Even Unto the Seventh Generation

"[Scorpius] resembled Draco as much as Albus resembled Harry."

-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, 756.

Chapter Nine: Humbled

"This week has been a disaster!" Albus heard Molly's voice long before he sat down under their favorite willow tree. "When they elect a new Minister, it could be another twenty years before he retires. And what if it's a woman? I want to be the first woman in office since Millicent Bagnold!"

"Can't you think of anything but politics, Molly?" Rose twirled a wildflower between her fingertips. Nearby, Louis examined a willow branch.

"It's not like you had the worst of it, you know," he said under his breath. Crack! He snapped the stick in two. Both Rose and Albus scooted back. There was no avoiding the tirade now.

"How dare she!" Louis exploded, hurling the pieces into the center of the circle. "How dare she treat me this way! 'Since you seem to enjoy working with your hands, Mr. Weasley,'" he said—mimicking Professor McGonagall's distinctive, tight voice—"'You shall spend the next six weeks scrubbing Hogwarts' latrines. Without magic.'" As Louis paced, Roxanne looked at him as if he were a stranger.

"It does seem a little harsh, doesn't it? I mean, Malfoy attacked Dominque first," Rose said.

"A little harsh?" Louis demanded, turning from one cousin to another, "A little?"

"Louis," Roxanne said, "We all saw what you did to Scorpius's face."

"Don't you think he planned it that way? And now I'm scrubbing toilets for the next few eons, while he's cataloging books for Professor Frobisher. Bastard!" he added, under his breath.

"Even worse," Molly said, "Shacklebolt dragged me to his office. Oh, yes—you too, Albus. And we didn't even do anything!"

"How did you explain yourself, Molly?" Albus said.

"How did I explain what? Why I didn't pull Louis off Malfoy? How could I? I might've gotten hurt. He's bigger than me, and he had the branch." She shrugged. To her, the excuse was perfectly reasonable.

Part of Albus wanted to agree that it was unfair for Louis to receive such a disproportionate punishment, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words. He'd watched Louis attack a much smaller boy. He'd seen Malfoy doubled up in pain in the infirmary. He'd even gasped when his classmate strode into the Ravenclaw Common Room, the evidence of what Louis had done etched on his face.

No, Albus couldn't agree. Not after going through one of the most painful interviews he'd ever experienced. Neither Molly nor he had been prepared for the Headmaster to drag them from the hospital wing to his office. After he ordered Molly onto the staircase and gave his password ("universal justice"), Albus fretted in the empty hall. By the time his cousin came down, he was quaking.

"Don't worry, Al," Molly had whispered, squeezing his arm, "It's nothing much."

Moments later, Albus was in the Headmaster's austere office. Aside from a neat stack of parchment and a few quills, the only item on his desk was the Sorting Hat. Without inviting his student to sit, Shacklebolt strode to the fireplace and gazed into the flames. Albus was left to endure the stares of Hogwarts' former Headmasters. Some—even Severus Snape—looked at Albus with disgust. After what seemed like hours, the Headmaster spoke.

"Explain yourself."

Albus stood, frozen.

"Tell me why you allowed this to happen," Shacklebolt insisted. "Why did you stand by while one of your own peers was beaten to a pulp?"

"I—I—don't know, sir," he'd stammered.

"You don't know." The Headmaster finally turned. "You—don't—know."

"Yes, sir. I mean, no sir."

"It never occurred to you to do something?"

"No, sir." Albus wanted to sink into the floor.

The Headmaster crossed to his desk and sat. He raked a hand through his greying hair.

"Could it be because the victim was Mr. Malfoy?"

"I don't know, sir." This time, Albus was lying—at least a little. He didn't know what he would have done if Louis had attacked a different student, but part of him had been glad to see Malfoy thrashed.

"I expected better from you, Mr. Potter."

"I'm sorry, sir."

Shacklebolt picked up the Sorting Hat.

"Are you? Or are you just sorry that you're standing here now?"

Albus swallowed hard.

"I considered calling in your parents, but under the circumstances I believe it would do little good. Your father is an excellent Auror, but he is not noted for his tolerance."

Albus had never heard his dad censured before. He bristled, then fought back.

"How could you say that about my father?"

"Tolerance is not a quality that is required of an Auror. It can even prove—detrimental. I should know. It is, however, required of a Minister for Magic. A headmaster. A professor. And—of a student at Hogwarts."

Albus set his jaw, unwilling to let go of such an unjust slight. The Potters and Weasleys—especially Aunt Hermione—were known for their liberality: towards House Elves, Goblins, Centaurs, and, well, magical creatures of any kind. They had fought to eliminate prejudice against Muggleborns and even for greater understanding of Muggles themselves. They were on the side of the light; the Death Eaters were not. They—and the Malfoys in particular—represented everything Albus's family stood against. Yes, tolerance was well enough for some people—but not for others.

"Headmaster," Albus said in a low voice, "Scorpius Malfoy attacked my cousin."

"Did you see the attack?"

"No, sir," he confessed. Another silence stretched between them as the Headmaster examined the hat. When he spoke again, he wasn't addressing Albus at all.

