Al Potter and the Plague of Frogs

"Exploring?" said Argil uncertainly, the next day at breakfast.

He, Ana and Al were the only Slytherin first years there. It was early yet, but judging by the raucous snores issuing from the other boys' beds, Al suspected he and Argil would be the only ones from their dormitory making an appearance.

"I'll go," said Ana, stretching for the juice pitcher. "Even if we don't find it, it'll be fun just seeing the grounds."

"But they give us a map of the entire estate with our schedules," said Argil. "Won't the tunnel be marked on there?"

"It's a secret tunnel," replied Al, shaking his head. "Secret tunnels aren't marked on maps! Then they wouldn't be secret."

"I don't know," said Argil, sighing. "I wanted to write Mother and Father before lunch. Meant to do it yesterday, but I fell asleep..."

Al nodded, and tried not to think about the letter to his own parents he had written last night. Waking to lingering darkness that morning, sandy-eyed from a fitful sleep and doubting he would be able to doze off again, he had dressed and gone over the letter a fifth time. It sounded just as awkward as it had the first, when he haltingly wrote it, sprawled on his dark green duvet, hidden behind the thick bed hangings. It was currently furled in his pocket.

"Come on, Argil," Ana was saying. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I'll pretend I'm a fugitive on my way to the owlery," said Argil, his mind made up. He took a last bite of toast and stood. Al contemplated asking him to mail his letter as well, but decided against it. He had only just met Argil--what if he was the nosy type and read it?

"All right," said Ana, a bit disappointed. "See you later, then?"

"Yes." Argil nodded to Ana, then to Al. "Er--good luck."

As he walked away, Ana chuckled quietly.

"What?" asked Al.

"Argil!" she said, keeping her voice low. "He's... funny."

"Old," Al corrected.

"That's it!" she exclaimed. "He's like an old man! Really," she said, adopting a serious face. "He reminds me of my great uncle."

"He's just, erm..." Al trailed off, wondering whether this uncle was a sibling of Antonin Dolohov. "...A bit stiff."

"He's nice, though," said Ana, reconsidering. "I like him."

"I like him, t--I mean, sure you do." He coughed and pushed away his plate. "You done?" Ana gave him a small, puzzled frown over her empty goblet.

"Yeah," she said.

---- ---- ---- ---- ----

At the bottom of the front steps outside, Al made a quick decision, and before he could change his mind turned toward the castle. Raising thumb and forefinger to his mouth, he whistled a brief, shrill note.

Ana jumped in surprise. "What--?" But no sooner had the sound faded than a white shape came soaring out of the top of the nearest tower.

"Sorry," said Al, following the barn owl's rapid descent. "I need to do this, first."

"It heard you from all the way up there?" asked Ana, staring up at the bird.

"My Aunt Hermione says owls have better hearing than a wizard with an Aural Charm," he said.

"A... mouth charm?" she asked, confused.

"What? No, I said--whoa!" He held up his arm just in time for the owl to land, flapping its wings in short bursts to find its balance. "Good girl," he murmured. Looking back at Ana, he continued: "Not oral, aural. It means hearing, I reckon."

"Right," said Ana, her attention diverted by the bird. "So... good ears, then?"

"Yeah." He noticed Ana staring. "Oh! I'm sorry--this is Filibert."

"Filibert?" she repeated. "But I thought you called it a girl...?"

"She is, but I named her before I knew that." He shifted his arm, trying to keep the heavy owl level. "Mum shortened it to Filly, 'cause it was more girly, but she'd only answer to Filibert..." He grinned, suddenly reminded of Scor, who had so recently voiced a similar attitude. He should introduce the two.

Filibert, this is Scorpius, who answers only to Scor. Scor, this is Filly, who answers only to Filibert.

...Maybe not. Scor would probably think it was stupid, or that Al was making fun.

"Well, Filibert, you're very pretty--or um, handsome? You're a fine creature," said Ana, landing on a neutral compliment. "Lovely pale coloring."

Filibert preened, smoothing a few errant feathers on her wing. Down the back of her head to her tail feathers, the white was splashed with yellow, which shone like gold in the morning sunlight.

Chuckling, the same springing to mind again, Al said, unthinkingly, "Kinda like--like you," he ended, catching himself.

Oh, even better, Al, he thought with an inner groan. Now she's going to think you called her a fine creature with pale coloring--which technically does describe Ana, only now she's going to think you like her or something.

Ana, perhaps mercifully, did not seen flattered--just uncomfortable.

