January 16th, 1892 — Hogsmeade
Basil Foxwood

Alexander's hands curled into fist until his knuckles shone white at his sides.  A small group of kids stood in his way, taunting him and thwarting all his efforts to get past them.  The anger bubbled up inside him as he stood there silently while they poked and prodded at him, bringing up the all the things he never wanted to talk about.  They knew exactly how to get a rise out of him and did so gleefully until he couldn't take it anymore. 

He charged at the ring leader who, unfortunately, was bigger than him and slammed into his middle.  He scrambled for purchase on the bully's shirtfront but was shoved back almost immediately.  He stumbled backwards until he fell with a grunt, the ground biting painfully into his palms as he caught himself.  He scurried to get his feet back under himself and take a second run a them when the shadow of someone much taller passed over him.

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   Basil Foxwood

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It was starting upon early evening and Basil was very happy to be back from London. His visit with Miss Malfoy earlier had been excruciating, at best, and he was glad to be done with it. Now he could focus on packing his things, ensuring his mother was better off than when he’d arrived, and he could find his way back to the castle in the morning. Hogwarts was where he belonged and Basil hated feeling like a fish out of water when he was home.

Traipsing down the Hogsmeade high-street however, he was pleased to be making his way towards Wellingtonshire now. In fact, Basil was so pleased to be home he’d almost stopped in to reward his bad day with a drink when a scuffle caught his attention just ahead. Two boys were fighting in the street. Basil’s brow wrinkled and he instantly felt the professor facade slip forth. One could separate a man from his duty but not the duty from the man. Pulling his wand from his waistcoat, he flicked it at the two boys to separate them as he came upon the scuffle. “Boys!

This is no way to act in public.” Basil scolded, coming up behind the smaller of the two. Upon closer inspection, they seemed young. First year age, perhaps, though likely younger since they were not yet in school. “What do you have to say for yourselves?” He demanded.

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Alexander Waterford

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Alexander didn't realize he was being pulled backwards until the other boy was out of reach.  He looked at whoever was hollering at them but they weren't familiar and more importantly they weren't from the orphanage.  He'd probably be dragged back by his ear if it was.  He gave a lurch of his shoulder, trying to yank away from the spell that had a firm grip on the back of his collar. 

He set his jaw when the scolding came, though the tips of his ears and the back of his neck flushed.  He stared forward, offering no excuse or explanation, as the other boys rattled off their excuses.  To their credit they didn't seem to want to rat him out but the daggers they shot him with their eyes told him they weren't exactly done with him yet.

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Basil continued frowning down at the boys as some of them attempted excuses. He raised a brow, and listened to the lackluster quibbles with his arms tightly crossed over his chest. The largest of the lot seemed the most vocal; that was probably the instigator if Basil had to guess. He’d had his own fair share of tousles as a child, mostly with Atticus, but he could spot a chip on a kid's shoulder faster than most. (Whether it was from personal experience or teaching that gave him this ability, he didn’t want to know.)

With a bit more chiding and a promise to think before acting in the future, Basil dismissed the others. He released them from the spell and watched as they scampered away. Then, he turned to the quiet one. “As for you,” he continued. “What’s your name?”

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Alexander Waterford

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Released from the spell, Alexander yanked at his sleeves and shirt front to straighten himself as the other boys ran off.  He almost wished he was running off with them.  There was still the man behind him, looming over him with all his... adultness.  He turned to face him, head slightly ducked but still meeting his eyes. 

"Waterford." was his short answer.  He resented the expectation that he answer and answer truthfully but not enough to actually lie.  It was enough to keep him from tacking on an instinctive 'sir' at the end, though.

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Basil raised a brow at the remaining boy. Waterford, he mused. It wasn’t a name he recognized, though why would he? Likely the boy was as much an orphan as he was a street rat.

“Well Mr. Waterford,” he said anyway. “Why don’t you tell me your side of the story? I’m sure a tussle like that doesn’t rise from nowhere and from the looks of you, I’d imagine you don’t often go picking fights with big brutes for the fun of it.”

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Alexander Waterford

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Alexander stared up at the man.  His was mouth still set in a mulish scowl but his eyes took on a different light.  Maybe he was a little right - Alexander hadn't been one start fights before... but fresh out of a scuffle where he'd swung first, there was no denying that things was different now.  Everything was different now.  After a few moments he dropped his eyes and shrugged.  It didn't matter and what did the man care anyways? 

"Can I go now?" His words were still brief but his tone had lost some of it's harshness.

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Basil frowned decidedly at the young boy’s belligerence. He wasn’t used to his students, even the shy first years, being quite so evasive. He supposed there was likely more to this backstory than he’d realized and, letting out a soft breath, he crouched beside the boy to meet his eye level.

“No, you may not,” he replied decidedly, but then in a gentler tone he added: “Why don’t we see if there’s something nearby at Florean Fortescue that you’d like and we can trade. You can have your pick of flavors in exchange for some polite, explanatory conversation, hm?”

Basil gave the boy an encouraging smile. He didn’t know why this boy had struck a nerve with him, or why he was so keen on getting the truth out of the little brunette. Perhaps it was because the whole situation reminded him clearly of something that could so easily have occurred on any like day when he’d been a child, or maybe he was just getting old and soft. Regardless, Basil offered the boy - Mr. Waterford - his hand. If the boy shook like the young gentleman he was, they had a deal.

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Alexander Waterford

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He wasn't surprised at the no but that didn't mean he liked it any more.  He felt trapped there, torn between a mannered upbringing and the instinct run for it.  His eyes cast about for an escape route but he already knew there was no point.  The man was right there; all he had to do was reach out.  And he probably had a wand anyways.

