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The King Of Hearts by loopyluna
Chapter 1 : King
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 25

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Beautiful Chapter Image by wishaway. @ tda.
Albus Potter


 “Ten minutes,” Scorpius stated. “It’s been ten minutes and you already have two cups of coffee under your belt.” He made an attempt to pull the cup from my grip. He lost. “Can you possibly manage the third – No, can a human being possibly manage a third?”


I gave my spoon another round of the blackening liquid before pulling it out and placing it upon the wooden table top. Together we sat at the Slytherin table, an item of common literature at Scorpius’s hand. I moved my hand to my third cup and simply raised a brow at my roommate.


Around the two of us our classmates chattered energetically in the Great Hall, grinning and laughing, gracing the morning. I looked up a little, my eyes darting between the other tables. How they could be so cheery was beyond me. It was Monday. Without at least two caffeinated cups of joy I was the embodiment of Voldermort himself. 


“Did you really need to ask that?” I questioned, looking down at the rather generous mug infront of me.


Scorpius gazed over nameless faces, rolling his eyes at the third year Ravenclaw, throwing his head back in laughter at the table next to ours. “Are you trying to ruin people’s mornings again?”


“I don’t try.”


As I swallowed the hot liquid and allowed it to burn my throat, the blonde laughed lowly. “Yes, it’s such a gift – the ability to make people miserable.”


“You should know,” I taunted. “I am only a horror in the mornings; you have this ‘gift’ as you so call it throughout the rest of the day.”


I could hear Scorpius laugh again. “But I am a Malfoy; it’s in my nature to make people hate me.”


“But I, Scorpius, am an enigma.” I sat up a little straighter. “I am the middle Potter, and a Slytherin.”


“And a royal pain in the arse,” he added.


I scratched my brow and put the third cup on to my empty plate infront of me. Mine, unlike Scorpius’s crumb decorated china, was spotless. “You would be lost without me.”


“On the contrary, I would be allowed to shag your cousin and not feel guilty about it.”


I snapped my eyes off of the plate infront of me and stared at him. “And we are back to this discussion.”


“What discussion?” he questioned, wiping his blonde hair from his eyes. “I didn’t say anything.”


Resisting the urge to half smile at the boy I decided to simply voice my thoughts instead. “I’m ignoring you.”


Neither of us was tolerative by any means, both with fuses that could be easily described as ‘short’; mine a little longer than his – but not by much. While we seemed to attach ourselves to one another in our early first year, our fathers seemed to want us a little further apart than we were willing to allow. We quickly realized that our friendship would be scrutinized, and it was from the get go. But my Uncle Ron’s dislike for Scorpius was unsettling and rather unnecessary. As Mum would say, ‘you can’t change the mind of a Weasley’. That saying hit a little closer to home that I would have liked it to.


I quickly adjusted to the sarcastic remark that was Scorpius Malfoy. His cold looks turned out to actually be stares of affection and understanding, a factor that scared the first years shitless. Although that could be because of his ability to complain, I knew that better than anyone. He could whine about anything, the temperature, the volume of chatter around him, even the odd crease in his uniform.


What used to drive me insane now amuses me.


Scorpius returned to his book, a volume of Sherlock Holmes; the boy had a strange obsession for mysteries. A blood red outline was the cover, it was one that I recognized; he read it frequently, it was his favorite. My attention turned to the stone walls of the Hall, when a student ran past fast enough, the fastenings on the portraits threatened to fall, the chips in the stone that was simply that in my first year, now a small hole. The room was the emptiest that I had seen it for breakfast. Usually other students had graced the morning by this point. It appeared that this was going to be a slow day.


Scorpius reached for the nearby coffee pot and poured himself a glass. He then added two sugars. I stared open mouthed. He shrugged, his book held open with one hand. “Just because I was simply advising you against coffee doesn’t mean that I will take notice of my own wisdom.”


I began to fold my napkin in to quarters. “You’re an idiot.”


“And you’re a Potter,” he took a sip from his white mug and I mimicked his action “Enough said.”


My jaw visibly clenched but Scorpius made no attempt at an apology. “Don’t let Lily hear you say that.”


