Albus (A Next Generation Harry Potter Fanfiction)

Discrimination

A/N: Dedicated to kdar10 because your comments literally make my day :D they're always so cute and nice and stuff and you've been here for ages, so thank you so much!! <3

Hope you're all still enjoying it!! :)

It was later that evening. Al had stormed off, feeling terrible because Scor didn't, taking the guilt upon himself, when he'd seen Stanford in the hallway. Unable to find Matilda, he asked his Professor, who consequently told him she was in the hospital wing. Confused and still angry, he rushed up there, going as fast as he could past moving staircases getting in his way.

Why was Matilda in the hospital wing? So Scor had called her... that. But he hadn't attacked her, right? He would never do that, right?

He briskly walked into the hospital wing, the white curtains reflecting that steely, Muggle look all hospitals had about them. It also smelled a little funny.

Madam Pomfrey, a greying, bustling old woman who he'd heard from his Dad had been there all through his Hogwarts years, just like McGonagall. A lot of these staff members just never left, and you'd think there would only be so much of ill kids or the effects of badly conducted spells a person could take, but Madam Pomfrey was as strong as ever. She bustled up to him, looking him up and down with the disapproval that he saw in many of his Professors faces these days.

"Come to visit Matilda?" She asked, her lips pursed.

Al nodded, expecting her to lead him off to a bed, but she stood stock still in front of him, a barrier between him and his friend.

"She's quite ill, Potter. She can't have any visitors until tomorrow at the very least. Come back in 24 hours and we'll see how her progress has been," Madam Pomfrey stated.

Al's brow furrowed. How could Matilda be so sick when he'd seen her for most of the afternoon and she'd been absolutely fine? "What's wrong with her?" He asked, his whole body yearning it wasn't anything to do with Scorpius, although an untrusting part of his head was telling him the opposite.

"We don't know," Madam Pomfrey said, putting a wrinkled hand on his shoulder and turning him around to face the door with a surprisingly strong hold. He felt the air being washed out of him, wanting to pull away from her and rush off to find Matilda, or at least get more of an explanation, but he was guided out by the large nurse and left outside, useless. Deep down he knew he didn't really have an extent of magical knowledge that could cure Matilda, but perhaps just knowing that he was there and that he didn't think her blood was any dirtier than his or anyone's would make her feel better.

He went to dinner alone. Scor was there on the Slytherin table, but just to irritate him he went and sat with some Ravenclaws. The ones in his year welcomed Al, and unlike a lot of Slytherin, didn't seem to care who his parents were, and unlike Scor, definitely weren't so cemented in their ways. The grey ceiling tainted with clouds was looking as if it was raining this evening, and Al could hear a faint pattering of drops on the real roof outside. It was a nice dinner, he supposed, but not as much of a laugh as he usually had with Scor, who was watching him with wide green eyes from where he was, silently eating next to some third-years.

Al refused to condone his actions. He was still angry. He stalked out the Great Hall after they'd all finished, bumping into Rose but not bothering to say hello, and started to walk back to the common room.

Halfway there, however, he stopped. He knew that if he was in the dorm or the common room Scor would appear and Al wouldn't have the heart to punish him anymore for calling Matilda a Mudblood. And Scor needed a proper consequence, because after about 6 months of putting up with him saying it daily, Al was well and truly fed up. All this time and Scor still hadn't stopped. He still looked at Matilda like she was disgusting, just because of what his father told him was right and what he told him was wrong.