Al Potter and the Plague of Frogs

In the weeks following The Flying Lesson, as Al referred to it in his head, a strange sort of understanding settled between he, Ana and Scor. No one mentioned James' prank directly, but the fact of it accompanied Al wherever he went, sitting silently beside him in class and during meals, resting on his pillow as a parting thought when he lay down to sleep. To a lesser extent, Ana and Scor seemed aware of its presence as well, so that the subject of retaliation worked its way into almost every conversation, no matter what they were discussing.

"Al, I don't understand number six--what's Stebbins on about?"

"He wants us to talk about the differences in wand motion from one moving charm to another."

"Why doesn't he just say that, then?" said Ana, exasperated.

Scor stirred from his contemplation of the flickering fireplace across the common room. "You were pretty good with that Sliding Charm last week, weren't you?" he asked, leaning toward Al.

"I suppose," said Al. Stebbins hadn't commented on it, but Stebbins never said much to him, having determined Al's delinquency in the first week of term.

"You were," Scor confirmed. "I wonder... maybe if you aimed one at the floor when he's carrying something heavy..."

Ana's eyes lit up, her Charms homework forgotten. "Or doing one of his awful impressions!"

"Or at the top of the Grand Staircase," said Al, affecting a dreamy voice. "Nah. Don't want to kill him, do I?"

"Your parents might not like that," Ana agreed.

All told, they had about a dozen means of retribution floating around, waiting patiently for realization. What they lacked was opportunity--Al only ever saw his brother during meals, and when James wasn't in class or the Gryffindor common room, he was on the Quidditch pitch, surrounded by his teammates.

So Al bided his time, and took comfort in knowing his vengeance would be sweet, if not particularly swift. Besides, he had other things to think about--his studies, for example. Solving riddles, for another--since word had spread to the rest of the first and second years, he had plenty of those to occupy his mind. He was owling his mother about once a week, telling her about his teachers, his favorite classes. He wrote sparingly about his friends, focusing mainly on Argil, who he judged objectively to be the most interesting--and least controversial--of the lot.

It wasn't necessarily a lie, he reasoned, because Argil was his friend. They were partners in Potions, and had even taken to going to the library after Kalna's classes on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, to write up their lab while the potion was fresh in their minds. Which is why on the first Tuesday in October, Al and Argil were huddled at a rarely used table, deep in the History section.

"What was the third ingredient?" Al mumbled, flipping through his Potions text.

"Dried nettles, wasn't it?" said Argil. He scanned number three in his Procedure section. "Yeah--dried nettles, added individually."

"Thanks."

Their Soothing Solution last period had turned out well enough, but Kalna had assigned a few additional questions to answer in their written analysis. Al was lagging behind Argil in the write-up, hoping he would be able to glean the answers off his partner without him noticing.

"Where are our observations?" said Argil. He leafed through the parchment scattered between them.

"Erm..." said Al, reaching for his book bag. "I think I've got them--" He pulled a sheaf of paper from among the books, dislodging a small, laminated square that slid, spinning, across the table.

It came to a stop against Argil's notes, Merlin swaying dizzily, one hand gripping a dank rock wall behind him. Argil picked up the card, peering down at the legendary wizard.

"Still under the lake?" He handed the card back to Al, who traded the card for their stack of scribbled notes.

"I meant to give it back to Cauldwell in Defense, but I forgot."

"You solved it? Let's hear it, then," said Argil, grinning.

Al shrugged, reciting: "Without fingers, points; without hands, strikes; without feet, runs."

Argil squinted. "I give up," he said.

"You didn't even try."

"I said I wanted to hear it, not think about it!"

Al laughed. "All right, fine. It's a clock."

"Ooh, I get it," said Argil, slapping his book. "That's a good one."

"I guess," said Al. "It was easier than some of the others."

"How many have you solved?" asked Argil.

"I dunno," Al lied. Merlin made twenty-one. "A lot last week. I got a few from some second and third years, even. I don't think anyone older than that's really interested."

Argil snorted his agreement. "Probably because they know the prize is something stupid."

"How do you know the prize is something stupid?"