“Oh Circe, I forgot to check that the monster wasn’t behind me.” He feigned in shock. “I hope that she doesn’t track me down after overhearing that with her super senses.”


“The Gryffindor table isn’t that far away, Scorp.”


“Oh yes,” he acknowledged. “And I forgot to take in to account the kryptonite that I slipped in to her cereal this morning.”


I leaned forward but didn’t but my elbows on to the table; growing up with Ginny Weasley’s swatting hand at least left me with table manners. “Your sarcasm is getting a little too witty for a Monday morning.”


“But Ally, I’m just warming up!” his grey eyes held a challenging stare.


I divulged myself in to my coffee, quickly helping myself to a slice of toast. I buttered it evenly and cut it in to four, each slice a little uneven. I shoveled the bread in to my mouth, and swallowed whole – ignoring Scorpius’s comment about ‘indigestion problems’ and ‘ladies love it’.


A small second year Slytherin walked past, looked at a reading Scorpius and walked on by, gaze to the floor. Usually the boy would be pacing at breakfast, down by the lake, leaving me to eat alone or with the other lads. We don’t tend to mingle with others, being such social birds it was an incredibly shock to our parents, as you could tell. Always a book was in his back pocket, or his bag, always just in his reach.


To most, the boy was terrifying, but those close to him knew better. The two of us didn’t expand our friends often, I spoke to cousins and replied if spoken to, complied if asked for something. It was a rare occasion if I said no. My dark hair compared to Scorpius’s light worked well for our partner ship. While Scorpius looked the nicer, friendlier of the pair, he was the one that would bite off your head at the simplest of requests such as help locating a book in the library. He was the danger, I was the safe zone.


In over six years he has made no other friends, except in my younger sister Lily - a mutual respect, because once people heard exactly who he was, they ran. Scorpius just began to play the part that he had been so wrongly accused of.


He wanted to believe that he was the biggest screw-up in Hogwarts, so who were we to stop him?


I shoveled in the last of my toast and cleaned the plate with my finger tip.


“Such class,” Scorpius acknowledged.


“Such nice toast,” I replied after swallowing.


He simply shook his head.


It took me only a moment to notice my cousin from the corner of my eye. Rose Weasley sat at the Gryffindor table, talking aimlessly with Paul Wood, her boyfriend of two years. Rosie and I used to be close, closer than chalk and cheese, but then she met Paul. The dark haired git didn’t approve of Scorpius; he always had a comment for my friend. Not to defend the Gryffindor captain, but Scorp did always have a remark for Rose and it wasn’t usually pleasant. The two have never seen eye to eye.


I would end up spending more time with Scorpius, despite what either Rose or I would like to believe, I decided to beat it to the punch and simply tell her what I thought of blessed Paul. It was a speech that even Scorpius would have approved of, shockingly, she didn’t like it.


It was no secret that Lily loathed him either. She would go out of her way to make him feel uncomfortable. While I didn’t say much, at home Lil would compensate for me. We meshed well.


I quickly noticed that Scorpius was looking discreetly in the same direction as I. We shared the same smirk as Lily knocked her goblet over in Paul’s direction, showering him in the contents.


I inwardly laughed before throwing the strap from my black leather satchel over my shoulder. “You’ve got to love my sister.”


“It appears that monsters can be helpful,” he said smugly. “But I didn’t think that they had opposable thumbs, could she have done that without thumbs?”


“Once again,” I warned. “Don’t let her hear you and I have no idea what you’re talking about.”


He rolled his eyes and placed his spoon back on to the table, he had done nothing but stir his coffee since the first sip. Taking my mug with my, I swirled the contents around in it as I walked slowly, waiting for Scorpius to catch up.  


In a swift movement he tucked his book in to the back pocket of his trousers and followed me from the hall. Of course, this simple action couldn’t be complete without his signature wink towards Rosie. She glared back in disgust.


We left the hall. After six full years of average people avoiding you in a corridor out of fear, you would think that it would be a factor which you get used to. You never did. Scorpius may have, I’ve never inquired. But I didn’t like it. I wasn’t someone to fear, I wouldn’t upset someone purposely, I wouldn’t bother trying; my conscience takes on the voice of my mother and nags until I feel the unwinnable urge to apologise.


