"Aw, if it isn't Baby Potter," mocked a weedy fourth-year boy with lank dull brown hair not unlike Ambrosia Nott's. "Fancy yourself to be a bad boy, do you?"

 "I guess it'd have to be hereditary in your family," a second-year girl with a mole on her nose commented with a cool smirk, "that desire to want to cause a scene wherever you go - "

"Don't be stupid,"a tough-looking third-year boy next to the girl said harshly, "they only sent him to us because he's so useless even Hufflepuff didn't want him - "

Albus's hand clenched over his wand and he wished with all of his might that he had a really good jinx to use on the sneering older kids - his anger, however, only seemed to amuse them further, as they all started laughing.

"That is enough."

Everyone looked over at the prefect that had escorted the first-years in - a pale fifth-year Slytherin boy with a mop of dark auburn hair with bangs that fell into his stormy gray eyes - as he stood up from the armchair he'd settled into, which sat right in front of the fire and a black-framed portrait with an empty canvas.

"Enough?" spat the boy who looked like Ambrosia Nott. "Enough nothing! You can't tell me that you're all right with Potter's kid being in here, Richard!"

"I'm not," Richard answered coolly.

He got to his feet and walked toward Albus. Albus at once felt his posture stiffening as the much taller boy came over to him, particularly at how cold his gray eyes were as he did so, but was surprised by the prefect actually putting a hand on his shoulder.

"But he was sorted into Slytherin, regardless," said Richard. "And we're not going to be able to change it, unless Potter decides to leave Hogwarts and go somewhere else. Even if he is Harry Potter's son - " he gave no vocal acknowledgment to the bunch of hisses that went around the room at the name, " - I am Slytherin's only prefect, and I intend to protect my house, Lycaeon - even if it includes Potter."

His words surprised Albus. Slytherin's only prefect? He was sure that each house was supposed to have one boy and one girl prefect from the fifth, sixth and seventh-year classes. As Albus glanced around the room, however, a thought struck him - were there any girls in the commonroom that were older than fourteen? For that matter - were there any Slytherin students older than Richard?

The majority of the other Slytherins scowled at the prefect, but at his words, they begrudgingly dispersed, moving to other areas of the commonroom or heading up the stairs toward their dormitories.

Albus turned to Richard.

"Um - thank you. For that."

Richard looked down at Albus with an incredibly frosty eye. "I didn't do it for your sake."

"I know that," Albus choked out quickly at Richard turning to go, feeling awkward and unsure but nonetheless adding as a mumble, " ...but I still appreciate it."

Richard glanced over his shoulder at Albus, his gray eyes still very cold. Then he turned back around, coming over in a way that made him lord over the younger boy, whether he meant to or not.

"My father is in Azkaban for being a Death Eater, Potter," he said quietly. "Jude Avery - son of Meleagar Avery, also a Death Eater in his day. I may not be much the type to idolize the sort of stuff my family has done - but I do not want to have a Potter feel he owes me anything. So forget it."

With this, Richard Avery swept around and left up the stairs to the dormitories, leaving Albus in a chilly pool of discomfort.

~*~

The next few days were just as hard. Starting classes meant that Albus had to walk around the very large castle trying to find specific classrooms and that he often got lost and ended up walking in late. Once, on the way to his first Herbology class, he accidentally went down the wrong hall and ran right into Peeves, the school poltergeist, when he was hanging water balloons from the ceiling, and the mischievous creature took the opportunity to pelt all the balloons he hadn't hung up at the small boy until he ran down the staircase.

Why isn't there a map for this place? the sopping wet Albus couldn't help but think sullenly afterward.

Getting lost, however, was the least of Albus's worries. Whenever he was in a class or anywhere else that made him run into students from the other houses, he found himself confronting a horde of gossiping wasps.

"That's him, the Slytherin Potter - "

"He looks harmless - "

"That's just 'cause the Sorting Hat saw something we can't see - "

Albus tried his best to ignore it. In all honesty, he felt like he'd almost be okay with it if people disliked him for something he did, but it seemed like just ending up in Slytherin automatically painted him as a Dark wizard - even when he was the son of Harry Potter. If the other students weren't gossiping about him, they would make it a point to let him know they didn't like him, whether by shoving him out of their way or by taunting him under their breath as they passed.