"You think so, too," said Argil. "You don't want the prize. I've seen you--half the time you don't even ask for the Word or whatever they're calling it. Anyway..." Argil lowered his voice. "Like I said before, my father knows the owner of Chocolate Critters--my family's done business with the Glykerias for years."

"Who?"

"The Glykerias! Oldest wizarding family in Greece--and the richest, since they started making candy. I think Scor's related to them, somehow..." Argil paused, brow furrowed, then shook his head.

"I can't remember," he said. "But my parents visited Madam Glykeria at her estate on Lemnos, right after she inherited the company last year, and--Al, she's mad. The sweetest witch you could hope to meet, my father said, but barking mad."

"What do you mean?" asked Al, wide eyed.

"Well, as her guests, you know, they brought gifts--they've visited loads of people all over, and they always bring a gift. Only Madam Glykeria insisted she give them a gift as well--Mother said it's tradition there--and led them to this massive room, right? Filled to the brim with all sorts of things. Half the stuff my parents had never seen before--and there's not a lot my parents haven't seen!"

"What was it, then?"

"Muggle stuff," said Argil, nodding meaningfully. "All of it! She had pictures that didn't move except in this big frame on the wall, weird things that lit up and made noise when you when turned a knob or pressed a button. She even had a huge, shiny... whatsit? A hoover car?"

"Hover car!" said Al excitedly. Hector had told him about those last Christmas, but he'd said they were still in development...

"So she tells my parents to pick something, as their gift!" said Argil. The librarian, Ms. Towler, shushed them from somewhere beyond the shelves.

"What'd they choose?" Al whispered.

"Well, it wasn't like she'd explained what any of it was," Argil said quietly. "'Cause of course everyone collects Muggle junk in their spare time. So my father just pointed to whatever was closest. A 'Tennis Machine,' as it turned out." Argil waved a hand, trying to explain. "It's this--"

"I know what it is," said Al, chuckling.

"How's that?" asked Argil.

"Muggle relatives. We see them a few times a year." Al grinned ruefully. "And my grandfather is a bit of Muggle junk collector, himself."

"Oh!" said Argil, embarrassed. "Erm--I didn't mean to call him--"

"No, he's a bit mad, as well," said Al, brushing aside Argil's concern.

"...You see what I mean about the prize, though?" said Argil, after a moment.

"Yeah," said Al. "You're thinking it's probably a lawn mower."

"A what, now?"

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

The following night, high atop the Astronomy Tower, Al had just returned Merlin to Oz Cauldwell when Rose stomped through the doorway, accompanied by Harrison Drake and Colleen Creevey, who looked rather awestruck.

"All right, Rose?" said Al, as she sat down at her usual workbench.

"Fine," she spat.

"Oh, good--just checking," he said lightly, returning to his seat next to Scor.

"Sorry," she grumbled. "Just--James."

Al paused. Did she know about the prank, finally? He had hoped James had sense enough to keep Rose from hearing about it--Al didn't want her playing peacemaker again. He wanted to take care of things his way.

"What about him?" he asked.

"You'd think he'd won them the Cup, or something, and not one measly game," she said, yanking book and parchment out of her bag. "He's been strutting around like he's royalty, so pleased with himself, and then just now in the Common Room--" She took a deep breath, calming herself. "Just now in the Common Room, he tried to make us move, said Harrison was in his seat, and then that Robbie Vane suggested Colleen clear off."

"Did you?" Al glanced at Harrison and Colleen, who were shaking their heads, grinning wide.

"No!" said Rose indignantly. "Colleen was about to, but I took my ink bottle and dumped it on James' head. I have been putting up with his peacock act all week--"

She whipped around with a glare--Scor had let out a laugh. Al was barely stifling a smile.

"Sorry," said Al, schooling his expression.

"It wasn't funny at all," said Rose, facing forward. "Something needs to be done!"

"I agree," said Scor, nodding. He turned toward Al, murmuring: "Drop him in a vat of ink?"

"Only where would we find a vat?" asked Al, adjusting the height of his telescope.

"Your cousin's all right," said Scor.

"Yeah."

Sinistra appeared at the top of the tower staircase, and the class fell silent.

"During tonight's survey of the sky," she said, as she strode around the circle of benches, handing each of them a blank star map. "You will not be distracted by the Muggles currently leaping around on the moon. You will not make jokes concerning their absurd space outfits or speculate as to the purpose of their elaborate machinery."