"Right," she said. "Erm, thanks?"

Having no idea where to go from there, Al glanced down at the weight on his arm. Why was Filibert here?

Ana cleared her throat. "So, do you have something to mail, or--"

Oh! The letter--he groped for it with his free hand, drawing the crushed scroll out of his pocket.

"Yeah," he said hurriedly. "I--figured I should let my parents know, so..." He offered the rolled parchment to Filibert, who snatched it up in her beak. "Er, careful with that, Fil..."

The barn owl, resentful of the implication that she was at all unreliable, looked away and launched haughtily into the air.

Ana's eyes were wide. Minus the robe, she could have been Wednesday Addams' pleasant twin. "What d'you think they'll say?" she asked.

"No idea," said Al, starting toward the Forest. "My dad told me he'd be fine with it, when I asked--"

"You suspected?" interrupted Ana, shocked. "You didn't say anything on the train!"

"I didn't really think I'd be Sorted here!" Al protested. "I always worry about the worst thing that could possibly happen--I mean." He tried to rephrase at Ana's pointed look. "I mean--you know what I mean!"

Ana Looked.

"All right, for the not-even-a-day that I've been in Slytherin, it's not been that bad," he conceded. "But that's because I've either been hiding in my bed or with you--"

Ana grinned.

Al rolled his eyes. "What I mean is that I've been trying really hard not to think about what it's going to be like in a House that most of my family still sneer at whenever someone says the name--"

He inhaled, and guessed his face had gone bright red, as Ana was watching him with concern. Why did his face always have to turn red? When he was upset, or angry, or laughing too hard, or the least bit embarrassed, or even if someone was staring at him, sometimes--all triggered a full on flush.

They reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest and turned right, walking along the line of thinning trees. Teddy said he had found one end of the tunnel at the base of a tree, in its twisted roots, on the Forest's fringe.

"No one sneers anymore," said Ana quietly.

"No," Al admitted. "But that's the thing, isn't it? No one can be too obvious about it, 'cause now it's rude, but it's still there--'Don't smirk, dear, you look like a Slytherin,' and have you noticed that no one ever puts green and silver together? Not in jewelry or clothes or anything, 'cause people won't buy it. Makes them think of Slytherin--"

"You can't know that," said Ana, laughing.

"I've looked!" said Al. "Mum has jewelry order-books at home, and they make silvery necklaces and things with everything but emerald. And when you hear someone was a Slytherin in school? No one says anything, but it's always the same look, for a split second, before they remember to hide it."

He was not too solid on his sources for that last one, having only observed his family's reactions to such a thing. James and his Uncle Ron were particularly open with their dislike, the former because he did not care when he was being rude unless his father was around, the latter because when he was being rude he often mistakenly thought he was being funny.

Al kicked at a rock. Ana said nothing, but kicked the rock as they drew even with it. They continued like this--playing caveman football, he thought, with the twitch of a grin--for some time. Ana was lost in thought, watching their feet.

Eventually they came to where the trees met the shore of the lake, and they could go no further in that direction. As they turned around to head back, Ana spoke up.

"I'm sorry, Al. For me, I just knew it'd tougher making friends at school, being in Slytherin. But my family's happy I was Sorted here.

"I was so--pleased," she said. "When you were Sorted here, too. We were already friends, sort of, and it was so unexpected--I was clapping and all of a sudden you were at our table!"

Al gave her a pained smile, recalling the ceremony from the night before. "This tunnel's bollocks," he said. "Let's just follow the lake."

Ana nodded, and they moved on. Or so he had hoped.

"I am sorry, though," she continued, keeping pace beside him. "I know you really wanted to be in Gryffindor. I know your family really wanted you to be in Gryffindor."

Al felt his facial muscles tightening, and forced a laugh to cover it up.

"I never thought I'd end up there," he said, shaking his head. "I couldn't see it. I was hoping I'd be a Hufflepuff, actually, once I knew I wouldn't make it to Gryffindor. I was only afraid I'd be a Slytherin."

He smiled to let her know he was teasing, but though Ana let the subject pass, she did not seem reassured.

---- ---- ---- ---- ----

They spent the rest of the day outdoors, half-heartedly searching for possible tunnel entrances as they wandered the grounds, returning now and then to check the trees bordering the Forbidden Forest.

Around noon they were completing a circuit of the Quidditch Pitch, and missed lunch. As the sun began to sink toward the western horizon, their stomachs informed them in no uncertain terms of their neglectfulness.

