Al Potter and the Plague of Frogs

Al had set his alarm clock for seven on Monday morning, and woke with a leisurely hour to get ready for his first day of classes. He washed and dressed, fastened his watch around his wrist, tied his shoes and repeatedly tried, with minimal results, to flatten a cowlick that had sprung up overnight.

Realizing he had no idea which textbooks he would need after breakfast, Al gathered them all, as well as his potions kit, and crammed them into his bag amongst quills and parchment. That way, he thought, he would not have to run back to the dormitory upon receiving his schedule.

By now Argil, Matthias and Paul were all up and sluggishly moving about, pulling on robes and rubbing sleep out of their eyes. Thinking himself ready for the day, Al double-checked the area around his bed, making sure he had everything: books, potions ingredients--should he bring his cauldron...? No, that would be too cumbersome--quill, spare quills, parchment.

What had he forgotten?

Ink! He retrieved a brand new bottle from his bedside table and managed to wedge it into his book bag.

The other boys were beginning to drift toward the common room, but as Al made to follow that same feeling returned--the insistent, niggling sense that he was leaving something behind...

Almost at the door, Al swung around to face the deserted room, his eyes falling on the bed to the far right, where a mattress had just creaked.

"Scor?" said Al, incredulous. Starting for the bed, the only one left in the dormitory with closed hangings, he tried again: "Scor?"

Somewhere in the bed, Scor mumbled. Al resisted rolling his eyes--not that Scor could have seen him anyway, considering he was still asleep.

"Scor!"

No reply, but the ensuing silence was a bit too complete for Al's liking. He had the infuriating impression Scor was holding his breath, waiting for Al to go away.

"SCORPIUS MALFOY!"

A shrill cry emitted from the bed: "N-o!"

"Scor, it's eight o'clock already! If you don't get up, you'll miss breakfast--"

"I don do breakfess..." Scor slurred. "Go away..." There was a rustling of bedcovers.

"But--"

"Go way!"

Al gave up. He turned back toward the door, hoping Ana had not left without him.

"...Al?" murmured Scor.

"What?" he said.

"...Meechu inna Gray Hall."

Despite himself, Al grinned. "What if you get lost?"

Scor groaned. "Then I won meechu inna Gray Hall."

"All right," said Al, shaking his head, and left for the common room.

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

The Great Hall was packed with students, some chattering excitedly, others barely conscious over their bowls. Glancing down the long room, Al saw that the same held true for many of the teachers.

He and Ana headed for the Slytherin table, where they spotted Argil making uneasy conversation with Abbey Vaisey, who from her blank expression was not particularly interested in what he had to say.

Across from Argil, Danica motioned for Al and Ana to sit at her bench. "Crowburn's just started handing out schedules," she said, pointing a spindly finger at the far end of the table.

"Who?" said Al, leaning out from his bench for a better view. A short, brown-haired wizard with two large stacks of parchment in his arms was slowly making his way towards them.

"Professor Crowburn," said Danica. "Our Head of House. He teaches... something? I can't remember."

"Potions?" asked Al, thinking of Severus Snape.

"Uh... no," said Danica, with an embarrassed laugh. "My dad teaches that."

"What?" said Ana. "Your dad's a professor?"

Danica nodded at her plate. "Potions Master. He just started here last year, so I--" she lowered her voice, glancing at the opposite bench, where Argil was just as unsuccessfully trying to talk to the girl next to Abbey. "So I could come," she said shortly.

"Oh," said Ana, and summoned a smile. "Well, good! That you're... here."

"Yeah," said Danica, giving a slight smile in return.

Crowburn had just reached the cluster of first years. "Sarah-May Davis."

"Present!" exclaimed the girl next to Abbey, cutting Argil off mid-sentence.

"This isn't a roll call, Miss Davis," said Professor Crowburn tiredly, holding out her schedule and map. "Albus Potter."

Not sure how he should respond, Al raised a hand.

Crowburn looked down at him for a moment before extending the parchment. He was was middle-aged, and had a straight, prominent nose. "Nice and quiet, Mr. Potter?"

Al stared at him, then nodded.

Crowburn expelled a laugh, and returned the gesture. "The way I like my students. Argiletum Blotts."

And he went on passing out schedules. Al studied his own, a bit perturbed by his professor's behavior.