There was a squeaking of metal joints as every telescope was immediately aimed at the moon. Sinistra sighed.

"Will you look at them!" someone exclaimed. "They're like yetis with fish bowls on their heads!"

This was an accurate description, thought Al, peering through his own telescope. One of the Muggles seemed to be drilling into ground, another fiddling with the controls on a large device with blinking lights.

"Please do not force me to disable your Magnifying Charms," said Sinistra wearily.

"I think I see one bopping round in a little cart," said Scor, chuckling.

"I just saw one fall in a ditch!" crowed Matthias.

"Very well!" called Sinistra.

The moon through Al's telescope abruptly receded, shrinking back to a pale orb of shadowed craters. The numbers around the perimeter of the lens, listing the coordinates of the current view, remained.

Amid the outcry from her students, Sinistra cleared her throat.

"You may spy on Space Muggles on your own time--I will restore the Charms at the end of class. During class, you will kindly sketch your survey, to be labeled and handed in on Monday."

"Grim bat," Scor muttered.

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

Between riddles, homework, and plans of revenge, Al almost forgot about Teddy's visit, fast approaching on Sunday. Al had written him back the night of The Flying Lesson--a curt reply, he realized now, as he's been in no shape to convey enthusiasm.

Friday morning, a tawny owl dropped a folded note on Al's plate. He snatched it up, saving the parchment from a greasy bath, and smiled at the signature scrawled along the bottom.

"Your god-brother?" Ana guessed.

Al nodded, scanning the note. "He wants me to meet him at noon..." He frowned. "...By the lake?"

"Come alone," Ana intoned.

Al laughed. "Must be to do with want he wants to give me."

He was still grinning when they left for the Entrance Hall, where Scor was waiting by the Grand Staircase, half asleep. As had become their habit, Al handed him some toast he'd saved from breakfast.

"I don't understand how you survive until lunch on a slice of bread," said Ana, shaking her head as they trudged up the stairs.

Scor chewed, crumbs sticking down the front of his robes. Al wondered if Scor had even heard her--it was difficult to tell, some mornings. Yesterday, he hadn't said a word all through first period. As they reached the first floor Defense corridor, however, Scor swallowed his last bite and spoke, voice scratchy:

"'M thirsty."

"See, that's what's nice about going to breakfast," said Al. "Lots to drink."

"No--wait." Scor hopped up and down a few times, eyes squeezed closed. When he opened them, he seemed much more awake.

"Why don't you do that everyday?" asked Al.

"Doesn't always work," said Scor. "Just had an idea. Hold on..." He backed away a few steps. When he drew out his wand, Al wished he'd back away a few more--Scor, magic, and mornings did not go together especially well.

"Er, Scor--"

"No, don't worry!" said Scor, waving his free hand. "I saw Alan Derrick doing it in the common room last night. What was the spell?" He stared at the wall, nose wrinkled in thought. "Stilli--stillici--" He jumped. "I got it! I got it--watch!"

He pointed his wand upward, aiming above his head. "Stillicidio!"

From the tip of his wand shot a round, shimmering water globule. It rose above him, seeming to hover for a moment before plummeting downward. Scor opened his mouth wide, and the water landed with a splash on his waiting tongue.

Al and Ana stared. Scor grinned at them expectantly, wiping his chin dry with his sleeve. Al was busy trying to imagine Alan Derrick--the big, tough, fifth year--performing that particular trick.

"Come on--that was brilliant," said Scor. "Got it on my first try!"

"Bravo," said Ana dryly.

"Don't make me stillicidio your face," said Scor, brandishing his wand.

"There will be no dousing of classmates, today."

They all turned to see Professor Crowburn standing directly behind them, a stack of parchment tucked in the crook of his arm.

"Are those our essays?" asked Scor.

"Why don't we take our seats and find out?" Crowburn suggested, herding them into the classroom. The rest of the class was already there, talking among themselves, though they quieted at the sight of the professor.

Only took us a month to catch on, thought Al.

"At the end of the double period, I will return your essays from last week," said Crowburn, setting the stack of parchment tantalizingly on the front corner of his desk. He lowered himself into his chair, assuming his Discussion Stance.