"What exactly did your cousin say about this tunnel, again?" Ana asked, when they finally started for the castle.

"Well--he's not really a cousin," said Al, wondering whether he should broach this particular topic. "He's more of a... god-brother."

Ana was nodding. "And he told you there was a secret tunnel on the grounds that no one else knew about?"

"That not many knew about," said Al.

"Who does know about it, and are they all off having a laugh about now?"

"No! And not that many--a few," he said. He looked at Ana, who was glowing a bit after spending hours out in the sun, and decided this was not the time to mention Teddy. "He told me a boy a few years ahead of him had put a silencing spell on a Burrowing Blowtorch and tunneled from one of the dungeons to a tree not far into the Forbidden Forest." He held up his hands. "That's all he said, he was just telling the story."

She arched a brow, waiting for more.

"He said the boy's name was Tunnler!" Al said, remembering. Ana stopped, her mouth pinched in a stifled smile.

"What?" she said.

"His name was... Oh," said Al, cottoning on.

"Your god-brother told you a boy named Tunnler tunneled a tunnel, Al?"

"I--sorry?" he said helplessly.

Ana marched past him.

"Albus Potter," she grumbled, which he took to mean she was unhappy with him--but not truly, as he still sensed a smile somewhere nearby.

"Very sorry?" he tried, following beside.

"Merlin," she said, casting her eyes upward. Al never understood why people did that--Merlin was long dead, so would he not rather be in the opposite direction? Pondering this, he missed what Ana said next.

"Sorry?"

Ana burst out laughing.

"Enough sorrys!" she exclaimed. They had reached the front steps of the Entrance Hall, where they could already smell supper wafting from the Great Hall. "I said so long as I eat in the next five minutes you won't have to bury me by the front door under a headstone saying 'Here lies Ana Dolohov, who died looking for a tunnel that didn't exist'!"

"Right--sorry," said Al, hurrying to pull open the heavy doors.

"Al!" said Ana.

"What? Oh! Sor--" he clapped his hands over his mouth and dashed into the Hall.

---- ---- ---- ---- ----

Sunday dawned misty and gray, though Al had no way of knowing this, deep as he was in the Slytherin dormitories. He managed to wake later than he had the morning before, but the only one up when he drew back his green bed-curtains was Argil, emerging from the steamy bathroom with wet, neatly combed hair.

"Morning," said Al. He ran a hand through his own hair, realizing he probably needed a shower as well--he had not had one since Thursday...

"Good morning," Argil replied. "Though I have no idea if it is a good morning, as there are no windows this far underground."

Thinking of the window in his dad's office, Al said aloud, "I wonder if we could get an enchanted one down here, so it could give us a view of the grounds, or something..."

"And maybe let us know if it's pouring rain outside and we shouldn't put on our best suede shoes!" added Argil, rummaging around in his wardrobe.

Al had no suede shoes, so this was a not an issue. It would be nice though, he thought, to know right away whether it was snowing, or storming, or sunny...

Getting up, he located his toiletries at the bottom of his trunk and entered the bathroom. The large mirror over the sinks was still fogged, and the black tiles were damp beneath his feet. There were four stalls--two showers, two toilets--and a few urinals at the back. The walls were tiled the same as the floor, glinting darkly in the high-bracketed candlelight.

The overall effect was creepy enough that Al was having second thoughts about the shower. But Argil would probably notice his dry hair if he walked out now. Steeling himself, Al grabbed one of the towels stacked beside the door and hung it outside a stall.

It was the fastest shower of his life. There were suds still running down his narrow back when he flung the door open and stepped out, wrapping the towel hurriedly around his waist. Next time, he thought, he should perhaps wait until the towel was in place before leaping into the open air. Luckily, he was the only one there--that he could see, he reminded himself, casting a paranoid glance at the shadows lurking behind him.

Al went to a sink and wiped a section of mirror clear with a forearm. His moisture-warped reflection stared dully as he brushed his teeth. Lowering his toothbrush, he examined his face.

Black, wet hair, plastered in curling tendrils around his skull; thin eyebrows, like his mother's; eyes round and green, like his father's; pointy chin, down which a trail of toothpaste dripped. His skin was still brown from a summer spent outside, taking after his father in that, too--his mother and siblings only freckled in the sun.

It was his usual morning face. He looked just the same as he always had, ever since he had grown tall enough to see over the sink at home.

He wondered, though, how others were seeing him. Did he seem different to them now, as a Slytherin? Sneakier? More cunning? Did he look untrustworthy? Leaning forward, Al breathed on the glass, and did not look up until he had left the bathroom.