"Double Charms, first thing," Ana commented.

"Scorpius Malfoy," said Professor Crowburn. He glanced around, trying again: "Scorpius Malfoy?"

Al wondered if he should speak up, say Scor was running late--or rather, sleeping late--but there was no need. Crowburn raised an eyebrow and laid Scor's schedule by the sausage tray.

"I'm sure one of his kindly classmates will ensure he gets his," he said, chuckling to himself, and continued down the table.

"So, I'm glad our Head of House isn't insane or anything," said Sarah-May, when he was out of earshot. Al suspected she was just miffed about the roll call comment.

"Don't be so sure," said Argil seriously, missing the sarcasm. "He was in school a year ahead of my father--says they called him Crazy Crowburn, Crackpot Corbin, that kind of thing."

"How long's he been teaching?" asked Al.

"Bit after Voldemort's Fall, I reckon," said Argil, shrugging. "He was abroad during the sticky years."

"Like your parents," said Al, more sharply than he had intended.

"My parents are always abroad," said Argil, holding up his hands defensively.

"So, Double Charms, first thing," Ana repeated.

"With Ravenclaw," said Danica, following Ana's lead.

After an awkward pause, Abbey piped in: "I've never heard of this bloke, though." She pointed at the professor's name printed below the subject. "M. Stebbins?"

"Could be a woman," said Ana.

As the others forcedly discussed the identity of their Charms professor, Al looked over the rest of his schedule. After lunch, they had Herbology--he felt a thrill of relief at seeing a familiar face in Professor Longbottom--and then Astronomy, with pointy Professor Sinistra. He was disappointed that they didn't have Transfiguration until Wednesday... taught by a W. Terwit...

As the clock above the double doors inched its way past half eight, the Hall began to steadily empty, the students gathering their bags and heading off for their first class of the new term.

Abbey and Sarah-May soon left, Argil trailing along after them, and then Matthias and Paul, once Matthias had finished his fourth serving of hash browns.

"We should probably go, too," said Danica, pushing away her plate. They clambered off the bench, Al grabbing Scor's schedule and map as he went.

In the Great Hall, he stopped by the grand staircase. "You two go on, I told Scor I'd wait for him."

"You sure?" said Ana. At Al's nod, she started up the stairs. "All right, then. But don't wait too long--it's his own fault if he doesn't get up in time."

"I'm giving him five minutes," said Al, and settled on the first step, book bag in his lap.

Students were steadily exiting the Great Hall, though none Al recognized. He almost wished a cousin would walk through the double doors, especially Fred, his favorite cousin by far. He was almost certain Fred would not think differently of him for being a Slytherin--or Iggy, either, considering Iggs was the only cousin sorted into Ravenclaw...

Where was Scor?

Al checked his watch--quarter 'til. He had fifteen minutes to make it to Charms, assuming he could find the classroom on the first try. Should he just go? He figured it was the Slytherin thing to do. But what if Scor had gotten lost? Or what if he was on his way, and arrived in the deserted Great Hall with no schedule, no map, no idea where to go? And Al had said he would meet him... but Scor was the one failing to appear.

He could just leave the schedule and map on the step, and hope Scor would see them when he showed up...

Ten minutes later, the Entrance Hall was empty, and Al was fuming. Was the stupid layabout still asleep? Had he any intention of getting up? He apparently did not care in the least that he had made Al hang around for a quarter of an hour, made him late for his first class, probably.

Growling to himself, Al snatched up his book bag. To hell with Scor, he could sleep until his prince came to kiss him awake, or whatever he was waiting for. Al took the stairs two at a time and, checking the map periodically, ran as fast as he could to the third floor Charms corridor.

He was panting, clutching a stitch in his side, and knew he was red in the face, when he cracked open the door marked Charms 1.

"...do not tolerate is tardiness, which will be met with immediate--"

Al sidled into the classroom.

"--detention," finished the wizard by the front desk, grimacing as he caught sight of Al. "What horrible timing--Mr. Potter, I presume. Now I've got no choice, have I?"

Al's stomach plunged to the floor.

The wizard--Professor Stebbins--sighed, though Al had given no response. "Very well, then. Detention, Mr. Potter. To be served sometime before the end of the week. Please take a seat next to Mr. Pluza. Quickly, quickly!"

