Harry Potter and the Next Generation

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The feast began, and almost immediately the room became alive with sound. Voices all around were making conversation. It was a very pleasant sight, especially after that sad Sorting Ceremony.

Albus scooped some mashed potatoes onto his plate. Then he picked up a drumstick and began chewing it. Once he was done picking off and eating the meat, he stabbed sadly at his mashed potatoes. He hated mashed potatoes. He couldn't even remember why he'd put them on his plate. Stupid mashed potatoes. Stupid Sorting Hat. Stupid school. Why hadn't his parents sent him someplace other than Hogwarts? They don't even have Houses at Durmstrang or Beauxbatons.

"Why don't you get something else on your plate to actually eat if you're just going to keep stabbing thoes potatoes to oblivion?" the girl on Albus's right spoke to him.

Albus's head whipped around to face her. She had nearly black bone-straight hair and deep-sea blue eyes.

"Um, but I'm not hungry," Albus said.

"Yes you are," she said, "and if you're not now, you will be later. Trust me." Albus was reminded of his mother, this was something she would say. His mother cared about him so much. She loved all of her children dearly. Maybe she wouldn't be too upset at the Sorting Hat's decision...

But she was still strong-headed, and a proud, passionate Gryffindor.

"Fine," Albus said. He took another piece of chicken and began gnawing at it.

"Don't worry, Albus. House racism may not have changed much since your father's time, but there is no reason to feel uncomfortable in your own house. Remember: it's not just your house, it's your home too. I'm Tomoka, by the way," the girl said, sticking out her hand. "I'm in seventh--I mean I'm in my second year." Albus then realized there was something funny in the girl's accent, but he didn't say anything about that because there was something he already had in mind to say.

"It must suck being named Tomoka," Albus said. He didn't mean to say that aloud, but all his pessimistic thoughts in his head just let it slip out his mouth.

"It must suck being named after a gay, dead Headmaster of Hogwarts," Tomoka shot back.

"Tuchee." Albus said. "I'm actually named after two dead men: Dumbledore and Severus Snape. But why did your parents name you Tomoka?"

"Because of it's meaning," she answered.

"What does it mean?" Albus asked.

"If you want to know so badly, just look it up." Tomoka said mysteriously.

"What do you do for a nickname?" Al asked curiously.

"Usually people just call me Tomoka, but some call me Momo and others call me Tomi," she answered, staring at the unappetizing shepherd's pie on her plate. "You know, I think they need to serve hamburgers and meat balls instead of this kidney pie crap." Tomoka spoke her opinion passionately. "I mean, seriously, give us some real food!"

"My dad is always telling me how good the food at Hogwarts is," Albus said in the school's defense.

"Oh, come on!" Tomoka said exasperatedly, rolling her eyes dramatically. "What does Harry Potter know about good food? I've eaten camp food that's better than this!"

"I got it!" Albus said, pointing at Tomoka's confused face. "You're American!" He'd known it ever since she'd said "Potter" like "Podder", fully pronouncing the “r”.

"Yeah," Tomoka said, not understanding why it was such a big deal. “Took you long enough.”

"You make it so obvious," a boy sitting across from Caroline said. He had shaggy black hair and green eyes. “You don't even try to hide it.”

As Tomoka retaliated with her "It's not like I can help it!" argument, over at the Gryffindor table, James Potter was writing feverishly. He was writing a letter to his father about the horrible event that had just taken place.

"What are you doing, James?" a curious cousin, Louis, inquired from across the table.

"I'm writing a letter to my dad," he said.

"Oh," Victoire said, her face falling. "I'm so sorry, James. This came as a shock to all of us."

James didn't respond, trying to hold in tears that were begging to fall from frustration, anger, disappointment, and depression. He finished his letter and signed his name just as Victoire got up, brandishing her prefect's badge, to lead the first years--whom his brother should have been among--to their dormitories. James got up to go give his letter to Professor Longbottom to mail to his parents for him.

"Hello, James," Professor Longbottom had met him at the steps to get onto the stage and up to the teacher's table.

"Hello, professor," James said grimly, looking down at his shoes. "My parents told me to give you their love, but I don't know how to do that." Neville chuckled, but James continued on. "Would you mind mailing this to my father for me?" James handed Neville Longbottom the folded letter James had just written. He still refused to loop up, not wanting Professor Longbottom to see his face.

"Yes, of course," Neville said, taking the letter. "I'm sorry about your brother. Though, he's still your brother, the same person he was on the train ride with you. He hasn't changed in the few minutes you've been without him. Just because he's in Slytherin doesn't make him immediately evil."

James looked up at Professor Longbottom now, a flicker of hope on his face. "Thank you professor!" James ran of to see if he could catch up with his brother and talk to him.

Neville walked out of the Great Hall and to the Owelry, leaving his robes behind on his chair. All he wore were some nice black trousers, a white button-down shirt, a tie, and shiny leather shoes. Good thing it wasn't cold yet. September was a good month, one of Neville's favorites because now it was the time of the harvest. He had also always loved the Sorting and the feast. He was determined to not let this year change that.

James's letter in Neville's hand as he went to the Owelry made him think about the Sorting Ceremony this year. Luna's sons, Lorcan and Lysander had been there. From time to time Neville did think about what would it have been like if he had ever dated Luna. She'd fascinated him when they were in school. Though whenever he'd compared himself with her, he'd always seemed like such a square. Hopefully Luna had found someone as imaginative as herself with whom she could share her creativity and belief in impossible creatures.

Neville reached the Owelry and tied James's letter to the boy's owl's foot. He watched the owl fly away, wishing all his worries could as well.

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In his dormitory in Slytherin, Albus sat up in bed. He was the only one still awake so far as he could tell. The poor boy hugged his knees and tears began to fall from his eyes. He felt so lost, so confused. He didn't understand! Why was he put in this house where he felt he didn't belong?

In the lower bunk on Albus's bed, lay Scorpius, lying down but still awake. He wished he could go onto the top bunk to find some way to comfort Albus.

"You're not alone," Scorpius whispered. "I understand."