He and Argil quickly completed their morning routines and met Ana in the common room. Danica was waiting with her, and so the four of them proceeded to the Great Hall for Sunday brunch. Al noticed, glancing at the enchanted ceiling, that the day was overcast and dreary.

He was silent all through breakfast, waiting for the post owls to arrive, wondering whether, and a part of him hoping, it was too soon to expect a reply. As the owls streamed into the Hall, he and Ana looked up, scanning the mass of birds swooping overhead. With a lurch, Al spotted Filibert flapping towards him, an envelope tied to her leg.

She landed, daintily, on the edge of the table, raising a talon to Al, as if in greeting, but also to allow him access to his mail. Unobtrusively as possible, he detached the letter and slipped it into his pocket for later, shaking his head slightly to Ana, who was peeking at him curiously as she stirred her porridge.

Filibert, when no further instructions were forthcoming, snatched a piece of sausage from Al's plate and took wing.

"I dunno about this weather, Ana," said Danica, indicating the ceiling. "Looks like it's going to rain any moment."

"Too bad," said Ana. "Al and I found this brilliant little courtyard hidden behind the greenhouses--"

"Any tunnels?" asked Argil, eating his bacon with a fork.

"No," said Ana with a sigh. "We couldn't find it anywhere. Maybe you'd have better luck, though." She innocently added sugar to her bowl.

"I might," said Argil, thoughtfully. "I'm was always the one finding the right paths when we took that tour of the Transylvanian Forests--"

"You didn't have a guide?" asked Danica.

"We did, but he was dead useless during the day--didn't talk much, insisted on staying in the shade. He was a funny one."

Al searched for some sign that he was joking. The girls were smiling uncertainly. He spotted a twitch at the corner of Argil's mouth, and laughed, pointing.

"You're joking!" said Al, gleefully.

"A bit," said Argil, pleased with Al's reaction. "But I am good at finding things," he added.

"Well, you won't find this," Ana admitted, glancing at Al. She went on to tell the others in greater detail the futility of yesterday's wanderings, and why.

While everyone was distracted, Al drew the letter from his pocket. Carefully opening it under the table, he hunched on the bench and looked down at his father's handwriting:

Dear Albus,

You're holding the third draft of this letter! I wanted to make myself very clear, and your mother is in a bit of a state at the moment, so she's been no help. I've managed to boil it down to three important points:

First, Mum and I love you no matter what.

Second, you have nothing to be sorry for. You are who you are, and the Sorting Hat has the sometimes unsettling ability to see exactly that and know what's best for you. The Hat is very old and wise, and I trust it completely. I also trust you completely, and though you find your new House scary, I know you'll face this like a Potter.

Third, please be careful. I know things have changed since we were in school, but a few students may not welcome your placement there. You're a smart boy, you'll know whom to steer clear of.

Keep us up to date, or your mother will go spare. And remember, you have your cousins and brother, should you need someone to talk to.

Love always,

Dad

Al gazed blankly at the parchment, not quite sure what to think. It was not the glowing reassurance he had hoped for, but nor was it the utter condemnation he had half-expected, what his James voice had predicted.

...Mum and I love you no matter what...

He had never thought they would stop loving him, even if he were a Slytherin--they were his parents--yet his father's pre-emptive statement was having the opposite effect of what he had probably intended.

It was as if they thought Al believed his parents could stop loving him, assumed that would be his primary fear... And Al had never once in his letter asked if they still loved him. He thought that was a given.

...in a bit of a state...your mother will go spare...

...Because of him?

Uh, yeah, said his James voice. Mum's going mad because 'you are who you are.' Good job, Alie!

But...what did Dad want him to do? He told him to 'face this like a Potter,' and to 'be careful'--two basically contradictory statements. Did they expect him to hate it in Slytherin, and to bear to bravely, like the Gryffindor they wanted him to be? Or did they want him to keep his head down like the slinking Slytherin they now knew him to be?

Probably the last, as it deserved its own point, mused his James voice.

Just shut-up, thought Al furiously. He was being stupid. They loved him--they obviously were not ecstatic about his Sorting--but they loved him, wanted him to be all right. His dad trusted the Hat, and he would too.

The Hat knew best.

"Al? You ready?" asked Danica.

"Yeah, yup," he said, shoving the letter back in his pocket.

---- ---- ---- ---- ----

They got lost briefly on their way back to the common room, but Argil, it turned out, was good at choosing correct paths. They left the navigation to him, and soon found themselves in front of a promising blank wall.