Al hurried to the only desk with an empty seat, mercifully nearby in the front. As he was about to sit, he risked a glance around the room, and froze.

Scor was lounging in the back row, sharing a desk with Argil. He was staring at Al, stricken, but Al barely noticed this, a torrent of outrage surging in his chest. He sank into his seat with a thud, faced forward, and hoped his expression had not twisted into something too terrible.

Professor Stebbins ended his speech, the sound of creasing parchment and the unscrewing of inkbottles filling the room. Al dug in his bag for his own note-taking implements, wondering whether he should even bother--his good first impression with Stebbins was blown, and according to Fred, those were most important with teachers during the first week.

Now Stebbins will pass it on to the other teachers, said his James voice. Al gripped his quill and wrote the date at the top of his parchment. He'll be saying, 'Wouldn't you know, not five minutes into class I was handing out detention--to Al Potter, of course, the surprise Slytherin--'

Al forced himself to focus on the professor. He had just written 'Perpello' on the board with a flick of his wand, and was explaining the differences between Push, Slide, and Shift charms, which they would be covering in the first two weeks. Al took careful notes, mainly as a distraction from his own mind. He did look once at Pluza, nor at Stebbins, unless he heard him spelling something onto the board, and he certainly did not look behind him, where he would see Scorpius effing Malfoy sitting, comfortable and well rested.

As the second, practical portion of the class rolled around, they put away quill and ink and drew out their wands. Though he had spent the past hour thinking furious thoughts whenever Stebbins paused for breath, Al couldn't help feeling a bit excited at his first chance to perform real, official magic.

"Er..." said Pluza, staring perplexedly at their textbooks, which they had been set to push several centimeters across the table. Looking a bit aimless, he waved his wand, and tried, "Per...pello?"

Al rolled his eyes. Just his luck--paired with the only clueless Ravenclaw in the school.

Pluza jabbed his wand at the book, and stressed the second syllable: "Perpello!"

"You're doing it wrong," said Al.

"Obviously," muttered Pluza, embarrassed, but Al was not in the proper frame of mind for sympathy.

"You wave your wand after or during the incantation," he said. "Never before."

"How--how do you know?" asked Pluza resentfully.

"How is it you don't know? Have you ever seen a wizard wave his wand before saying the spell?"

"Er..."

"It's like this," said Al impatiently. He pointed his wand at his own textbook, taking a moment to recall what Stebbins had done during his demonstration, when he had charmed his desk to push itself away. "Perpello," he said clearly, flicking his wand to the right.

His charms book skittered towards Pluza's. The other boy's eyes widened.

"Perpello," said Pluza, mimicking Al's wand-motion. His textbook stuttered a centimeter sideways. "It moved!"

"Well done," said Al dully.

"Thanks, Potter. And hey, don't kick yourself too badly 'bout the detention, we're all late sometimes."

Al stared at him, not much won over. He had not been late; he had been unfairly detained.

"Right," said Pluza, turning away. "Well, guess we should just... practice this, then..."

"Yeah," Al mumbled.

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

When Stebbins dismissed the class for lunch, Al wedged his book under his arm, slung his weighty bag over his shoulder and was out the door before anyone else had stood.

He just--he did not want to speak to any of them. Both Ana and Danica had known, and yet it seemed they had said nothing when class started and he was missing. And Scor, the self-centered git, had not bothered to speak up, maybe claim some responsibility as the reason for Al's lateness. They were such--Slytherins.

Someone called his name, but the corridor was beginning to crowd with students as every class let out, and Al didn't stop.

Descending the grand staircase, he winced at a sharp pain between his shoulder blades, and shifted his book bag to the other shoulder. Bringing every textbook, plus his potions kit, had not been one of his better ideas. Now that he had time, perhaps he should head back to the dormitory to unload the unnecessary weight... the detour had the added bonus of avoiding his housemates for a while longer.

"AL!"

Scor had reached the top of the stairs. Al darted in front of an older student and hurried to the dungeon stairwell.

The common room and dormitory were deserted, as he expected. He pried the books from his bag and set them back in his trunk, taking his time, as he had done that morning when he packed them in. Sorting the crumpled pieces of parchment, he found Scor's schedule and map, and resisted the urge the tear them up. Instead, taking a deep breath, he walked the short distance to Scor's bedside table, depositing them amongst the assorted junk that had already accumulated there.

