Hogwarts is, I think, my favourite place on earth. I'm staring at the castle perched dramatically on the rocks while we ride the thestral-drawn coach to the feast. We're sharing with Rose and James and our knees are all bumping together as the carriage rocks up and down. Rose is admiring the kitten, who is still as yet unnamed. She has an easy manner with it, natural. I like Rose. She's kind, and she cares for everyone, and ridiculously intelligent but humble. I've missed her too.
It's all I'm thinking today. I've missed him, I've missed her, the train, Hogwarts, everything. I take a deep breath of air, and it tastes pretty magical. Well, of course it does, this is Hogwarts, but you know what I mean.
When we climb off the coach and spill into the entrance hall I can see the little lanterns on the first year's boats. They look like fireflies. We're starving hungry and ready to gorge ourselves on the feast, but Professor McGonagoll stops Albus and I before we reach the Great Hall. "Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy. I was wondering if I might have a word." We exchange confused glances and follow her to her office, a tall, vaulted room full of portraits of previous headmasters and bookcases and objects I couldn't begin to identify. "I'm afraid you'll miss the sorting," she says with a tight smile. I'm nervous. Whatever this is, I can't imagine it being anything good. "You are aware, of course, of the illness many of the wizarding community have succumbed to in recent times?" We nod. There's no way we couldn't be aware of it, the Tox, as it has been nicknamed. There've been deaths from it all over the country. Oh, god, suppose someone's died? No. No.
"Don't worry, boys, no one's died."
I breathe a sigh of relief, and can feel Albus do the same where our shoulders touch.
"This is about Geoffrey and Michael Berylson," McGonagoll says, rather ambiguously in my opinion. Geoff and Mike are the two boys in our Slytherin dorm. They are twins, but could could not be more different. Geoff is an uptight, easily-stressed workaholic and Mike is about the most relaxed and most arrogant person you will ever met. Neither, I must say, are are particularly likeable.
"They have moved to the Czech-Republic so that their mother can continue her study of the Tox," McGonagoll says, "meaning they are no longer in attendance at Hogwarts and will not reside in your dormitory. We have not been able to enrol two students so quickly and therefore the two of you will have your dormitory to yourselves."
Albus raises his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his lips. This is pretty brilliant news. I fight back a smile myself.
"Now run along, the both of you, or you'll miss the feast," McGonagoll dismisses us and we turn to leave the office, thanking her politely. "Oh, and Mr Potter- do try to look a little less pleased about it."
And then we really do grin.
We scuttle into the Great Hall just as McGonagoll introduces the new teachers. God knows how she got there that fast, but that's wizards for you. There are two new teachers this year: Professor Delacour (potions) and Professor Arkwright (muggle studies). Delacour is, to put it simply, stunning. With loose blonde curls over her shoulders and a timeless, kind face, she radiates happiness and warmth, unlike any potions teacher I've met before (they do tend to be the miserable, dark and cruel type). "Oh!" Albus whispers tonne. "I know her. She's my aunt's sister. Part veela." Well, that explains why I'm drawn to her despite her gender. Arkwright is about the oldest man I've ever seen, bald and plump with his thick-lensed glasses perched precariously on his nose. Beneath them resides a rather large white moustache, which gives him the impression of a kindly walrus. He gives a cheerful (if slightly absent-minded) wave when his name is called, and I clap and cheer for him because he's old and it must be difficult to follow Delacour, who's manner, even when silent, is so precisely perfect that it is entrancing.
My eyes are finally jolted away from her when the table is magically spread with all varieties of dishes. There's curry, roast beef and Yorkshires, hamburgers, enchiladas, salads, six kinds of potato and a hundred other meals I don't care to remember. Within seconds we pile our plates high with the delicious stuff. "I swear this gets better every year," Albus mumbles through a mouthful of chicken. I nod because I'm too busy eating to reply. After a half hour or so of stuffing ourselves we sit back, full to bursting, at the Slytherin table.
We talk properly then, Albus and I. We talk about the summer and what we did and what we liked and what we hated. Albus seems to have had enough of his family. "I'm so done with all of them. My dad is trying to hard to be a good father or whatever that he's constantly around me asking what I want and if he can help me and it's so stifling." I nod. I feel bad for him but at the same time I'm just enjoying having my friend back. I love that he tells me everything.
"And then James... he's... James." I know what he means. James can be brilliant, but he can also be cruel, and doesn't seem to think about what he's saying before he says it. Or doesn't care.
"The other day we were arguing and he was really mad and he started... he just started screaming at me about how I was a Slytherin and how whatever I did I couldn't be anything but a disappointment to Dad because I was sorted into this house. I don't know why, but it hit me hard. I thought it didn't matter-" he stops talking and looks down at his plate. "Hey," I say softly. "Hey, you being sorted into Slytherin was the best thing that's ever happened to me." I'm not sure where that comes from, but it's true. I don't know where I'd be without him.
"Shut up," he says, but a smile is tugging at his lips.
"Oi, Voldy boy."
Excellent. It's Karl Jenkins, James Potters best friend. Now, you have no idea how little I like Karl Jenkins. He's a bully, five foot four of pure meaty flesh. His shortness, combined with his bulldog face, seems to have given him the attitude of an angry hippo. Karl as never been my biggest fan, I have to say, and takes any opportunity to make a dig at me. He doesn't bother me all that much, but every now and then he turns on Albus, which is when I get really fired up.
"Malfoy, mate. How were your holidays with the traitor?" He means my dad, of course. Jenkins was brought up by a pair of stuck up Gryffindor supremacists, who apparently played a massive role in the downfall of Voldemort. It's strange- considering Harry Potter's never mentioned them.
"Lovely, thank you." I turn back to the table so my back is to him. I glance at Albus who looks apologetic and embarrassed, his ears a little red. "Would you guess who's sitting next to him? Of course, it's little Potter. Look at that, traitors do seem to band together-" I stand up, my fist beginning to clench. Albus tries to pull me back down by my wrist, muttering something and meeting neither my nor Jim's eyes. His face is burning red now. I shake off his hand, adrenaline snaking its way through my veins. "Ooh," Karl mocks, and James, standing behind him, grins with amusement. "Is he gonna fight me?" He says loudly, looking around. A few people laugh. I clench my jaw to stop myself from replying. "You may be fully wizard, Malfoy, but let me tell you something. You will always be a mudblood," he spits venomously. Before I know what's happening Albus has stood up and thrown himself at Karl. He wobbles, surprised, but regains his balance and drives his fist into Albus's face once and then twice. Time stops, because Professor McGonagoll has frozen the two of them as they fight. "What on earth is going on here?" She says, quiet but angry. "It is the first day of term. The sorting feast! Malfoy, Potter, go back to your common room. Jenkins, come with me." Karl releases Albus who immediately drops to his knees silently. His jaw trembles and his eye looks red and raw. I rush forward to him and pull him to his feet. As I lead him out we pass James Potter, and I turn to stare at him. He just stood there. He just let it happen. And now he looks at me, remorseless, and I hate him.