"Tolerance. Yes, that is what we were hoping for. Tolerance and understanding—no matter what House or family a student belongs to."

He looked up at Albus. "You have no idea of the world you will face when you graduate from Hogwarts. It will not be the world of your parents or your grandparents. You cannot behave as if it will be, or the consequences—for all of us—will be dire."

By now, Albus was confused. What was the Headmaster doing defending Malfoy and insulting Harry Potter? Why was he choosing to ignore what was obvious—that Malfoy had acted first and Louis had merely defended his sister? Why was he conversing with the Sorting Hat as if it contained the answers to his questions? And how was Albus's inaction in one fight connected to the future of the entire wizarding world? Fights happened at Hogwarts all the time. They were practically a tradition!

Perhaps Rita Skeeter was right. Perhaps Shacklebolt had gone off his rocker.

The Headmaster gently set the hat back on his desk. "Often, inaction in the face of injustice is more terrible than the crime itself. You shall not be punished this time, Mr. Potter. Sometimes shame is a better deterrent than detention. And I do hope you are ashamed.

"You are dismissed," he finished curtly, returning to his paperwork without giving Albus another glance.

A day later, Albus was still trying to sort out his feelings. He was ashamed, but he was also angry. Angry that Malfoy had gotten away with knocking out his cousin. Angry at the way his stomach twisted up when he saw his housemate's face. Angry that Shacklebolt was acting like what he had done—or not done—could have serious consequences. Most of all, Albus was angry that the Headmaster—his father's colleague and fellow war hero—was defending the son of a Death Eater while insulting Harry Potter. Nobody had been killed, after all, and Malfoy might have learned his lesson before the first week of their first year even ended. Maybe the students on Scorpius's list would be safe now—even the ones who didn't have friends to protect them.

Then, there was Albus's own family to think about. Louis and his sisters had suffered at Draco Malfoy's hands. Brave as Uncle Bill was, he had wounds that would never heal. If Scorpius was anything like his father, the consequences could be catastrophic. Most likely, he was; after all, Scorpius had already shown himself to be sneaky, violent, and manipulative. He'd even wormed his way into the faculty's favor, receiving preferential treatment for a similar infraction.

Even though Albus was thinking himself in circles, he knew he had to say something—and that something would come with a price.

"Louis, none of us will ever believe Malfoy's lies. But . . . maybe . . . you went a little too far."

His cousin answered him with a single word:

"Traitor."

And then he stalked away.

"Way to go, Allbrains," James smacked his brother upside the head. "That was real smooth. We're gonna have a great time now."

"Yeah," Fred nodded, "You're going back to Ravenclaw—but we have to live with him."

A traitor, Albus thought. That's what Rose thinks I am, too. Can't I get anything right? Despite himself, he chewed on his wand.

"Albus," Rose whispered through her teeth, "You'll blow your head off."

Big loss. One turncoat down.

Roxanne was studying the group, her brow furrowed. "But—maybe there was a Muggle. Maybe the teachers believe Scorpius," she suggested. "They might know something we don't."

When six pairs of eyes gaped at her, she insisted that the presence of a real Muggle was the only thing that explained the Headmaster's actions.

"I don't believe—" Rose started.

"I can't believe—" Albus began.

They finished in unison: "—you're defending Malfoy?!"

For the first time that week, Rose and Albus looked each other in the eye. The moment was brief, however.

"What's happened to you all?" Roxanne demanded, climbing to her feet. "Where is my sensible Rose? My logical Albus? My brave big brother and his sidekick 'Jamie,' defenders of the truth? Don't bother inviting me to your little family picnics anymore. I've had enough."

"Hey! Hey, sis!" her brother called after her, "Why d'you always have to be such a prig?" No response. Fred turned to his best mate. "Jamie, why does she have to be such a prig?"

James shrugged. "Always been that way, hasn't she?"

Fred nodded, but looked no less disturbed. James broke the silence.

"Sooooooo . . ." he said. "On a scale of one to ten: just how evil are your Slytherin housemates?" In spite of his teasing, James had a way of smoothing over the Weasley-Potters' rough patches.

"Oh, Merlin," Rose answered quickly, "Bianca Greengrass-Zabini—definitely a ten! She tears around the Common Room yelling at anyone who gets in her way, and she has the table manners of a troll. I'm sure she spilled that juice in front of me on purpose . . ."

"Funny how you fell, though!"

"No. No, it wasn't."

"Backwards—right on your bum—all your notes flying. Good thing they're so short—not much to pick up. And your robes smelled like pumpkin for days!"

"I didn't have time to wash them!" Rose snapped at James. She hated using House Elves.

"What about ze beeg girl, zat Grace Bulstrode-Boot?" said Marie Delacourt.

Rose ran her fingers through her hair. "Um . . . five?"

"Just five?" Albus was surprised.

"Well, she did want to help Caleb, and she hasn't done anything wrong."

"Not much to look at, though."

"Fred!"

"Well," he said, "It's true."

Molly observed that, despite the fact that Georgiana Goyle always looked grim and loomed over the smaller kids, the Hufflepuff didn't seem particularly evil.