The day after the Sorting, after getting caught on a staircase that wouldn't move to the right level no matter how much he asked it to, Albus finally made it to Charms class with the Ravenclaws. He had been expecting the professor - a small woman with a trimmed mop of gray curls around her wrinkled face named Professor Taubman - to be angry with him for being late. But when he entered, Professor Taubman did not laugh like the majority of the class did. Instead, she reacted kindly.

"Next time please leave a bit early for class, all right, Mr. Potter?" she said in a rather grandmotherly tone of voice. "I'd hate for you to be late again."

Albus smiled at her out of pure gratitude, before he moved over toward the empty seat on the bench next to Rose.

Unfortunately just as Professor Taubman turned her back, he felt his leg get caught on something, and he fell flat on his face.

A chorus of laughter accompanied his face colliding with the stone floor. His nose throbbing with pain, Albus looked up to see one of the Ravenclaw boys smirking down at him - obviously he had stuck his foot out to trip him.

"Have a nice trip, Potter?" he asked innocently.

Albus stumbled to his feet, ready to retort, but at that moment, Professor Taubman turned around again.

"Now, now, settle down," she said in a lightly chastising tone of voice. "My lesson can't be that funny - "

"It wasn't your lesson, Professor!" Rose spoke up at once. "Kent just - "

"If you have a comment, please wait until the end of class, Miss Weasley," Professor Taubman interrupted gently. "We don't need to yell."

She then glanced at Albus, her eyes full of naive pleasantry as she gestured to the bench. "Go on, Mr. Potter, find your seat, please."

Albus's cheeks flushed in both humiliation and frustration as he looked from Taubman to the boy called Kent, resentment dripping from his green eyes. Then, after a moment, he walked down to the end of the bench to sit next to Rose.

In Slytherin, it wasn't much better. Even Slytherin's Head of House, the dark-skinned Professor Zabini, seemed to show no respect toward Albus when he just barely made it to Transfiguration on time.

"Oh, thank you, Potter," he said with sarcastically feigned gratitude. "You actually came on time for me - I've heard from my coworkers that you often show your disapproval of the teachers by arrogantly strolling in after class has already started. Good of you not to make me take points from my own house."

What was worse than his comments, though, were his long periods of complete, judgmental silences that would accompany him swooping around the room to look at his students' work and write down their grade for that date on a clipboard. Albus wasn't sure what made transfiguring a match into a needle harder - Scorpius Malfoy doing it flawlessly next to him or Professor Zabini lording over him as he worked.

As for the other Slytherins, it was as though they were determined to deny him a place in their house. Yes, in the underground dungeon that was the Slytherin commonroom, there were dormitories for the first-year Slytherin boys - Malfoy, Xavier Charlemagne, a very small boy with one brown eye and one blue eye named Morpheus Ingram, and Albus himself - but even there, both he and Malfoy were shunned by Charlemagne and Ingram, and Malfoy seemed to have no problem with being alone, so in the end Albus was still left by himself. For someone who had grown up in a very tight-knit and nosy family, the privacy could have been refreshing, but as it was, it was harsh and lonely.

In the morning two days after the Sorting, just about the time that he had finally readied up his courage to write to his parents about being in Slytherin, Albus was surprised by James's Eurasian eagle-owl, Hawksworth, swooping down to drop a small package in his lap before flocking back over to James at the Gryffindor table.

Albus looked up at his brother in time to see him avert his eyes and read his own letter, and his stomach sank a bit. Was James mad about him being in Slytherin too?

Not wanting to think about this, the black-haired boy looked down at the package in his lap. He unwrapped it, to find a scarf with green and silver stripes and the Slytherin crest on it. It wasn't like the sorts he was used to seeing, however, as the green was a lot brighter than the normal Slytherin green and the silver was so light it was almost platinum white. It was worn around the edges, obviously a bit threadbare with age.