A flicker of mischief crossed his face as his impish side considered how easy it would be to knock the man over, the way he was crouched.  Then maybe he'd have a  chance at getting away.  But then the man mentioned trading ice cream and his jaw snapped back to a defiant angle.

"I don't know you and I can buy my own ice cream."  He may have been an adult and Alexander may have been an orphan but he was not in charge and Alexander was not penniless.

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Basil felt his patience begin to thin. It was moments like these that made him wonder if he was really cut out to be anything more than a professor one day. He’d always wanted a child in that abstract, I know it will happen to me kind of way, but the thought had never wrankled at him the way having a wife did. He’d actually become accustomed to the fact that one day, perhaps, he might actually have a little someone to impart more than just Transfigurative knowledge upon. He had Tillie, he supposed. She was as close to a younger sibling as he’d ever imagine, but a child… well it was different.

Basil shifted a little in his position, legs growing tired. Mr. Waterford did not accept his handshake and Basil felt himself sigh at the response. “I suppose it is rather smart of you not to accept a stranger’s aid,” he mused, standing back to full height. Not all strangers were well-meaning. But if the boy didn’t want to cooperate, then Basil supposed there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t well force Mr. Waterford to accept him. Basil tugged down his waistcoat and turned a full expression of - pity? concern? weariness? - back onto the boy.

“Well Mr. Waterford, for sake of introductions I am Professor Basil Foxwood. I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” He nodded politely towards the boy. Perhaps being treated a little more like an adult would help. “I don’t know why you found yourself in this scuffle but I dare say you could do better.” His chiding tone softened then and Basil crossed his hands behind his back. “If you do, however, find yourself in need of aid in the future - don’t hesitate to send me an owl.” And with that, Basil winked and turned to go. If the other let him, then that would well be that. He’d done what he could.

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Alexander Waterford

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From satisfaction that he'd won to disdain for that look the man gave him, Alexander was nearly at a full scowl when the introduction came. The new knowledge that this stranger was going to be one of his professors come fall hit him like a pail of ice water over his head. His eyes widened almost comically with the realization that he'd been face to face with real, tangible consequences for his actions the whole time.

"I start Hogwarts next year." he admitted in a tumble of words without realizing it. He pressed his lips together as if he could retroactively keep the words in. Why had he told him that? He might not have even remembered their run in come September if he'd kept his mouth shut. For nearly a year it felt like going to Hogwarts would be where his life would go back to normal: No orphanage, no London house without mum and dad, just school as he'd always imagined it. Except now one of his professors knew he wasn't a normal student.

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Basil was surprised, perhaps, when Mr. Waterford perked up upon hearing of his status at Hogwarts. He was both pleased and relieved that the boy would have some semblance of structure in the coming future. (Not that he might not have it now, in truth Basil didn’t even know the kid, but at least he wouldn’t be running off on his own at the castle - hopefully.) A knowing smile stretched across the brunette's face, but Basil hastily hid it before turning ‘round to face the boy again.

“Is that so?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “And are you prepared for such a responsibility?” Basil eyed the boy evenly, neither chiding nor condescending, only expectant. He hoped Mr. Waterford would fall into Ravenclaw. He’d do well there, despite his penchant for trouble, and - Basil might be biased but - only the best and brightest came from his old house. He could see that future for Mr. Waterford here, absolutely.

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Alexander Waterford

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Alexander looked visibly taken aback.  Responsibility?  He'd never thought of school like that.  Hogwarts had always just been something inevitable.  Even before he got his letter, before his first sign of magic, no one questioned that he'd go to Hogwarts when the time came.  And now it wasn't just inevitable, it was everything he hung his hopes on. 

Silence stretched between them as Alexander raced through the full implications of his question.  That one word had flipped everything upside down.  Suddenly Hogwarts was something he could loose - something he could mess up - and that idea scared him.  He looked up at the man who regarded him so calmly, at first cowed but then resolved.

He nodded.  "Yes, sir."

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Pleased at the noticeable change that had come over Mr. Waterford, Basil resisted the urge to smile. He knew scaring the other or irritating him by seeming patronizing would only undo the good that was being done. Instead, he waited as the silence stretched and the young boy considered his question. The professor was glad he was taking this as seriously as he seemed to be; it was important for incoming students to realize that it was a privilege to attend Hogwarts, not just a given.

Smile finally breaking as the other nodded and gave his affirmation, Basil was pleased. “Well then,” he replied. “I look forward to seeing you through the Sorting Ceremony in September.” Basil offered the other his hand to shake as a parting gesture. “And Mr. Waterford,” he added. “I advise you keep your nose out of trouble until then.”

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Alexander Waterford

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Alexander burned to ask him so many things - like what class he taught or if it was possible to not be sorted into any house -  but it was obvious the conversation was at an end.  He looked at the man's offered hand for a moment while the instinct to keep distance waged war with a new desire to leave a good impression.  He'd already called the man 'sir', he remembered with an internal grimace.  A handshake was a smaller concession than that by far.

He took his hand and gave it his most respectable, well-mannered shake but the sensation of it shot a memory through his mind without warning.  He'd all but forgotten about the people who'd wanted to shake his hand at his parents' funeral until now.  He ended the shake a bit abruptly, as if breaking contact might push the memories away.

Instead of agreeing to stay out of trouble, which was definitely not a level he was lowering himself to, he bobbed his head in a weird kind of nod-bow and turned heel to finally make his escape.

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