"So . . ." Albus ventured, "A six?"

"A 'wait and see,' I think," Rose replied, playing with her flower.

"'Ow about ze Lestrange girl?"

"Not necessarily a Slytherin. Skeeter's 'baby born in Azkaban' theory seems far-fetched. I don't think a newborn could last there for more than a minute."

"Um, hello, Rosie. What horrible memories could it have had?" James demanded.

"Nine months in Bellatrix Lestrange's womb?"

Touché. Rose insisted that they needed more evidence. The name could be a fluke.

"And, finally, we come to our darling Scorpius Malfoy," James ventured. "On a scale of ten—twenty!"

"Definitely," Fred nodded. "So why did Roxy defend the arsehole? He'd better not be trying to get his claws into her."

"Don't worry, mate. As long as we're around, the little stinger'll never get the chance. We'll look out for her, whether she likes it or not. That's what family's for."

When the cousins finally went their separate ways, Albus followed Rose. He'd been trying to get her alone for a week and was determined to set things right—and right now, before her memories of their brief, warm exchanges under the willow tree had faded.

"Rose! Where are you going?"

"Back to Gryffindor, of course. All my friends are there."

Traitor. The word flashed through Albus's mind again. Rose walked faster and announced that she had to write her essays, but Albus's long legs quickly closed the distance between them—physically, at least.

"How many do you have to go?"

"All three."

None of her essays started, and all of them due tomorrow! Albus couldn't understand it. His cousin had talent. No one could deny she was good. Maybe she wasn't the best witch in their year, but she almost always mastered a spell before the end of class. His shock must have shown on his face.

"I told you I needed you, Albus!" Rose snapped. "I said that without you, I'd disappoint Mum and Dad."

"But why? You're so good."

"Just because I can wave a wand or make a broom jump into my hand doesn't mean I understand why. I've never understood, no matter how many times Mum tries to explain." She flushed.

Before continuing, Rose paused near the castle wall. "Dad doesn't really understand that stuff either. That's why he still thinks I'll be top of my class. But Mum knows. I can tell." She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the blossom in her other hand.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The flower floated up, higher and higher, until she set it down on top of a crumbling buttress. Impressive control. "I've been practicing, you see," she explained, as if she'd read Albus's thoughts.

At last, he understood Rose's fears. "I can still help you," he said. "We all get the same assignments. We can work together in the library."

"You would do that?"

Albus nodded.

"You'll sit with me in class, too? I'm getting sick of Louis. He never pays attention."

Albus was happy to agree to any and all of Rose's terms—and she had quite a few. Finally, they embraced each other, albeit a little awkwardly.

"I'm sorry about this week, Al. I know you didn't have a chance to talk to the Hat. It happened so fast. You do belong in Ravenclaw. I was just . . . so . . . angry. And scared," she added.

Rose's tentative smile made the pain of the last two days fade into the background, and Albus accepted her apologies with ease. It wasn't long before the cousins were chatting as happily as ever. It's nice, Albus thought, to go back to the way things were. After all, what's more important than family?

Writing and rewriting Rose's essays took hours. What she'd said was true: Rose had almost no grasp of what made magic work, and Albus found himself dictating large portions of her homework. If he hadn't—just this once—they'd never have finished in time. At least she wrote what he said in her own words. That way, their essays wouldn't be identical. By the time they left the library—trailing Hal Dursley and Kiera Lestrange—it was almost curfew. Climbing the staircase, the cousins couldn't help overhearing their fellow students' conversation.

"Scorpius was right! I didn't want him to be, but he was right!" Hal was saying.

"About what?"

"In Diagon Alley, he told me people would judge us by what House we got. That it would stick with us for life. And now everyone's labeling everyone else by what House they are 'supposed' to be in or what name they were born with. It's just like home—just like what Pop said about his boarding school. I—I—thought that wizards would be better."

"This is how it is. If there's anything different about you, you're fair game. Here, it's my name. At home, it was dad's shop."

When Hal asked what was up with her father's shop, she commented that it was a little "esoteric." Her voice was so low that Albus had to strain to hear her. Then, she noticed him and Rose on the landing. "I'll tell you about it someday, but not now," she finished before they continued up the stairs.

There was something so vulnerable in her voice—and something so accusing in her glance—that Albus felt another stab of guilt. Perhaps he'd been too quick to judge the re-sorted Slytherins? Roxanne had been right about one thing. Other than her, Albus always had been the most generous of his cousins. Now, he hardly recognized himself. It was time to get over his anger, especially since he and Rose were friends again.

Just as Albus resolved to do better, Rose interrupted his thoughts.

"I think," she said, "We should find out what her father does as soon as possible."

She hugged Albus and hurried towards Gryffindor Tower. Sensible Rose. She was always ready to collect new evidence. Somehow she would discover the Lestranges' secret. Until then, Albus would suspend judgement. He'd give the Death Eaters' children every chance to prove themselves innocent.

Except Malfoy, of course. He's already shown where his loyalties lie.

DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and all canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, not me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Many thanks to my beta, ladyoftheknightley.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews—and especially constructive criticism—are warmly welcomed.