Albus felt his stomach sink down to his knees. Were his parents so ashamed that they only felt like getting him a second-hand scarf?

He ripped open the letter that had been attached to the package and reluctantly began to read.

Dear Al,

James wrote to tell us about your Sorting, and I have to tell you, I have never been more proud.

For a moment Albus couldn't even read any more of the letter because he could only focus on that sentence.

Proud. Proud. His father was proud of him!

His heart swelled considerably, and after a few moments he finally tore his eyes out of the cycle of reading that section over and over and read the rest.

Slytherin may have a bad reputation, but I am glad that you fought back against your fear of being there, despite what people might think. That is true bravery and sureness of self - I certainly didn't have that as a boy.

I am sure, though, that being in Slytherin has been difficult for you. From what I've heard from others, I understand it still holds the majority of purebloods and Death Eater family members - I don't doubt you've already encountered them. James has told me that he, Roxanne, Fred, Dominique, and Victoire are petitioning Headmaster Kimball to get you switched to another house, but as I've told him, I don't think that's the way to go. You were sorted into Slytherin, and I'm sure you'll do just fine there. I have faith in you.

Congratulations from the family to Rosie, as well, for getting into Ravenclaw! I am sorry you two didn't end up in the same house, but you'll have a few classes together, at least, so you can help each other then. Uncle Ron, to my surprise, is very happy about Rosie's Sorting - I'm sure she'll be getting a letter from him soon.

Lily, of course, was reminded by James's letter of how much she misses you two and how much she wishes she was at Hogwarts too. She sends her love and she hopes that you write back quickly so she'll know how you're enjoying Hogwarts. In the meantime, I've promised to take her window-shopping in Diagon Alley to help distract her from the waiting. Kreacher also has been very saddened by your departure, but he was delighted by the news of your house. Enclosed is a little something of congratulations from him - it used to belong to one of his old masters, Regulus Black, who was also a Slytherin and a very noble man.

Your mother will be off to Ireland for a week to do some interviews for the Daily Prophet - apparently Jeffrey Connell, Seeker for the Kenmare Kestrels, is rumored to have been offered a position on the Irish National Quidditch team in anticipation for the World Cup, so your mother is looking into that. Look out for her article in the next few weeks! As for me, I look forward to getting something from Wendelin about how you're doing. James's letters, as I'm sure you know, aren't always the clearest source of information.

All our love,

Dad 

It was amazing, for a moment, how reading his father's words was enough to erase all of the glumness in Albus's chest. Although he wouldn't have said he faced his fear of being in Slytherin during the Sorting, it was really good to read Mr. Potter's words and have some support through this whole mess - after having felt so lonely, it was reassuring to be reminded of home.

Albus glanced again at the vintage scarf and smiled a bit. So it had belonged to "Master Regulus"... He didn't know all that much about Regulus Black aside from their house-elf Kreacher's adoring opinion of him, but having an older scarf didn't seem so bad when it had history attached to it. Plus, if it had belonged to Regulus, that meant that Kreacher had to have cleaned it and wrapped it specially for him, and Albus knew how hard it was for Kreacher to part with anything that had belonged to the Black family.

Wrapping the bright Slytherin scarf around his neck with new pride, he reread the letter, and caught something he hadn't paid as much mind to at first. James and the Weasleys were trying to get him switched to another house? Could they even do that?

He glanced up at the teachers' table at Headmaster Kimball, who was looking incredibly surly as he ripped through his omelet with the prongs of his fork.

No way, Albus concluded at once.

"Al!"

Rose had just come down for breakfast - she had her new blue and bronze Ravenclaw tie properly knotted around the collar of her white shirt and had a bunch of books in her arms.

"Morning, Rosie," Albus greeted with a smile he didn't think he would have had before reading his dad's letter.

"New scarf from your dad?" asked Rose, as she dropped her books off at the Ravenclaw table across from where Albus was sitting.

"From Kreacher, actually - but it came with a letter from Dad. He said your dad's really happy about you being in Ravenclaw."

