[178] A Garden of Stone

"An exchange student from Beauxbatons!"

"He's in fifth year — almost sixth. A year-long exchange. Won't he graduate from Hogwarts?"

"I thought Beauxbatons was all girls?"

"No, there are male students too."

"Then what about Durmstrang — isn't that all boys?"

"Where did you get these prejudices?"

The news spread like wildfire. Hall walked to breakfast through a storm of whispers.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley." Russell Rosier appeared with a bright smile, extending his hand.

Hall shook it. "Hello, Rosier." He sat in his usual spot.

Draco raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet.

Hall ordered extra-sweet honey water, a cloying pudding tart, and blueberry jam for his toast.

"Every time I see Hall's breakfast, my tongue aches." Zabini arrived late to find his usual seat taken by Russell. He shrugged and sat next to Draco.

"What's with the sigh?" Draco glared. "Is something wrong with sitting next to me?"

Pansy's eyes went wide. That was her seat.

Zabini shot Hall a pleading look. Hall didn't notice.

"You can call me Russell. Or Lania." The tall Beauxbatons student sat unbothered by the stares.

"There's already a Rosier in Slytherin. It'd be strange."

Russell nodded. "Alright. You can call me Russell too. 'Mr. Weasley' is too formal."

Russell's cheeks flushed. His deep blue eyes gleamed. "Okay... Hall."

He murmured the name like a reverent ritual.

Ron sat at the Gryffindor table, chewing on a chicken leg, his eyes fixed on Hall. Who was that bloke next to him?

He choked. Harry shoved a glass of pumpkin juice at his lips.

"Eating chicken legs first thing in the morning?" Hermione spread jam on her toast. "Aren't you tired of it?"

"I wasn't choking on a chicken leg! I was scouting!"

"Scouting what?"

"There's someone with Hall!"

"That's an exchange student from Beauxbatons," Hermione said without looking up. "Sorted into Slytherin."

"Slytherin? He doesn't look like a good person!" Ron slammed the table and stood up. "Why would he come all the way here for nothing? He's plotting something!"

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Hall heard the commotion and looked over. Harry was wrestling Ron back into his seat, hand clamped over Ron's mouth. Hermione rubbed her forehead. Fred and George were doubled over laughing.

Hall shook his head. Typical Gryffindor.

He turned back to Russell. "If you need help, you can ask Draco, or the fifth-year prefect."

Russell's eyes flickered. "Alright. Thank you, Hall."

He withdrew tactfully.

"Hall." Draco's voice was soft. "You just gave me another bit of trouble, didn't you? Fobbing Rosier off on me. I'll charge you. Two hundred Galleons."

Hall bit into his toast. His gaze drifted over Draco's hair. "You don't use hair gel anymore?"

"What are you looking at!" Draco's pride lasted three seconds. "I just don't want to use hair gel anymore!"

"Draco, you look even more handsome without it."

Draco's face went red. He covered it with his hands.

Zabini gave Hall a thumbs-up. Hall looked puzzled. Zabini's smile vanished the instant Draco looked over.

"You almost changed the subject!" Draco recovered. "Rosier came to see you. Why send him to me? Two hundred Galleons. Not expensive."

Hall kept eating. "Two hundred? Sure."

Draco's breathing quickened. This was too easy.

"Sigh." Hall's tone was calm. "I wonder who'll be Slytherin prefect for third year next year. Better ask in advance. As for the fee... three thousand Galleons isn't too much, is it?"

"Three thousand?!" Draco's voice cracked. "Why don't you just rob me?"

Hall shrugged. "I'm a conscientious businessman. I pay on delivery."

Robbing? He'd never do that.

"Do you even believe that?" Draco said through gritted teeth.

"I believe it. I have a conscience."

Draco was defeated by his pride. Zabini laughed maniacally.

"Blaise Zabini!" Draco could only glare.

"I can't take it... I really can't hold back... Hahaha!"

Draco's face darkened. He couldn't stay in Slytherin anymore. He turned and left without breakfast.

Hall watched but didn't chase. First class was History of Magic — perfect for slacking off.

Pansy looked at Draco with concern, but Crabbe and Goyle followed. She stayed.

"Weasley... you shouldn't always be with Draco..."

"Pansy, good girl." Zabini interrupted. "Draco and Hall are friends. They get along fine."

"But—"

"Draco hasn't said anything. What right do you have to speak for him?"

Pansy went pale. "Sorry, Weasley."

"It's alright."

"Draco." Crabbe caught up, lowering his voice. "That Weasley—"

Draco stopped cold. "This is between me and Hall. What business is it of yours?"

"But—"

"No buts. You two do what you're supposed to do. Hall has nothing to do with you."

Crabbe and Goyle fell silent. Draco walked on, his pace slower. He was thinking. He and Hall were friends. Hall wasn't Crabbe or Goyle. Hall was just Hall. A little bickering between friends was normal.

He was magnanimous. As long as Hall's apology was sincere enough.

In History of Magic, Draco sat next to Hall. Hall pushed a sandwich in front of him without mentioning the argument.

Draco wanted to refuse, but his stomach was rumbling.

"Eat."

He was angry at Hall, but the sandwich wasn't wrong. Hall brought it for him. Just a little.

Zabini sat nearby, chin propped on his hand, watching them with a subtle smile. Draco got goosebumps. Compared to Zabini, Hall seemed pretty good.

Professor Binns's monotone was hypnotic. Just before sleep claimed him, Draco thought — since Hall was alright, maybe he shouldn't hold it against him.

When class ended, drowsy students struggled to their feet.

"How does Binns make the Goblin Wars sound so boring?"

"That's talent."

"Was Hall Weasley not asleep?"

"Looks like he really wasn't."

"Merlin's beard — how?"

Second period was Herbology with Hufflepuff. Everyone except Hall had napped. Hall earned Slytherin fifteen points.

By lunch, Draco had completely forgotten the argument. "Well done, Hall! This year's House Cup will be Slytherin's again!"

They ran into Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"No! This year's House Cup will be Gryffindor's!" Ron shouted.

Harry adjusted his glasses. "Starting with the Quidditch Cup."

Oliver Wood appeared, arm around Harry's shoulder, eyes fixed on Hall. He remembered how this first-year had snatched the Cup last year. This year — revenge.

Flint stepped in front of Hall with a cold laugh. "Wood, you're only good at bullying younger students. This year, I'll personally break down your goal. The Quidditch Cup belongs to Slytherin."