But Scor was still a stupid git.

Al could still make it to lunch if he ran, but he had had quite enough running for one day, he thought, stealing a Chocolate Frog off Matthias' nightstand. As he ate, he slid 100,000 Magical Herbs & Fungi and Starter Astronomy into his bag, then settled back against his trunk and fished the Famous Wizards Card out of its wrapper.

Andros the Invincible was rolling his circular shield along the ground from hand to hand, whistling an ancient tune. Al had no trouble believing Andros could have produced a patronus the size of a giant--the man himself was about as tall as Hagrid.

"Excuse me, Andros?"

Andros ceased his whistling and looked up, though he went on rolling his shield back and forth, past one knee, then the other.

"I'd like to hear the riddle," said Al, shifting a bit under the Greek's unblinking gaze.

"Ah." The shield rolled to the right, rolled to the left. Finally, his mouth awkwardly forming the foreign sounds, he said: "Has a mouth... but does not speak. Has a bed... but never sleeps."

Does not speak and never sleeps? Nothing human, then...

"Thanks," said Al.

"Ekhe," replied Andros with a nod.

Al checked his watch, figuring he would leave now and arrive at Herbology early--not that he needed to make a good impression with Professor Longbottom, whom he'd known since before he could remember. He slipped Andros the Invincible in his pocket and set off, marveling at the relative lightness of his bag.

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

He entered Greenhouse 1 a good ten minutes before the start of class. Professor Longbottom was busy counting a pile of empty flowerpots on a side table. Looking around as Al swung his book bag onto one of the long work desks, his handsome face broke into a wide smile.

"Afternoon, Al!"

Al grinned back. He could not help it--Professor Longbottom's smiles were more infectious than dragon pox. "Hi, Professor Longbottom." Knowing James would never do it, he added: "Erm, Mum and Dad send their love."

He heard a stifled snigger, and turned to see Peter Bones perched on a stool in the back row. Next to him sat a round, sandy-haired boy, a hand clapped over his mouth. Al felt his face flush.

Longbottom sent the two Hufflepuffs a mock-reproving frown.

"Bones, Smith," he said. "I see your parents haven't sent me any love. I'll remember that, come marking time."

Al laughed as the other boys' eyes widened, and the professor turned back to him.

"You may give your mum and dad my love and thanks, in return," he said sincerely.

Al nodded, climbing up onto a stool. As Professor Longbottom went back to preparing for his lesson, Al took out Andros the Invincible. Pushing himself slowly round on the swivel seat, he pondered the riddle.

...has a bed...

He doubted the riddle referred to a person, so probably not a bed like his own...

What other beds were there? Flowerbeds, he thought, his eyes flitting around the greenhouse. Bedrock, he considered, glancing at the dirt floor.

...has a mouth...

But flowers and rocks did not have mouths, did they? Flowers drank through their roots, breathed through their leaves; rocks only had mouths if a man carved them.

Caves had mouths, he realized, picturing the cavern in the cliff through which the first years had been ferried on the wide stream...

He stopped spinning. Was that the answer?

Water could be said to lie on a bed--there was the bed of the ocean, bed of the lake. He had never heard of oceans or lakes having mouths, though. Streams did, he supposed, but streams were tiny and usually went unmentioned... the more common phrase was 'mouth of a--'

Al held up the card. "River," he said.

"Eh?" Andros grunted, absorbed in untangling his beard.

"The answer is river," Al repeated.

"Nai, nai," said Andros, shaking his beard up and down in agreement. Al allowed himself a satisfied smirk, and was about to return Andros to his pocket when someone spoke up behind him.

"Aren't you going to ask for the Word, then?"

It was the sandy-haired boy. Both he and Peter were staring at him incredulously.

"Oh--uh... I forgot." To be honest, he did not much care about the Challenge--he just liked riddles. "Sorry... Andros?" The Greek had moved on to the hair on his head. "Could I have the Word and the name of the next card?"

"Dêpou," said Andros, and cleared his throat. "Terr-ible. Gwenog Jones." Out of the corner of his eye, Al saw Peter and the other boy reaching for their quills.

"Thank you," said Al.