Rose's blue eyes lit up, visible relief flooding her face. "Really? Oh, that's great, I was so worried that he wouldn't be, considering that both he and Mum were in Gryffindor and practically everyone knows they were in Gryffindor - I thought it wouldn't make sense if they weren't okay with the other houses, but you know how Dad is - maybe he was just happy I didn't end up in Sly - "

She just barely managed to stop herself. Her relief quickly wilted into guilt.

"Oh. I - I didn't mean it like that, Al, I only meant - "

"It's all right. Really," Albus reassured his cousin when she gave him a doubting look. "Dad took it well - he said he was proud that I ended up in Slytherin."

"Proud?" Rose repeated in disbelief. "But it's the house that's most associated with the Dark Arts! And all of the old Death Eaters' kids are in there. He can't really want to be associated with that, can he?"

This thought made a cold stone in Albus's stomach, and he retorted a bit more harshly than he meant, "Well, I'm associated with it, not him. Anyone who would question my father's position on the Dark Arts would have to be bloody mental, anyway."

Rose, still frowning slightly, settled down on the Ravenclaw bench across from him.

"Of course they would," she assented quietly.

After a moment, seeming uncomfortable about where the conversation had gone, she changed the subject.

"So, uh - what's your schedule like today?"

"Dunno," Albus admitted. "Didn't really look."

He took his schedule out of his bag and handed it to Rose as she took out her own.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts - Flying - Potions - oh, Muggle Studies! We have that together," Rose realized brightly as she compared their schedules.

Muggle Studies, once an optional class in the days of Albus and Rose's parents, had since become a mandatory class for all students that weren't Muggle-born after the end of the Second Wizarding War. The Ministry of Magic had insisted upon it to help spread an understanding of Muggle society among young witches and wizards, and the Hogwarts staff had agreed that some of the old notions about Muggles should be discouraged. Albus didn't know how well it was working.

"D'you know who's teaching those classes?" asked Albus.

"Well, the Potions teacher is Professor Corner - he's our Head of House, for Ravenclaw," Rose explicated. "He seems decent enough. And Dad said that Professor Davies will be teaching us Flying - he was Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, when they were at school..."

The idea of flying made Albus's stomach squirm a bit. It'd be good to have a flying teacher, of course - but unlike the rest of his family, Albus did not enjoy Quidditch or riding brooms. When he was very little, less than five, he had tried playing a one-on-one Quidditch match against James on his father's old Firebolt, and after he had scored against his older brother, James had thrown a tantrum and accidentally made flowers pop up all over Albus's broom. Out of surprise, the toddler had lost his grip and flipped over backward, falling off the Firebolt and into the bushes ten feet below. Even since then, Albus had rather disliked heights and therefore rather hated flying.

Feeling queasy, the young Potter quickly shifted his attention to the first class on his schedule. "What about Defense? Do we know who's teaching that?"

"That'd be Professor Crane."

Albus and Rose turned around. James, flanked by Shefter and Dane, had swept over to the Ravenclaw table, still holding onto the letter that no doubt had come from his and Albus's father.

Albus tried to sneak a peek, but James noticed and quickly put it away in his robes before he flopped down next to Rose on the Ravenclaw bench.

"Dragons - Acromantula - Manticores - none of them are as scary as Crane when she gets angry."

"Ain't that the truth," Shefter agreed, his face betraying a smirk despite the seriousness of his words. "Detentions with her are hell on earth. Organizing paperwork for hours - "

"Cleaning the dungeons without magic - " inserted James.

"Taking over the house-elves' duties for a day - "

"Cleaning the owlery without magic - "

"She gets really creative with her punishments."

"And of course practically everything out of her mouth is verbal abuse," said Dane. It was the first time that Albus had heard him do anything but laugh - he had a slightly higher voice than James and Shefter with a whine-like tone that made him sound like a yowling cat.

"She can't be that horrible," Rose argued, looking suspiciously at James. "She would've been fired if she was."

James gave an idle shrug. "She's perfectly decent, I guess, if you don't say a word and you do all your work - but you give her any lip - any slight disrespect - and she'll humiliate you - no matter what house you're in."

"And the worst part?" Shefter added. "She's Hufflepuff's Head of House."