I looked down and dodged a group of forth year Gryffindors as we entered in to a corridor full of NEWT students. Scorpius clicked his tongue before nodding a temporary goodbye in my direction, a gesture I returned. He turned left, down to the Dungeons, I carried on straight, mug still in my hand.


Taking a sip, I noticed the hollow features upon my teachers face as I approached the classroom minutes later. She folded her arms across her chest and knitted her thick eyebrows. This look of disapproval was something that I have become accustomed to over the years.


I blew my hair from my eyes and smiled. “”Morning Professor J.”


“It’s Professor Jackson, Mr Potter,” she said sternly. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.”


I moved an inch out of her reach, wondering if she was going to strangle me; the look on her face suggested something of the sort, and I was rather appreciative of my life. “If we are on such good terms, Professor Jackson, I insist that you call me Al; others do.”


“But I am not ‘others’, Mr Potter, I am not your friend nor shall I ever be, I am your Professor.” Her high cheek bones became more and more prominent as she spoke. “You shall treat me with respect.”


I placed my free hand on to my heart and coughed out a reply. “Ouch. You wound me. And I always treat you with respect.”


Without an answer she yanked the recently nearly-empty coffee mug from my unwilling grip. She held it away from my prying hands. “These mugs are supposed to stay in the hall; they are not for recreational use.”


My mind automatically created remarks, offensive, witty, charming. But I said none of them. I wondered momentarily what she thought that I was doing with the cup. I had no cell in my body that wished to apologise to this woman later, in fact quite the opposite, but I bit my tongue.


She gestured in to her classroom and I walked in with somewhat of a sigh of relief.


I walked to my chair, one at a table for four. This classroom was set out differently to most; a domed ceiling was set, lined with windows, yet still the room seemed a little dimmer than it should. Book shelves lined the outer walls; tall stacks piled one on top of the other in places where there was space – now limited, space was rare.


Running my finger over the chips in the old wood, I took to the book that had been placed upon my desk. I flicked through the pages aimlessly and sighed. The Professor seemed to have travelled four steps from the entrance to her desk and was searching for something in amongst a mass of papers.


I let the leather bound book fall on to the work top as I made myself a little more comfortable. Today, my tendency to walk in late had been dashed as I arrived before the last three members of the class.


I let my head fall in to my hands. I loved translating, I honestly did – but this class was tedious. It was incredibly repetitive. Runes was a passion of mine that I had quickly taken to, Aunt Audrey couldn’t have been happier, the crazy tea drinking hag had wanted me to help an unwilling Molly with her own runes dysfunction. I promptly declined.


Feeling a presence beside me I turned my head to the side, still in my hands to face Professor Jackson. Yet I was wrong. The body walked straight past me without as much as a taunt. I opened my mouth a little as the presence sat across from me. I had momentarily forgotten about the two girls that I shared the table with.


Both were quiet, neither really spoke and they conversed with one another. The blonde of the two was a litter gobbier than the other. They made good company for me. Though today only one had appeared, the brunette, the blonde was missing. She sat down and paced her bag on to the table. With a stoic expression upon her face she dug around in her bag before puling out an old tattered book – the same as what Scorpius had earlier. Out of every book in the world, they read the same?


I noticed the corner of her lips pull up slightly when she placed her bag gently on the floor.


“Where’s blondie?” I questioned in a quiet voice.


She looked up at me through her fringe that had fallen across her eyes. It wasn’t until a moment later that I realized this was the first that I had spoken directly to her. I nodded as she pointed to herself in question.


“Her name is Aria.” The brunette pointed out. Her voice was delicate, no louder than mine. “She fell from her broom during Quidditch; I believe that she is still in the Hospital Wing.”


My mouth twitched a little. “Oh Circe, you’re a Quidditch fanatic.”


“Not in the slightest,” she admitted. “I would rather the sport was where the players would attack each other with their brooms than ride them. It would not only make the game a lot more exciting, it would also knock the players’ ego down to its rightful level.”


I resisted the urge to smirk. “And yet you speak with remorse when you hear that Quidditch was the reason for your friend’s injury.”