"Kharis soi," said Andros, staring up at him.

"Er..."

Andros held up a palm. "Thank you." He held up the other. "Kharis soi."

"Oh!" said Al, catching on. "Right--kharis soi." Appeased, Andros returned his attention to his hair. Al put the card back in his pocket.

"Hope you don't mind that we overheard," said Peter. "'Cause that's one less for me to solve!"

"No, I don't care," said Al, glancing around. Other students were filing into the greenhouse through the open glass door.

"This is Archie Smith, by the way," said Peter, motioning to the boy beside him.

"Hey," said Archie.

As Al nodded, Ana and Danica joined him at the worktable. They made to put their bags next to his, but hesitated.

"Go on," said Al. His anger had passed, and he was not inclined to dredge it up again. "Really, I'm fine."

"You sure?" said Ana, clambering onto a stool. "You missed lunch..."

"I had to drop some things off in the dorm," he said, and left it at that.

"Nicked you a roll, in case you're hungry," said Danica, holding out a bulging napkin. He took it, feeling a bit foolish for his internal tirade.

"...Thanks."

"All right--class!" said Professor Longbottom. "Let's get started, shall we?"

The greenhouse fell quiet.

"Welcome to First Year Herbology. I am Professor Longbottom, and I will be guiding your study of all manner of magical flora for the next six years, tap of wand--" He and about the half the class tapped the base of their wands on the table. "--seven, should you choose to pursue Herbology in your N.E.W.T.s.

"We'll begin with the basics, covering both magical and mundane plants, many of which you'll encounter in Potions class. Weather permitting, I'll also take you on what I like to call Tree Tours, where we will learn which trees are used for wandmaking.

"Now, I'm required to take a roll call, but that's fine--easiest way of meeting all of you, so--" He glanced down at the parchment on his desk. "Isidore Adler?"

Longbottom worked his way down the list, looking up as each student confirmed his or her presence. He did not pause a second when he came to Dolohov--Al was watching, wondering how the former D.A. member would react--though he hit a snag after calling for Malfoy.

"Scorpius Malfoy," he said again, looking around the room. Al did the same. He had not even noticed Scor was missing... "Well, let's hope he finds us soon."

Catching Ana's eye, Al furrowed his brow, but she just shrugged.

Longbottom checked off Daisy Zeller with a flourish, then strode to a worktable at the center of the room. No one had sat there, because the entire surface was covered in what looked to be small cacti, only instead of spines they had dark, angry boils. Al had no idea was sort of plants they were, but he could guess what the professor was going to have them do: each of the plants were set in flimsy plastic containers, and a mountain of empty ceramic pots lay on a neighboring table.

"If you would all look over here, please," said Longbottom. "I want to introduce you to one of my favorite plants, the Mimbulus--" He broke off, staring over the students' heads at the greenhouse door. "Yes?"

The entire class turned. Scor was standing in the doorway, pink faced and breathing heavily.

"I--I'm late, Professor," he said. There was a pause, filled only by Scor's labored breaths.

"Yes," said Longbottom. "If you're Scorpius Malfoy, then I'm afraid you are." Scor swallowed, and did not move.

Longbottom squinted at him quizzically. "If you're not too winded," he said. "Please find a seat, we're about to begin the lesson..."

Though politely phrased, Al could tell the professor was displeased, or perhaps just disappointed. What did Scor think he was doing?

Longbottom resumed his lecture, detailing the many magical properties of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, its foul-smelling defense mechanisms, what changes one should observe in well-cared-for specimens...

"These samples are all very young, of course, and badly in need of repotting--" He smiled around at his students. "--which is where you come in. We have empty pots over here, lovely compost and loam in the bins over there... Just mind the boils! As I said, they're all fully equipped with Stinksap, and at this stage they're quite sensitive."

He circled the greenhouse as the students got to work, giving them tips, cautioning those about to blunder onto boils. Al had lost track of the professor, concentrating on the plant before him. The things were rather grotesque, their boils throbbing--

"Mr. Malfoy!" said Professor Longbottom sharply. Al looked round and saw Scor holding one by the roots, the body of the plant hanging upside down. "These specimens are infants. Please handle them with a bit more care than that."

