We walk down to the dungeons in silence. Albus holds his chin up, not showing any weakness, and I can't stop replaying it in my head as he gets hurt and broken and I can't do anything. When we reach the common room, no one is there, so we just sit on separate chairs, absorbing what's happened. "Albus-"
"I know, Scorpius. I know. It's my fault, shouldn't have attacked him, but-"
"That's not what I was going to say." I can't believe he's blaming himself for this. Stupid, noble idiot. He looks at me, confused. "I was going to say that- well, I think your brother is a complete dick." Despite it all, Albus laughs. And then winces. There's a little stream of blood down his nose. "He called you a mudblood. I can't believe it- it doesn't even make sense-"
"It's okay, Albus. I've been called worse." He's agitated again now.
"What have you been called worse than mudblood?" I think about it.
"Actually, it probably is the worse."
Albus stands up and starts pacing. "James just stood there. I know Karl's his best friend, but- he's my brother, you know?" He punches a cushion, presumably imaging it has the ugly face of Karl Jenkins. "He's my brother, he says, his voice cracking a little. I get up and put my arms around him, and he sinks into my body. "Thank you," I say quietly as I hold him. "For what?" He asks, pulling away from me to look in my eyes. "Attacking Karl Jenkins. I only wish you'd punched him first."
"Me too," Albus assures me. "Me too."
When everyone files into the room, we are yelled at to get a room. Everyone's joking and no one seems to be freaking out over what's just happened. I think the other Slytherin are actually pretty nice. I'm hoping a bit to get to know them this year. Our prefect, Jack, comes in and ruffles both of our hair, even though we're fifteen and he's not much taller than us. "Good job, team," he says with a kind smile. "Next time break his nose, okay?" Albus has become a bit of a hero, even though he failed in his attempt to brutally attack the most hated Gryffindor. I think he likes it, this attention he doesn't get at home. I guess it feels good, every now and then, to be made to feel popular. Popular and wanted. About an hour later we are all sprawled across the elegant green velvet loungers, playing a particularly violent game of wizard chess (you have to remember that many of us are related to powerful dark wizards). We all let out a collective whoop as a queen is brutally beheaded and fake blood seeps from her neck. The room suddenly goes quiet and we all stand up as the head walks in. "Clear out," she instructs clearly to (obviously) everyone but me and Albus. "Listen," I start gushing, "it wasn't Albus's fault, he was was only trying to-"
"Mr Malfoy, please be quiet."
I shut up, because she is one scary witch. I actually hear Albus swallow next to me, and I lick my dry lips. "Mr Jenkins has been dealt with and duly punished for his actions. I thought you two ought to know that." We nod silently, waiting for our punishment to come. "You two will not be punished," she says. I breathe a sigh of relief. "But this is a warning to both of you, and you will have 20 points deducted from Slytherin each. Now go to bed." And with that, she strides out the room. I have to say, I've had more dealings with the head today than most people do in a year, and I'm wilting a little from the pressure. As soon as she's gone, we celebrate our strange kind of victory as everyone comes back in. It is clear that they have been listening at the door, but I don't even care. "Legends!" a sixth year shouts.
Sweets are distributed as well as several gallons of bootlegged butter beer. We reach a sugar high, and I begin to feel looser and happier than I ever have before. We've never really been included, Albus and I, the son of Voldemort and a blood gryffindor, but now we are part of the crowd, forgetting our insecurities and social status to just have a ridiculously fun time. One of the muggle borns in the year below plugs in a speaker (apparently Hogwarts has electrical outlets?) and we blast this loud, beautifully ugly music so loud that I'm sure old Hagrid must be able to hear it in his cabin. We dance (well, we jump) and we sing even though we don't know the words and I feel pretty spectacular. I'm starting to wonder if there was something more than butterbeer in those bottles. Albus and I dance close together, slightly crushed by the crowd, and the blood is a little smear across his face and it's dark and he's sweaty and grinning, looking about as happy as I feel. The First Dance, as it becomes known from every year afterwards, dies down at about three am. I'm amazed we haven't been stopped by teachers, but perhaps the dungeon is soundproofed. Albus and I go upstairs to our dorm, still grinning like maniacs, and collapse onto the nearest bed together in our clothes. I fall asleep with my legs tangled in his and my head buzzing.