“Well she is my friend,” she spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course I would be upset. Plus if she’s happy playing it, who am I to question it? I would rather poke my own eyes out than watch a game, but Aria has no problem with that.”


I stared at her a little dumbstruck. “Albus Potter,” I introduced after a beat.


“I know,” she said, a small blush crept over her cheeks. “I’m Nancy Carter.”


The Professor looked over with a small frown on her face. To this day I can’t figure out what makes this woman to sour. I turned back to Nancy; she looked at me with a small amount of concern. Her book was placed aside and replaced with a deck of cards.


“Oh Carter, lovely Carter,” she didn’t react to my call. For a split moment, I noticed the size of her eyes. I tried that instead. “Bambi?”


She looked up. “What did you call me?”


“Bambi,” I repeated. “Like the deer. You’ve got Bette Davis eyes, as mum would say, like doe eyes, those big pleading ones that make you look apologetic all the time, like, a baby’s face.”


She pouted a little. “I do not. And how do you know about Bette Davis?”


“My sister has a poster – long story. But yes, you do.” I stated, standing my ground. “My sisters got them too; get’s her in to a heck of a lot of trouble though. You on the other hand, seem to be pretty quiet.”


Shrugging off her outer robes she offered a shrug.


“You’re a Hufflepuff,” I realized.


She raised a brow and pouted a little. “What gave it away?” She asked. “Was it the badger on my cloak?”


I bit down on my tongue again. It seemed that she had a bit of cheek. “Or the yellow bow in your hair.”


“Wearing yellow doesn’t mean that I am a Hufflepuff,” she said. “I could just be a colour blind Gryffindor that was rubbish at House Pride.”


“Did you think through what you just said?” I questioned. “Colour blind or not, if you’re a Gryffindor you’re not going to wear any colour but red.”


“And why would that be?” Asked a passing Paul. I forgot that he took this class.


I smiled. “Because you’re a house of arrogant tossers.” His nostrils flared a little. “Did I hit a nerve? Do you want a hug?”


“Piss off, Potter.” He snapped before walking away.


Bambi had a raised eyebrow, thin and cared for, as she watched the two of us carefully. With her arms upon the desk and cards laid out infront, four selected from the pack of fifty two; three clubs and one diamond. As her fingers moved quickly over the pack, matching suits and colours to their rightful places, I noticed that they were slender. Her long nails had a small shine to their colour and her thin knuckles moving quickly.


She paused to watch my reaction. “Do you have to be so mean?”


“Excuse me?”


“I asked if you had to be so mean,” she repeated. “He may have simply been inquiring if you were addressing him.”


I smiled. “If he had wanted that then he would have said ‘I’m sorry Al to intrude in on your conversation with the lovely Miss Carter but did I hear my name?’.” I quickly realised that her smile was quite infectious. “And then I would have been rude and told him what I think of him dating my cousin.”


“Oh,” she said in realization. “You don’t like him because he’s dating Rosie – that’s it?”


I screwed up my face a little. “Isn’t that enough?”


She shook her head. “That’s not a proper reason. He hit my little brother in the face with a bludger during a Quidditch match last year; he was in the Hospital Wing for a week.” If anything, Bambi looked a little miffed. “That’s a reason to dislike someone.”


Her frown quickly turned in to a smile.


“I’m guess that you don’t like him,” I delved.


“He’s never spoken to me,” she scoffed. “I sit with Rose quite a bit in lessons, but if you’re not Rose Weasley’s mouth then he’s not interested.”


“Jealous, Carter?”


“Not in the slightest,” she admitted, parting her hair with her fingers. “I would rather watch a Quidditch Match than be left alone with him, he’s insufferable. I was merely questioning as to why you wouldn’t have held in the remark.”


“Because that’s not what I do.”


She nodded, flipping over another card; the Queen of Diamonds. “Oh yes, the infamous Albus Potter, I don’t think that there is anyone in this castle that doesn’t know how you work. It will be a sad day for the student body when you don’t answer back to your classmates.”


“There is nothing wrong with what I say.” I defended. “I am me.”


She placed the Queen to the bottom of the pack. “And I see nothing wrong with that, I actually find your company rather entertaining. Paul Wood on the other hand-“


“Can go and die in a hole?”