Scor raised his eyebrows. "I'm so sorry, Professor," he said, the picture of innocence. With exaggerated attentiveness, he turned the plant right-side up and worshipfully set it into a ceramic pot. Longbottom frowned, but said nothing, moving to the next table on his rounds.

"Well done, Miss Gordon. You're plant looks very comfortable."

The rest of the class went back to their repotting, but Al was glaring at Scor, outraged on the professor's behalf. What was his problem? Longbottom was probably the nicest teacher in all of Hogwarts, who had already let Scor's tardiness slide, and Scor, the ungrateful sod, was giving him cheek! Al gave a snort of disgust, returning to his plant.

He was carefully lifting his fourth Mimbulus Mimbletonia from its plastic container, however, when a third disturbance rose above the quiet talk and thunks of the working students.

"Oh yeah, Bones?" yelled Scor. "'Cause I've been meaning to tell you--these Mimblewhatsits look a bit like your face."

"Say that again, Malfoy!" shouted Peter, hopping off his stool. This was not the most intimidating of moves, as the stool was about the height of his chest.

"All right," said Scor, nodding agreeably. "These Mimble--"

"That's quite enough!" interrupted Professor Longbottom, who had rushed to stand between the boys. "You will return to you seat, Mr. Bones. Mr. Malfoy, you will refrain from comparing the Mimbulus Mimbletonia to a classmate's face and refer to the plant by its proper name. Five points each from Hufflepuff and Slytherin."

Scor stared at Longbottom disbelievingly, then turned away, muttering: "Don't see how the plant cares what I call it." He drew out his wand. "Do you, you stupid--"

"Scor, don't!" yelled Al, but too late--Scor gave the plant a vicious jab with his wand, and then Al knew nothing but darkness and the stench of rotten eggs.

"Detention, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor Longbottom tightly. Wiping his eyes, Al saw the entire class splattered with dark, glutinous, foul-smelling sap. The greenhouse walls were a muddy brown, the substance oozing down the sides in the afternoon sun.

Scor's table had got the brunt of it--Matthias and Paul were glowering, pawing the goo from their faces. Scor looked like a bog monster, rigid under his repulsive coating--but as he mopped his face with a corner of his robe, Al could have sworn he was... smirking.

With a wave of his wand, Longbottom spelled away most of the Stinksap, but the smell lingered, along with a general, seeping sense of filth. He ended class several minutes early, as it was obvious their minds were no longer on their tasks.

Al gave the professor an apologetic wave as he left.

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

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, and for a while no one spoke to Scor. But as the house elves managed to get the worst of the stink out of their clothes and bags, so too did their silent treatment dissipate, and after a few days the tension had eased among the first year Slytherins.

Excluding Al, who had more reasons for shunning Scor than some vile-smelling clothes. He was still avoiding his housemate when he received an owl Friday morning, instructing him to report to Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall at eight o'clock that evening for his detention.

It was not the best way to start the day, but Al's mood improved when he remembered they had Double Defense Against the Dark Arts that morning, taught by their Head of House, Professor Crowburn. Their first class with him had been on Tuesday, and Al did not care what Argil's father had to say about it--Al liked Crowburn, almost as much as Professor Longbottom. He did not know why.

The professor was a prickly fellow, and had a way of giving his students the sense they were always a step behind him. He had opened Tuesday's class with a question--Why is this class necessary? And for the next hour and half, Crowburn doing nothing more than calling on whoever raised their hand, the class had discussed whether, after nearly twenty years of peace in wizarding Britain, with the Ministry regulating all remotely dangerous aspects of their world, an extensive knowledge of Defense was really required.

A few Gryffindors had been bold enough to suggest that it was not necessary, implying that the class only served to pique nefarious interests of those curious about the Dark Arts themselves. Crowburn had simply gazed from behind his desk, waiting for contrary opinions to rise. Halfway through, he had murmured, "I do hope you'll all taking notes..."

A flurrying of parchment and sudden scratching of quills had followed, and Al spotted a twitch at the corner of Crowburn's mouth. At one point, Al had tentatively raised a hand, having been mulling something over for some time.

"I--I think," he had said. "It comes down to how prepared you'd want to be, or want your family or friends to be, when the stuff happens that no one expects to happen--the random things that no one predicts or even likes thinking about, that still happen all the time, because that's life..." And he'd trailed off, coloring as he lost his train of thought.

