony continued, Al evaluated the first years close-by. Blotts, the boy on his left, was absently folding his napkin into a crane. On the opposite bench, the bony girl was following the Sorting carefully, stretching her neck to get a better view of each student. Next to her, Scorpius Malfoy was paying as close attention to Al, regarding him as though attempting to classify his species.

Al tried arching an eyebrow at him, but he had never quite mastered that trick of the face, and a corner of his mouth quirked up as well.

"SLYTHERIN!" yelled the Sorting Hat, and they all glanced around, clapping, to see an athletic-looking girl headed for the table. She sat a few benches away, among a few similarly fit students. Quidditch players, Al guessed.

"What was her name?" he asked.

"Abigail Vaisey," the bony girl replied, eyes trained on Professor Sinistra, who was reaching the end of her scroll.

"Weasley, Rose!" Sinistra called.

Rose approached the stool, glancing towards the Slytherin table as she went. Al resisted waving to her--he had an idea that remaining as inconspicuous as possible was probably the safest course of action. Or--well, inaction.

Rose sat, her head obscured by the Hat. It remained so for a full minute.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat shouted. Accompanied by loud cheers, Rose ran to her family on the far side of the Hall. Al was visited by a strange sense of his own absence at their table, and something shriveled in his chest.

He was glaring at his place setting, trying not to think about it, when a warm hand came to rest between his shoulder blades. He knew it was Ana's--he doubted the Blotts boy would be doling out comfort to strangers--but when he cut his eyes to the side she was quietly watching the last first year, Daisy Zeller, become a Hufflepuff. He didn't really mind, anyway, so he followed her lead and didn't say anything.

She removed the hand from his back once Daisy was happily stowed at her table. The Sorting over, Professor Sinistra carried away the Hat and stool, and Headmistress Sprout stood up, both hands raised.

"Welcome, new and continuing students," she said, smiling benevolently at them all. "I won't prolong your hunger. Please, let the feast begin!"

The tables groaned at her words, as platter upon bowl upon pitcher were suddenly full of food and drink. There was a flurry of movement around the Hall as students dove to help themselves. Al reached for a leg of chicken, suddenly ravenous.

"So," said Scorpius Malfoy, pouring himself a goblet of pumpkin juice. He glanced from Ana to Al. "I don't think we've met."

Al eyed him uneasily. Everyone had heard him Sorted--why was Scorpius making a show?

"Er, well--everyone," said Ana. "This is Al Potter."

The bony girl smiled and waved a fork. "Danica." Al nodded hello.

"Argiletum Beecher Blotts," said Blotts beside him, sticking out a formal hand. "But Argil will do," he added, as he and Al shook.

"Albus... Severus Potter," Al said, in kind. "And Al's fine." He heard a short laugh, and turned to see Scorpius grinning triumphantly at them from across the table.

"I have you both beat," he said, extending a hand to Al. "Scorpius Lucius Ignatius Malfoy. But I answer only to Scor, Malfoy, or Mister Malfoy."

"I'll remember that," said Al, shaking his hand.

"What do your parents call you?" asked Agril, as Scorpius--Scor--shook his hand as well.

"Son," he said, reaching for a spoon. Al bit back a laugh.

"Is that why you went before Sinistra said your name?" asked Danica. "So you wouldn't have to answer to it?" Scor paused in the midst of serving himself mashed potato.

"What?" he said.

"You went to the stool before she called you," Danica said.

"N-o..." said Malfoy, lowering his arm. He waited, eyes prompting her to remember correctly. "She said my name twice, like she was checking it was really me--" He scoffed. "Like I could be anyone else with this hair."

Danica turned, seeking support from the others.

"You did," said Ana. "She only said your name once, when you were already sitting down..."

Scor looked around at each of them, perplexed. "But I--"

"Maybe you just thought you heard her call you," Al suggested. "Because you knew your name would be coming up, after the Ls?"

"I... I suppose I must have," said Scor, though he sounded unconvinced. He poked at the potatoes, frowning. "That's why people were laughing, then?"

"It could have been worse," said Argil, matter-of-factly. "You could've sat down and it turned out you weren't next on the list." Scor cringed at the thought.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Guess I was lucky, really..." They all nodded emphatically, and Scor let the issue drop, though Al noticed he was quiet the rest of the meal--or quieter than his first impression of Scor would have led Al to expect.

Danica and Ana were getting along, and Al was content to let Argil talk, with polite pauses as he properly chewed his food, about the many trips he had made with his parents that summer to locations Al had never even heard of. They sounded exotic, though--like the Ryukyu Islands, which Al gathered were a part of Japan, and Juneau, which, as Argil informed him, was the capital of Alaska in the United States.

Al was wondering what Argil's parents did for a living, to be able to fund such outings, when it occurred to him in a flash: Argil Blotts--could he be...? But that meant Al was sitting next to one of the richest boys in wizarding Britain!

