Harry Potter Next Generation: Family Legacy

Chapter Thirty-Five: Uncle Ron's Advice (Albus)

 The Potters and the Weasleys lived right next to each other, the two houses only separated by a large green lawn on which we played lengthy games on Quidditch during the summer. There were so many kids around on the holidays that both houses are train stations, with everyone coming and going. There's Hugo and Lily, who rush around playing tag, Rose, who snaps at anybody blocking her view of the window, and James, who I've been looking for the entire day, knocking people over on his broom.

And then there's Teddy, who keeps questioning me about Hogwarts. And then Uncle Percy lectures everyone on the importance of broom safety. Mum's yelling at James for riding his broom inside the house, and Dad, Uncle Ron, and Aunt Hermione were talking.

It was absolute chaos.

"James!" I yelled. My brother reluctantly hopped off his broom, inspired by Mum's glare. He strutted towards me, running his fingers through his hair.

"What is it, little brother?"

I stood on my toes to try and look him in the eyes. "You're an absolute git, you know that, don't you?"

He sighed. "What did I do this time?"

"You're a git because you blackmailed me to not be friends with Hazel!"

"We're still talking about this?"

"Well, I've just got a letter from her and I'm not going to stop being friends because you're such a contemptible git!"

"You do know that git and contemptible mean about the same thing, right?"

I slugged him in the shoulder. He recoiled with a loud "ow!"

"My point is, James, that I'm going to tell her why I said all of those things. Just wanted to give you a fair warning if the Slytherin Quidditch team tries to hit a bunch of Bludgers at you when we go back to Hogwarts." I crossed my arms and stared at him.

James smiled like one of the garden gnomes. "You do what you want, little brother. But if you need help, I'm here."

"Thanks, but I don't need your help with my friends. You already tried that once."

I was halfway up to my room, to write a letter of apology when Uncle Ron stopped me.

"Albus, can I talk to you for a moment?"

I stared at him. "Is this going to be like the time when I broke your broomstick? 'Cause I didn't do anything like that, I promise."

Uncle Ron smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. "No, it's more of a, guidance thing. Your brother James was just telling me about your—"

"If this is about Hazel I'm not going to talk to you about it," I interrupted.

"So that's her name," mused Ron quietly. His voice grew louder. "But Albus, the thing is, Hazel may be a good friend, but you can't really trust her entirely."

"Why not?"

"Because of her family."

"What do you even have against the Malfoys, anyway?" I asked. My blood boiled, almost like the time I have lied to Hazel in order to protect her and her brother.

"It's not what I have against them, but what they have against us," growled Uncle Ron. "Malfoy— Hazel's father— bullied your Aunt Hermione, myself, and your father to no ends. They hate us."

"Mr. Malfoy may hate you, but Hazel and Scorpius sure don't. And don't tell me that you don't have anything against them, Uncle Ron. You've never met my friends, have you?" I stepped forward. "And I don't know if dear James told you or not, but the Sorting Hat was going to put Hazel in Gryffindor. She chose Slytherin. And Scorpius? Her brother? He's in Hufflepuff."

I grabbed the stair railing and glared at my uncle. "You're just like James! Why does everyone think that they can control who I'm friends with?"

Uncle Ron opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but I turned around and pounded up to the second floor, dashed into my room and closed the door quietly. I wasn't going to be like Rose, who had meltdowns and temper tantrums every couple of hours.

I threw myself on the bed and sighed. On the ceiling, constellations and planets circled around. My room was covered in heaps of rubbish, and the walls were plastered with photos of my extensive, posters of the Brazilian National Quidditch team, and, as a gift from Mrs. Malfoy, a bunch of photos of Hogwarts, and Hazel and I.

"They can't choose for me," I said loudly.

I sat up very quickly and grabbed a semi-broken quill and a piece of grubby parchment from the floor. I crouched on the floor, using the dusty planks as a desk.

Dear Hazel,

I know that I haven't been really a friend these past couple of weeks. So I think I owe it to you to explain why.

I know that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, so I feel like when I tell you a Bludger's going to come and knock my head. But, if your Quidditch team gets mad, make sure that the Bludgers and Quaffles and whatnot go to James, not me.

Anyway, James said that he would hurt you and Scorpius if I continued being friends with you, and I really didn't want a repeat of the Quidditch accident— so I agreed to not be friends with you.

I hope you can forgive me, Hazel.

Love Albus.

P.S: I'm sorry that your grandparents died. They were horrible to everyone, but nobody deserves to die in a place as horrible as Azkaban. Not even them.