Crowburn had spoken up for the first time since his note-taking comment, looking rather amused. "Well said, if a bit nonspecific. Perhaps an example of this 'stuff that no one expects to happen?'"

"Er..." said Al, mind abruptly blank.

A Gryffindor boy called Cauldwell had raised his hand, saying something about a bloke who had been attacked by a Lethifold while on holiday in South Africa, and the debate moved on. Al sort of wished he brain would stop freezing whenever Crowburn looked at him, but it had been a fun class. He wondered what he would have them do today--surely they would not spend both periods just talking...

He and Ana entered the first floor classroom to find most of the Gryffindors already there. They waved to Rose, who smiled at them from the front row, and chose seats towards the middle. Ana, he had realized throughout the week, preferred sitting where she was least likely to be noticed.

Crowburn watching from his desk, the room filled with students. As nine o'clock neared, Al waited for him to call for order, but Crowburn remained silent. Classes all around the school were starting up, and still the professor said nothing, staring at them all expectantly.

"Is he... waiting for us to shut up?" Al whispered to Ana.

She nodded slowly. "I...think so."

One by one, the other students noticed this as well, and fell quiet, looking a bit embarrassed for the poor fools still chattering in the back of the room. Al was fairly certain Scor was one of them, but did not glance round to see. Eventually, even they caught on.

The quiet complete, Crowburn leaned back in his chair. Eyes on the desk before him, he said: "You find yourself walking through unknown woods late at night, and your path forks. To the left the way is worn, and you think you see a light in the distance. To the right the way is wild, overgrown, the path barely visible. The one thing you know is that both paths lead to the same place. Which do you choose?"

Al wrote the date on his parchment, smothering a grin. Cauldwell raised his hand.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"Doesn't matter," said Crowburn. "McDonald?"

"The left way, of course," said the girl next to Rose. "It's the way others have gone, and the light could mean it's where people are."

"Vaisey?"

"But that's obviously a trap!" said Abbey. "You're never supposed to choose the one that seems right in this kind of thing--the scary way is always the way you should have gone, in the end."

"Cauldwell?"

"Based on what?" Cauldwell asked Abbey. "Stories you've read? Real life stuff doesn't always have annoying twists like that."

And they were off, discussing the best course of action, the possible ramifications of choosing one path over the other--they were in Defense Against the Dark Arts, so these speculations ranged toward the nightmarish. All the while, Crowburn watched, calling on raised hands and obliquely answering any clarifying questions.

"Is it a full moon?"

"You don't know."

Whenever a new point was brought up, he directed his wand over his shoulder, spelling the comment onto one of the two growing lists on the chalkboard, one labeled 'Well Traveled,' the other 'Less Traveled.'

Al struggled to take notes, trying to keep up with the lists on the board. Opinions varied around the room, regardless of House, which he found rather interesting--he had expected the Slytherins and Gryffindors to gravitate towards opposing choices, on principle if nothing else.

But the left path was drawing support from both. Some Gryffindors, including Rose, said you should trust appearances and deal with the consequences if they arose; some Slytherins, like Paul and Matthias, said you could go the easier way until things got dodgy, at which point you could always double back.

Gryffindors in favor of the right-hand path said so long you had the stones and stayed on the alert, you would be fine. Slytherins in favor of the less traveled path, among them Abbey and Scor, said so long as you had your wand and stayed on the alert, you would be fine.

Near the end of first period, a tiny Gryffindor girl named Creevey raised her hand and jokingly admitted she would sit down at the fork and cry. Her confession elicited a few chuckles of agreement from the rest.

Argil said he would only know if were he actually there, and go with his gut. From anyone else, Al would have thought the comment daft. Glancing at Ana, he found her looking back at him knowingly, nodding in approval of Argil's plan.

As time wore on, almost every student had contributed to one of the lists--some to both, switching back and forth between left path and right, their opinion swaying with the debate. An idea had begun to form in Al's mind, but he was uncertain whether he should say it aloud. What if Crowburn asked him a question and he froze again?

He forced his hand up.

"Potter?"

"What--what if you chose neither? I mean, what if you just continued straight, made your own path? 'Cause both paths lead to the same place, so somewhere they must come together again, and if you're making your own between them, you'll know if either of them suddenly turn right or left or something...?"