His mother had mentioned it when they'd gone to Diagon Alley for his supplies--they were at Flourish & Blotts, which she'd said was owned by Blotts Brothers, who had a wand in everything: books, clothes... They even bought out Quality Quidditch Supplies not too long ago; she had written an article about it for the Daily Prophet...

"Al?" said Argil. "Is there something in the pudding?"

"What? No," he said, snapping out it. He had been gaping at the treacle tart. "No, sorry. Just, er--deciding whether I want some..."

"You do," said Scor, speaking up for the first time in a while.

Al reached for the tray. "It's good?" he asked.

"I'm on my third," replied Scor.

Al was on his second helping, and Argil was telling Danica about the Kappa he had seen on a cruise of the Yellow Sea, when a hush fell over the Hall. The Headmistress had levered herself from her chair.

"A few start-of-term announcements before I send you off to bed," she said. She cleared her throat, and continued in a stern tone that rather conflicted with the wrinkled laughter lines at her eyes. "First, our dear old caretaker, Mr. Filch, has, for the discerning student, posted an extensive and updated chart of forbidden items outside his office. He has requested I explicitly state that all WWW products are prohibited, and will be confiscated if found on school grounds.

"Second," she said, smiling. "By the good will of the calendar, you have two days until classes start. Schedules will be handed out Monday morning. So make the most of your last weekend free of homework! Within reason, of course," she hastened to add, as Sinistra shot her a reproving glance. "Always within reason. That is all! Prefects, please lead our new students out first, we don't want to lose anyone. Good night!"

Al took a last gulp of pumpkin juice.

"First year Gryffindors this way!" Looking up at the sound of his cousin Fred, Al started to stand--then stopped, remembering where he was. If the others noticed his near mistake, no one said anything.

"Slytherin shorties follow me!" said a slender, pug-nosed girl a few feet away. Without waiting to see if anyone had heard her, she turned and strode quickly for the door. The five of them scrambled clear of the benches, jogging to catch up. Along the table, other first years were hurrying to do likewise.

"Slow down!" called a burly boy, still swallowing his last bite of pudding.

"Eat less!" the girl tossed over her shoulder.

Passing through the double doors, Al saw Rose among a crowd of first years climbing the Grand Staircase, Fred herding them from behind.

Their impatient prefect led them across the Entrance Hall to the left of the Grand Staircase, where a set of steps wound downward into the depths of the castle. Torch brackets on the walls lit their descent at guttering intervals. On reaching the bottom, they were met with a mess of corridors and secret passageways. Wordlessly, their guide navigated with ease.

"I foresee myself getting lost for the next year," Scor muttered at his side.

"We'll just have to go round in pairs at first," Al replied.

"Then I foresee us getting lost for the next year," said Scor, not much comforted.

"Here we are." The girl halted in front of a blank expanse of stone. Al looked around for some sort of door, but Scor directed his attention back to the wall. "Copperhead," the girl said, and the wall slid back with a dull grinding of rock to reveal a dim entryway. Beyond lay a wide, strangely lit room. "Well, go on!"

Hesitantly, the Slytherin first years moved through the entrance into the Common Room, where they stood clustered together, peering around.

The strange light, Al quickly saw, was due to the room being partially under the lake--murky water pressed in on the high, magically-reinforced windows, casting greenish shadows along the low ceiling. They were closed in by five walls: one doubled as the entrance, which had just ground back into place; one in which were set a pair of heavy, steel-banded doors. On two were hung with thick, intricate tapestries, and in the space between them was set a roaring, white marble fireplace. Al could feel its heat on his face even from across the room, the flames bathing the Common Room in soft light and sweeping shadow.

Beneath his feet, stretching along the dark carpet, ran curling, intertwined lines of gray, connecting each corner of the room to the four others, so that a pentagram spanned the floor. Old wooden tables were grouped by one wall, and around the rest of the space were armchairs and couches of stuffed, green leather, gleaming softly in the firelight.

It--it's not so bad, thought Al.

"Girls' dorms through the left door, boys' through the right," said the girl from behind them. "I'm Violet Urquhart. You have any questions, ask your pillows."

And with that, she walked away, disappearing into the girls' dorms. In the nervous quiet that fell with her departure, Al heard pounding footsteps outside the sliding wall--the rest of Slytherin were arriving from the Great Hall.

Rather than stay to brave new and possibly unwelcoming faces, Al headed swiftly for the dormitories. He sensed the others doing the same, and wondered if they shared this sentiment, or if perhaps they were just tired. Reaching the boys' door first, he yanked it open, looking up in time to see Ana pulling wide the door on his left.

"Goodnight," he said.

She sent him a quick, evaluating glance. "'Night," she said. "See you in the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah," he said. He took a deep breath, and continued through the door.