"Hufflepuff?" repeated Rose, looking very surprised. "But she doesn't sound like a Hufflepuff at all!"

"I know, right?" agreed James. "Seems like she doesn't belong with the house of duffers - maybe McGonagall had figured they needed someone to toughen up all those nice-nice, goody-goody Hufflepuffs - "

"Hufflepuffs don't have to be nice," Albus pointed out, thinking of what the Sorting Hat had said. "Their house is about fairness and hard work."

"Maybe, but they all end up kind of wussy," Shefter said coolly.

"Especially when you and James clean their clocks at Quidditch, right, Jack?" Dane snickered.

"Amen!" Jack Shefter and James chimed in unison, exchanging a high-five with Dane.

Albus exchanged a dull look with Rose in response - neither of them was as much into Quidditch as James, Albus's parents, and Rose's father were. Rose certainly liked it better than Albus, since she didn't dislike flying, but she had always been one of the few people in the Weasley clan who didn't eagerly follow Quidditch and go crazy in support of the home team.

"By the way, Rosie - Al," James said at last, once he and his friends were done with their little pro-Gryffindor pow-wow. "I wanted to talk to you."

"About what?" asked Albus.

"The D.A.," James replied. "First meeting's coming up after lunch today - it's open to all students, and I've just been made Vice President this year - so I figured I'd formally invite you!"

Dumbledore's Army, or the D.A., had been founded by Mr. Potter and Rose's parents when they were at school so students could learn how to fight the Dark Arts. Although Voldemort had been defeated and the Death Eaters had been sent to Azkaban nineteen years ago, the club remained and, according to James, still taught students helpful spells and techniques for wizard dueling.

Rose seemed excited. "Oh, that sounds great! I believe first-years have a break after lunch, so we won't be missing any classes..."

Albus, who had heard a lot of stories about the original D.A. from his father, also felt his heart leap a bit. Most of it was because he knew he'd love being part of the D.A. like his father had been - but it also helped that James was the one inviting him. Maybe he wasn't mad about him being in Slytherin after all.

Once breakfast was over, Rose headed downstairs for Herbology while Albus headed upstairs for Defense Against the Dark Arts. The young Potter might have had difficulty finding it if not for the large crowd of Slytherin and Gryffindor first-years that were waiting outside a locked classroom. Just above the door, a winged horse made of bright pink paper-mache hung from the ceiling, flapping around in meaningless circles over their heads.

Professor Crane must be late, Albus thought to himself. This seemed a bit strange, though, after what James had said about her - he'd automatically visualized a cranky old woman who would hang you by your thumbs if you were tardy.

He strolled up toward the muttering bunch of Slytherin first-years, who were pointedly keeping their distance from the Gryffindors gathered on the other side of the door.

"Do you know anything about this teacher?" asked Morpheus Ingram, Albus's brown-and-blue-eyed dormmate.

"Only that she was an Auror," Eris Mulciber replied dully. "So she's probably a Gryffindor-favoring twit like all the others."

His father being head of the Auror Department, this comment promptly irritated Albus. Instead of starting a fight in the hallway, though, he chose instead to come up right behind Eris and reply pointedly,

"My brother said Professor Crane doesn't care about houses - he said she was pretty fair."

Albus didn't put in that she was fair by being harsh with everyone because he was still kind of hoping that wasn't true - as Rose said, she couldn't be that horrible and still keep her job, could she?

When Eris had turned around and realized who had been speaking, her expression shifted abruptly, becoming rather disgusted.

"Ah, yes - I suppose your brother would know what fairness is - him with his precious 'Army' of prats."

Ambrosia Nott, Xavier Charlemagne, and Morpheus Ingram all sneered in agreement. Albus's face went quite red - yeah, his brother wasn't the best judge of fairness, but considering that Crane had no favoring of him or other Gryffindors, it seemed like she had to be at least a little fair. What bothered him more, though, was the idea of someone insulting the D.A.

"It's called Dumbledore's Army," he defended quietly. "And they're not prats."