No! he thought, feeling his next sentence slipping away. What had he wanted to say? There had been more...

"Oh!" he said. "And it's like what we were talking about on Tuesday--where the prepared wizard who's learned in Defense should be able to handle anything, so it doesn't really matter which path he chooses, anyway."

Crowburn looked as though he very much wished to smile. Al wondered what was stopping him. The professor aimed his wand to the side of the two lists, casting a quote onto the board:

Where the sagacious steps, there the road lies.

--Salazar Slytherin/Godric Gryffindor

Al... had no idea what that meant.

"But, Professor, why did you put both their names?" asked Rose. "They both said it?"

"The origin of the quote is disputed," said Crowburn, still looking at Al. "There are conflicting accounts, some attributing the line to Slytherin, others to Gryffindor. Understandable, really--the two were very close, in the beginning."

Not really knowing what that meant either, Al copied down the quote.

"Oh, and Potter?" said Crowburn, almost as an afterthought. "Five points to Slytherin."

Al felt a warm glow deep in his chest.

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

Hufflepuffs were funny, he thought, examining the Famous Wizards Cards on his desk. From where he stood, they were not so much hardworking as able to discern how best to get the job done and act accordingly.

So if, say, there were a student rather good with riddles who appeared disinclined to reap the benefits of solving said riddles, Hufflepuffs were not above flocking to the aforementioned student for 'assistance.'

Which is why on Tuesday, during their first History of Magic class, Archie Smith had poked Al's shoulder and passed him a folded note with Xavier Rastick stowed in the crease. Xavier had whispered the riddle in Al's ear, and Al had spent the period lost in the thought. When class had at last been dismissed that morning, Al handed the card back to Smith, saying, "Try cloud."

Smith did so, and Xavier had laughed delightedly, clapping his hands. "Oh, very good! Right--you're Word is 'the,' and you're next card is Glenda Chittock."

"Thanks," Smith had said, scribbling it down. "Hey, cheers, Al. See you later, yeah?"

Come Friday, word had spread throughout the Hufflepuffs, and Al had two cards he was expected to solve by the end of the period. Lucky for him, one was another Andros the Invincible. Writing the answer on the other side of the note, he returned it to Tony Edwards, who seemed shocked to be getting it back so soon. At the front of the room, Binns droned on, either unaware of or unconcerned with the exchanges taking place in the back row.

The other card was proving more difficult. Mirabella Plunkett had giggled and quietly sang the riddle in his ear, but it was so long that he had her say it again, slowly, so he could write it down:

Make three fourths of a cross, 


And a circle complete; 


And let two semicircles 


On a perpendicular meet; 


Next add a triangle 


That stands on two feet; 


Next two semicircles, 


And a circle complete.

It was a list of instructions, fairly straightforward--or it would be, had Al any idea what 'three fourths of a cross' was. 'Perpendicular' sounded like something he should know, but he was a bit foggy on its exact meaning.

He put those aside, concentrating on the directions he understood. Reading the second line, he drew a circle on his parchment. He skipped the next two, then drew a triangle to the side of the circle, scratching two short vertical lines from each bottom corner--the 'feet.'

It looked like... an A. Did the riddle spell a word? The letter C was a semicircle, and there were two of those. Then another circle--an O.

O ACCO.

Sighing, he went back to the first line. Crosses had four sections that met at point... if there were only three of the four sections, it would look a bit like--a Y?

YO ACCO? That made no sense. And there were only about two words that began with 'Y,' anyway...

But he had been imagining a cross like an 'X'--what if the riddle meant a religious cross? Because taking the top bit off one of those left you with... a T.

TO ACCO...

Tobacco? That worked! The letter B had two semicircles--so long as perpendicular meant something like a straight line, he had his answer.

Shrugging, he wrote his guess on a bit of parchment, folded it around the card, and passed it to Demetria Robins. She spared him a sleepy smile before nuzzling into the pillow of her arms, dozing off again.

Al stretched, arching his back. Fridays were good days, he decided--Defense in the morning, naptime in the afternoon. Sure, he had detention later that night, but that would be a one-time thing, since he resolved to steer clear of Scor. And he had tea with Hagrid after class, he remembered with a grin, and that almost made up for the detention.

Almost.