Chimaera Of Judgement

45: The Weight Of O.W.L.s

Jezabel did not seem to feel any urgent need to open her birthmother's envelope, despite around-the-clock coaxing from Albus and Rose as the sun set on the month of May. The idea of being given an unknown present from beyond the grave and not caring was absurd to them; how could she put it off like an unpleasant chore? Albus expected her to refuse to tell him why, as well, but he was mistaken.

"I don't know," she sighed exasperatedly at him one evening as they sat around a table in the Gryffindor common room. "It's- there's a niggling feeling that I shouldn't open it just yet."

Rose looked up from behind a particularly gruelling Charms assignment. "Are you afraid of the Mentacles' revenge or something?"

Her dark eyes seemed to consider this briefly. "Hmm... maybe a bit, but not entirely. Whatever's stopping me opening it is another animal altogether, and- oh, I do wish I could put my finger on it!"

"It's okay," Albus soothed. "Put your mum from your mind for now. Let us know when you're ready, and we'll be there to help you deal with the envelope's contents."

"Whatever they are," said Rose darkly.

The madcap string of events that played out after Gryffindor's spectacular victory on the pitch had done its level best to banish all thoughts of his father's broom from Albus's mind, and it may have been some time before he thought of it again if not for a question posed to him on the afternoon two days following.

"Tell me, have you ordered a replacement broom, Albus?" asked Professor Longbottom as the other students filed out to wash up.

"Oh," he breathed, painfully imagining the expression on his father's face when he found out the legendary gift from Godfather Sirius was no more. "N-not yet; I hadn't even considered it. Er, why? What do you recommend?"

"I recommend you don't bother," he said with a sly grin, reaching down behind his desk and holding up the good-as-slightly-used Firebolt he had grown so used to in such a short time.

"What in the bloody hell- it's perfect!" he exclaimed, running his fingers along the polished handle as his teacher pretended to be affronted by his language. "You'd never think to look at it that a Bludger had turned it to toothpicks! How'd you manage this?"

Neville shrugged. "It was a clean enough break, I reckoned it wouldn't be too difficult for a learned wizard. Let me know if it's gone wonky from being fixed improperly, won't you? Wood'll owe me a large favour if his handiwork drops one of my students on his skull..."

Being that they were at school and he had a reputation to uphold, Albus restrained himself from hugging his Head of House.

Their feverish studies and ongoing Quidditch Cup celebrations caused the greater population of Gryffindor House to forget that they had one last Hogsmeade weekend to enjoy before O.W.L.s. Thus, it came as something of a shock to Albus when Nathaniel Peasegood crossed the common room the night previous and stumbled around his question for several tries before successfully asking Rose out on a date - depending on how one defines success.

"Look, Nate, I told you I am not interested!" she hissed, glancing over at Albus as her ears began to flash like a clabbert's pustule. "I... I'd hate to watch you keep doing this to yourself over and over, but that's what you'll be doing if you don't stop, so please, just... just leave it, all right?"

Albus strained to hold his laughter in until the gangly third-year had slunk far enough away that he might not hear it. Then, he could bear it no longer.

"Bugger off, Al."

"B-but Rose," he chuckled, wiping an eye, "you should have s-seen the look on your freckly face when he asked - I thought your ears were going to melt into slag!"