Eris took one look at Ambrosia and the two burst out laughing, sounding like two incredibly scornful hyenas. Emily Black gave Albus a very cold look.

"Are they not prats because your brother is the Vice President - or is it because you're perfectly all right with them being prats and prefer to label their pettiness as nobility?"

It was the first time she'd spoken in front of Albus - her voice was higher and quieter than he had expected, since her size had subconsciously made him think her voice would be low like a bullfrog's.

"It's not like that!" Albus argued quickly.

"What is it like, then?" challenged Emily, her black eyes incredibly beady.

Albus, perfectly taken aback by how eloquent the girl was considering how quiet she'd been, found himself fumbling over his words.

"It's like - well - they're not prats! They're good people - mostly - and you shouldn't be talking about them like that - "

Emily clearly was unimpressed by this answer judging by the stony look she gave in response. Before Albus could give a better answer, however, a rather bony, pale Slytherin girl with pencil-straight brown hair replied for him.

"His family created the organization, Ophelia."

Before this moment, she had been leaning against the wall with her books held over her chest, but right now she straightened up and continued speaking to Emily, who she had called "Ophelia" for some reason.

"Dumbledore's Army was originally a club to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts because a Ministry witch took over the class - Potter's uncle, aunt, and father all had a hand in making it. No one here can blame someone for family loyalty."

This seemed to have a silencing effect on most of the Slytherin first-years. Out the corner of his eye Albus noticed Malfoy glance over at this moment and silently incline his head in something of a nod.

Emily, however, clearly thought otherwise. "I can and I will - family might be important, Pamina, but there are more important things. Or would you say that you agree with everything your grandfather has done?"

Eris and Ambrosia both grabbed a hold of Emily's shoulders, clearly disapproving of what she had said.

"Out of line - "

"Easy, Ophelia - "

Again Emily was addressed as "Ophelia" - Albus briefly wondered if it was some kind of an alias.

The girl called Pamina looked down at her feet, her angled periwinkle-blue eyes betraying only a slight amount of hurt in response to Emily's words.

"No, I do not," she said quietly. "But I would've thought you would know family loyalty, Ophelia - your family being so passionate about blood purity and all."

It wasn't until this moment that Albus had stopped to consider that. Emily's last name was Black - so she was in the Black family? She was related to "Master Regulus" and his father's godfather Sirius?

Emily's face went a dark red and, for a moment, showed a flicker of something not unlike doubt. Then her plump red face grew angry.

"I am proud of being a Black - but I am not blind in my loyalty! Even you're family, you still have to earn it - "

BOOM!

Just barely after Emily had finished her sentence, there was an abrupt blast of red and black sparks right over the students' heads. There was a chorus of screams in which the majority of the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years stumbled over each other trying to get away from the explosion. Albus out of instinct yanked out his wand, even as the majority of the other first-year Slytherins darted past him.

When he looked up to see what had made the noise, however, the young Potter was shocked to see miscellaneous strips of colored paper and assorted magical sweets showering down around them, along with the pieces of the paper-mache winged horse that had been hanging over the classroom door.

"A pinata?" Kevin Wood muttered in confusion.

He and a few other Gryffindors, as well as Malfoy and Emily, had also pulled out their wands.

"Appalling," said a low voice.

Albus turned around to see the woman who was no doubt Professor Crane.

Her wand raised with surprising idleness, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher strolled up to the scattered group of students, her curly brown hair sweeping back and forth with each step. She had a long nose and a pair of spicy golden eyes that seemed almost out of place beside her tanned skin, making her look like a hawk dressed in scarlet robes. She was also younger than Albus had been expecting - from what James had said, Albus had been expecting a crone, but Professor Crane looked no older than his own mother.

"I've never seen such an unprepared class in my life," Crane remarked, her golden eyes sweeping over all of the speechless first-years in turn. "Ay-ay-ay...I suppose you children assume that you will always be completely safe here? Well - "

She waved her wand, and the door to the classroom unlocked itself and swung open.

" - in the future, do not assume anything."

Albus felt his shoulders tense up as the professor rested her eyes on him. After a moment, he got enough sense to lower his wand.