"This morning, I would like you to tell me about Haunted Houses," he began, fiddling with a quill. "First, under what circumstances is a house termed 'haunted,' and second, is our general perception of such places justified, or informed by learned fears and stereotypes? Are we, in fact, in a Haunted House as we speak?" Examining the quill, he added, "Unless you have a better idea, Mr. Hooper?"

At the sound of his name, George Hooper went rigid in his desk, where he was quite obviously hiding something. Cringing, he looked up at the professor.

"Mr. Hooper," said Crowburn, disappointed. "If I didn't know you were up to something before, I certainly do now. You are radiant with guilt."

"Y--Yes, Professor," said Hooper, looking lost, hand glued to his desktop. "I mean, sorry, Professor. Sir."

"This is the third Chocolate Frog Card to interrupt my class this week," said Crowburn. "If that is, indeed, what you are covering with your hand?"

Coloring rising to his cheeks, Hooper nodded.

"Yes," said Crowburn, tipping his head in return. "Perhaps I should give way to the unavoidable. What do you think, Mr. Hooper?"

"Well, I--erm. Yes?"

"All right--which card is it?"

Not quite believing his luck, Hooper lifted his hand, revealing the card. "Ignatia Wildsmith, sir."

"Who here knows what Ms. Wildsmith is famous for?" asked Crowburn, darting a glance around the room. "Miss Weasley?"

Rose had tentatively raised her hand. "Wasn't she--didn't she invent Floo Powder?"

"Very good, Miss Weasley. Five points to Gryffindor," said Crowburn. He twirled his wand between his fingers, like drum major's baton. "Have you heard the riddle, Mr. Hooper?"

"Yes, sir," said Hooper, jumping in his seat. "I've got it here, sir."

"Read it aloud, would you?"

Clearing his throat, Hooper complied:

"A man is trapped in a room where the only possible exits are two doors. Through the first door is room constructed from magnifying glass. The blazing sun instantly fries anyone or anything that enters. Through the second door there is a fire-breathing dragon. How does the man escape?"

Crowburn smiled at his wand, still spinning. "Has anyone solved this one yet?"

The class collectively shook their heads, some students glancing at Al for confirmation--but he'd never come across the riddle, either.

"Very well," said Crowburn. With a final twirl, he set his wand back on the desk. "You all have an hour and half to figure it out. Whoever is the first to answer correctly will earn their House... twenty points?"

"Fifty!" called Argil from behind Al, nudging his shoulder.

"No way!" protested Oz Cauldwell. "The Slytherins have Potter!"

"...We do," Crowburn agreed, glancing at Al.

"Well, Potter's sure to get it, isn't he?"

"Is he?" asked Crowburn.

Al felt the blood rushing to his face as his classmates verified the claim. Crowburn was squinting at him inquisitively, his mouth curling up at the corners.

"Just to make things interesting," said the professor. The class immediately hushed. "If Potter solves the riddle--twenty points. If anyone else solves the riddle... fifty points."

The class let out a gasp.

"That's fair!" said Cauldwell.

Crowburn flicked his wand, spelling the riddle onto the blackboard.

"Begin."

Hands flew in the air, and for a time the classroom was chaotic with guesses. Poor Ignatia Wildsmith, quite overwhelmed by all the noise, took refuge under her chair, shouting "No!" to each solution sent her way.

"You get a broom and outfly the dragon!"

"You cast a Fogging Charm on the glass!"

"Forget the doors--you blast through one of the walls!"

Al waited about half an hour before writing the answer on a scrap of parchment and rolling it into a tight scroll. When he was certain no one was looking, he dropped the scroll to the floor. A slight sweep of his foot sent the answer whispering along the flagstones, coming to stop against a shoe below the desk behind him.

A few minutes later, Scor made a grand show of his epiphany.

"I've got it--of course!" he exclaimed, vaulting out of his seat. "If the sun's the only thing keeping you away, you hang around 'til nightfall, then escape through the first door!"

"Ms. Wildsmith?" Crowburn asked the card.

"That is the answer," she said, falling into her chair with relief. "The--the Word is 'little'--"

Grumbling, the Gryffindor wrote down the clue.

"--And the next card... the next card is Harry Potter."