In the dormitory, Paul and Matthias were lounging around in their pajamas, eating Chocolate Frogs for breakfast. The wrappers lay discarded all about the room, the Famous Wizards Cards with them.

"Not interested in the Challenge?" said Argil, following through the door. Al detected a note of derision at the last word.

"Not interested in riddles," Matthias said. Paul shrugged, gnawing on a Frog's head.

Al did not know what to make of Matthias Bulstrode and Paul Polkiss. They seemed to have latched onto each other, odd pair though they made. Matthias was wide and hulking for an eleven year old, easily the biggest of the first year boys, while Paul was wiry and quiet, observing everything with wary, shadowed eyes.

"That so-called Challenge is just a cheap marketing trick," Argil was telling them. "My father says so."

The boys chewed their chocolate.

"...How does he know?" asked Matthias, when it became apparent Argil was waiting for a response.

"He knows the makers!"

"Well, bully for him," said Matthias, unwrapping another Frog.

"Where's Scor?" asked Al.

"Sleeping Beauty's still in bed," said Paul, snickering.

"He's still asleep?" said Argil, shocked. "It's past twelve!"

"Sleeping Beauty is awake, and can hear you," said a grumpy voice from the far bed.

"You hungry?" called Matthias. "We've got chocolate out here, but brunch's over."

"I know that, I said I can hear you," Scor mumbled. "And no thank you."

Matthias shrugged. "More for us," he said, and tossed another Frog to Paul.

"I'll have one," said Argil.

"You said these were cheap tricks!" said Matthias, even as he lobbed a Frog.

Argil caught it with both hands. "The Challenge is a cheap trick. The chocolate is chocolate," he said sagely.

As Argil, Matthias and Paul strove to make a dent in the mountain of Chocolate Frogs on Matthias' bed, Al walked over to his own, a part of him wishing the other boys would offer one to him. He climbed up onto his bed, thinking he would have a nap--he had not slept well the past two nights. The parchment crumpled in his pocket as Al lay down, not bothering to close the bed hangings. He dozed off to the sound of his dorm-mates laughing over the pile of candy across the room.

He woke--not long after, as his clock read 1:20--to an empty dormitory. Or so he thought, until he heard a wardrobe closing to his left. He looked around, bleary-eyed, to see Scor standing beside the neighboring bed, doing up the buttons of his robe.

"Father will be disappointed if I sleep through my first few days at Hogwarts," Scor said ruefully, when he noticed Al watching.

"Mine too," he said, pushing himself to a sitting position, and slid off the bed.

Scor sat on the edge of his trunk to put on his shoes. It was made of a dark wood with polished metal trim and locks, the initials S.L.I.M. carved into the lid.

"Slim," Al said with a chuckle, nodding to the letters when Scor glanced around.

"Oh--yeah," he said, tracing the carvings briefly with one finger. He stood and approached Al's trunk. Taking in the gold-leaf lettering on the side, he laughed. "No way."

"What?" said Al, looking down at the trunk by his feet.

"Asp," said Scor, still eying the initials, and raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what an asp is, Albus Severus Potter?"

A bit embarrassed, Al shook his head. Scor grinned at his bewilderment.

"Don't feel bad, I only know because I went through a 'snake phase,' my mother called it, when I was nine. It only lasted a few months, 'til I moved on to dragons, which is when I learned what my father's name means--and that was useful, 'cause then I called him Draggy whenever he called me Scorpius--"

"What does 'asp' mean?" Al interrupted, waving an arm as though to push aside the superfluous noise.

"Right, yeah! It's another word for viper... the Egyptian cobra, as well. Actually, it's an old fashioned name for pretty much any venomous snake. You--your trunk fits right in."

Al was surprised to feel a swell of dismay at Scor's self-correction.

"It's my trunk," he pointed out.

"True," said Scor, watching him knowingly. "So... you fit right in?"

Annoyingly, Al's feeling of dismay failed to dissipate. What was wrong with him? Did he want to belong here or not?

"We'll see," he said, looking down at his initials. They were in gold, but he thought maybe he should change them to silver... the spell should not be too difficult.

A.S.P.

"Cooler than Slim, at least," said Scor. "Hey, you up for a game of Exploding Snap? My mum got me a brand new deck--"

Al nodded, but Scor had already turned away to rummage in his bedside table.

They played until supper, and Scor won every round but the last. Al tried not to let the sudden, charitable expression on his opponent's face spoil his victory.