Crane, however, gave him a wry smile.

"...A few of you have common sense, at least. Those of you that used it and pulled out your wands at the thought of danger - feel free to take some of the candy at your feet. The rest of you - head on in and we'll see how you can redeem yourselves in my eyes."

Watching the professor move to stand by the door, Albus then glanced down at the wrapped Chocolate Cauldron that had landed at his feet. After waiting a moment to make sure this wasn't another trick, he lowered his wand and picked it up, as well as a small bag of red licorice. The other kids that had raised their wands did the same, all except for Emily, who instead walked into the classroom without taking any candy.

"Do you like your fingers, Mr. Charlemagne," Crane growled abruptly when Xavier tried to sneak off with a bag of Jelly Slugs, "or do I have to cut them off to stop you from taking what you don't deserve?"

The bright-blue-eyed Slytherin immediately dropped the bag and, with a grumble, shuffled into the classroom with the other Slytherins who hadn't raised their wands.

After all of the students were inside the classroom, Albus saw Crane pick up a box of Pepper Imps for herself, before waving her wand and making the entire pinata mess vanish in an instant.

Well, James was right about Professor Crane being scary, Albus thought to himself. Even if she was, though, she didn't seem nearly as bad as he'd said.

The rest of the lesson, as well, wasn't as bad as Albus had thought it would be. Despite his worries about what James had said about Professor Crane, she still awarded ten points to Slytherin after Albus correctly answered a question about dueling etiquette and she was so pleased by the focus of the class after her rather crude entrance that she said she would teach them the light-creating charm Lumos in their next lesson.

"Read ahead on it," she added coolly. "If your work shows, you will be rewarded."

After Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Albus headed out to the Quidditch pitch for his first Flying class with the Hufflepuffs. He had been incredibly worried about being on a broomstick - and from the look of the broken, second-hand brooms that were placed beside them on the empty field for the lesson, he figured he had good reason - but it seemed that the Flying teacher, Professor Davies, had no interest in getting the students in the air on their first day.

"What is most important in flying," the handsome young professor said in a matter-of-fact tone, "is posture and movement. If you have the correct posture and use the correct amount of movement, then you will have the correct flight pattern. We will add getting you into the air when you are competent enough in the basics."

Not being in the air seemed to have taken away all of Albus's worries, and he was able to focus and follow all of Davies's directions on how to hold his broomstick properly.

"Very good, Potter," the Flying teacher told him as he walked past and checked the students' grip on their brooms. The praise felt even better after Professor Davies chided Malfoy's grip, even after the blond boy had answered every question about broom care and the rules of Quidditch correctly.

Potions class also turned out better than Albus had expected. James had told horror stories about potions gone awry, but unlike in a lot of his other classes like Transfiguration and Herbology, the key to Potions class seemed to be little else than simply following directions - and Albus could do that.

"Careful with the measurements," Professor Corner commented to Malfoy as he passed the table where he and Albus were working on their drafts of Boil-Cure Potion. "One more stir to the right should do it, Potter - five points to Slytherin."

As well as the class being easy, the professor was great. Professor Corner was a young man with messy dark hair framing his long face who dressed in high-collared black robes and black dragon-hide boots and gloves, and he, true to Rose's words, was quite decent to the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years. Even if he didn't give praise often and constantly critiqued his students' work, he was incredibly patient - even when Gryffindor Colin Fisher accidentally added the wrong ingredient to his cauldron and made it explode, showering all of the students next to him with his messed-up potion.

"It's all right, settle down," the Potions master placidly reassured Ambrosia Nott, who was blatantly sobbing in response to the ugly red boils popping up all over her face. "Madame Pomfrey will take care of it, if you would just compose yourself. Mr. Fisher, please stay after class and I'll show you what you did wrong. The rest of you, make sure your essay on this potion takes up half a roll of parchment - no oversized writing or spacing!"

With the end of Potions class, Albus headed up the stairs toward the Great Hall with a new spring in his step. He had earned points for his house, he had managed not to die in Flying class, and after lunch he would have his very first D.A. meeting - it seemed like his day was looking up.