Al slid down in his seat as all eyes turned his way. Rose was looking back and forth between he and Scor, brow arched.

"It just came to me!" Scor was telling the other Slytherins, accepting their praise.

"That was fun," said Crowburn. "Fifty points to Slytherin, as per our agreement--Do bring another card to class, Mr. Hooper." The Gryffindors deflated. With a sigh, Rose faced forward. "And now, if you are not either too downtrodden or flushed with victory, I would like us to return our attention to the matter of Haunted Houses..."

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

Sunday afternoon found most of the students outdoors, enjoying the last of the mild autumn weather before the cold wind and rain arrived. As Al's watch ticked twelve o'clock, he slipped away from the Slytherin first years lounging in the sun between the greenhouses, scanning the lakeside for any Teddy-shaped figures.

By the time he reached the opposite shore, it was well past noon, and still no sign of Teddy. Glancing around once more, Al made his way to a large, moss-covered rock on the edge of the water, leaning against it to wait.

"Hey, kid--this is my rock."

"Wha--?"

Al looked up to find a scrawny, brown-haired boy glaring at him, perched high atop the boulder. He was wondered how he could've missed him before, when he noticed the boy had strangely... yellow eyes.

"Teddy!" he exclaimed.

"Aw!" the boy whined. He seemed to expand, face stretching, until the usual Teddy was frowning down at him. "How'd you know it was me?"

"The eyes." Al clambered onto the rock, settling next to Teddy. "You always have weird eyes."

Teddy huffed, propping his chin in his palm. "My instructor said the same thing, the other day! I never remember the eyes."

"They were yellow, just now."

"Were they? They kind of choose for themselves, you know, when I forget to."

Al hummed. "Your hair's different."

"Nah," said Teddy, grinning. He tugged at a few long, dark strands. "I just don't want the others to recognize me. No time for a party, I'm afraid. Can't stay long."

"Oh," said Al.

"So, in the interest of time--rapid-fire update!"

"Erm, okay..."

"Favorite class?" Teddy asked.

"Defense."

"With Crowburn? Yeah, he had quite a following, I remember... Favorite teacher?"

"Longbottom," said Al.

"So loyal, Al! No, Longbottom's a good bloke. Favorite supper?"

"The shepherd's pie."

"Favorite--oh," Teddy frowned. "I was going to ask what's your favorite chair, but I've never been in the Slytherin common room..." He shrugged. "Good chairs, down there?"

"Really nice, leather ones," said Al.

"Got a favorite?"

"Er..." Al had only recently started venturing into the common room. "The one by the fire?"

"Sounds good to me! What else? Oh!" Teddy smiled. "Friends? I'd ask for your favorite, but that seems a bit mean."

"I've got a few," said Al awkwardly. "Erm, they're really nice--"

Teddy laughed. "--Leather ones?"

"No."

"Wooden?"

"Teddy!" Al rolled his eyes.

"Okay, okay." Chuckling, Teddy reached into his pocket. "I'll stop stalling."

"What is it?" asked Al.

"This, young Albus, will change your life. Your dad gave it to me when I was in school, and now I--" He held out a worn, folded piece of parchment. "--Give it to you."

Al stared, wide-eyed. "Is that...?"

"Yep," said Teddy. "Got me out of more trouble than I can tell--or into, I suppose, depending on how you look at it."

Carefully, Al took the Marauder's Map, holding it reverently in both hands. "But why--why are giving it to me, and not...?"

"James?" finished Teddy. "I figured that wouldn't really be fair, him having the cloak and the--"

"James has got the cloak?" Al exclaimed.

"And Merlin help the school!"

"He's got the--so that's how he..." It had never made sense, how James had managed to sneak into the secured broom shed without anyone noticing--but if he had an Invisibility Cloak... it would have been easy, just by following Coach Wood...

"Al?" said Teddy, peering at him with concern. "You all right?"

"I--yeah," said Al. "James just--did something."

"Ah," said Teddy. "Do I want to know?"

"It's fine," said Al, unfolding the Map. It was soft, almost fragile with age. "I'm taking care of it."

"Already have something in mind?" asked Teddy.

"Yeah," said Al, a slow grin spreading across his face. "And I think this will help."