“Doesn’t.” she rectified. “You want to hear my theory?”


I folded my arms and leant back. “You have a theory.” She gave a nod. “Go on then, love.”


“I think that it’s a defense mechanism.” She admitted with a shrug. “If people tell you something enough then you begin to believe it. In your case, you have been stereotyped as a Slytherin, and alike your dorm mates are isolated.”


“You think that I’m isolated?”


“I think that you’re happy,” she said firmly. “And that’s the main thing. You can be who you want; that’s what is so great about life.”


I shook my head tiredly. “But you’ve just met me. How can you make a judgment that quickly? It’s not possible.”


“Anything is possible if you believe in it enough,” she said. “For example if you wished for peace on earth, if you wanted it enough you would do something about it and it will happen.”


“But peace on earth would be boring,” I said, taking the card closest to me, from the top of the pack. “We would have no arguments, who would we take our anger out on?”


She ran her fingers over the edge of the card in her hand. “You wouldn’t, that would be the whole point.”


“Okay, okay. What about if I was desperate to fly,” I inquired. “Would I be able to survive if I jumped off of the Astronomy Tower?”


She let out a small laugh. “Well I would severely advise against it, but then again you could just take a broom.”


“Good point,” I found it difficult to believe that she was simply just a Hufflepuff. I turned over my card; the King of Hearts.


The picture stood proudly in the middle, a king with a crown; around him stood stock still hearts. A muggle pack. I ran my finger over the edges and turned the card in my hand.


Bambi saw it and smiled. “Oddly fitting is it not?”


I raised a brow and smirked. Without another word I placed it back on to her pack. “And what would make you say that?”


She swept the pack up in to her right hand. “I hear the daily locker room talk. Aria is a bit of a gossiper at the best of times.” Bambi tiredly looked over her shoulder to the Professor, seemingly unaware that neither of us were doing the set work. “You are a large focus of female affection and yet you sit here without the least bit of interest.”


She began to fix up the cards and I grazed my teeth over my bottom lip. “Because I’m not interested in them, they’re not interes-ting. The girls that you are talking about are the name lovers, not the people.” She raised a brow and so I elaborated. “They would fawn over a Hippogriff if it was called ‘Potter’.”


“People actually do that?”


I offered a nod.


It wasn’t unheard of for people to look upon the Potter and Weasley children with awe, but it was extremely annoying. My brother and I were different, opposites you could say. He basked in the glory of out fathers name and wore the family crest upon his robes at all times of the day. If you didn’t know who he was, you surly did upon sight.


I was a little more discrete, I preferred to watch him in his glory rather than take it for myself. Why he craved the attention I never understood; he got enough at home. He was the golden child, brain and braun.


While I sound like an absolute disappointment to my parents, am not. I excel in academics beyond the point that either of my parents ever could, and that shocked them as much as it did me. While my older brother, James, the all-star child returned home with somewhat decent grades but an extraordinary Quidditch ability, I retain an impeccable report card and ability for Quidditch that surpassed the definition of ‘poor’. I was never a fan.


“Bambi,” I began as she shuffled the pack. “You want to deal me in?”


She took fifteen cards from the main pile, seven for me, eight for her and put the rest of the pack between us. Rummy. She brushed mine over the table top, pushing them towards me. As she did her hair flew forward a little with the quick movement. She smelt of coffee and sugar. It suddenly knocked my other senses out of proportion.


As her teeth glided over her bottom lip she threw down her first card; the Queen of Hearts.

AN; Here is my latest story! I hope that you’re enjoying it so far (if you’re reading this, then you’re a brilliant person of whom I shall thank with my mind powers).

I hadn’t tried writing from Albus’ point of view before and I thought that I would give it a go. I have had so much fun writing this; it is probably the quickest thing (becides one-shots) that I have ever written. If you’d like to keep reading (of which, I would be very grateful for), I hope that you enjoy the rest of it as much.

Don’t forget to leave a review. It doesn’t have to be long! It can simply say that you liked it, or that you didn’t, if you don’t like any of the characters at this point, or if you did.

Thank you for reading!

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