The late summer sun filtered through the gap in the curtains, waking the bedroom’s occupant.

Albus Potter rubbed his eyes before staring at the ceiling above his bed. This was it. This was the day. He was finally going to Hogwarts. He would not be stuck at home with stupid Lily anymore; he would finally be able to go to school for magic, not for Muggle things such as maths, grammar, and his personal nemesis—science.

He could not help the stupid grin on his face as he rolled out of bed in his red and gold pyjamas. He was going to be a Gryffindor, brave and true, just like his dad, just like his mum, and just like James. His trunk caught the corner of his eye, or, more specifically, what lay within. Surreptitiously, he popped open the lid and took out what was now his most prized possession: his wand.

It was willow and unicorn hair, nine and a half inches, quite flexible. The sales witch at Ollivander’s had told him that it would be ideal for Transfiguration and jinxes. When one’s brother happened to be James Sirius Potter, the latter would probably come in handy.

He padded over to his mirror, wand in hand, and made the most fearsome face that he could. He waved the wand, muttering nonsense that Muggles thought were ‘magic words’, relishing the feel of the warmth in his palm. With a flick of his wrist, he aimed the tip of the wand at the mirror image of himself. The sound of shattering glass followed the minute jet of blue light that had escaped the wand.

Almost on cue, he heard Ginny shout from down the hall, “Albus! Stop playing around and get dressed!”

Albus glowered at his bedroom door. Sure, he thought. Don’t check if I’m okay; just yell at me. Ace parenting you have there, Mum. He sulkily headed for the bathroom, avoiding the pile of jagged glass shards on the floor. When he opened the door to the loo, he sighed in frustration; on the counter was a small, neatly folded pile of clothing.

Ginny had picked out his clothes…again. Merlin, the woman had no taste at all. They were pleated slacks, a white button-up shirt, a burgundy knit sweater vest, and a rather nauseating pair of Argyll socks. She had always claimed that such things were tidy and made a good impression, but to Albus, it was a ruddy clown suit. He preferred his own uniform of old jeans and T-shirts of dubious cleanliness.

With a sigh, he absently turned on the water and began undressing. When he was satisfied with the amount of steam billowing from the tub, he pulled back the shower curtain. His eyes widened, and his voice elicited a rather unmanly shriek of horror when he saw what was in the bottom of the tub.

A snake sat, coiled and ready to pounce, its forked tongue flickering fearsomely. How could a snake have possibly got into the house, let alone into the tub? It was far too large to have come up through the drain…or was it? One thing was for sure: Albus did not want to find out.

He backed away from the unwelcome guest, but as he did, he noticed something that was just…off about this snake. The tip of the tail was orange! What kind of snake had a—

Albus was no longer afraid; he was now thoroughly annoyed. He pulled his pyjama bottoms back on and stormed out of the bathroom and down the hall. When he reached James’s bedroom door, he slammed it open, chest heaving in indignation. “What the hell!”

James was smirking in a way that told Albus that he had, indeed, found the culprit. “Why, Al, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Whatever do you mean?” The sickeningly sweet tone of voice told Albus everything he needed to know.

“What’s the big idea, leaving one of Uncle George’s fake snakes in my shower? I nearly had a fit!”

His brother merely chuckled like the git that he was. “Well, the newest Slytherin can’t be without his own snake, you know. I was just helping you get prepared. You know you’ll end up in Slytherin.”

Albus could feel himself grow pale. “That’s not true! I’m going to be a Gryffindor, like Dad! Slytherin is for bad people, and I’m not bad!”

Mischief sparked in James’s eyes. “Oh, but what about that time when you pulled Rose’s hair just to bug her? Or the time when you locked Lily in the bathroom because she accidentally ripped your favourite book?” James began to look serious. “If that doesn’t make you bad, then I don’t know what does.”

He had not thought of that. Those were bad things that he had done, and he had done them without remorse and would have done them again in a trice. Did wanting to get back at people make him evil? He sure hoped that it did not.

Without another word, Albus wandered out of the room, his mind mulling over what James had said. Would he be a Slytherin, or was he brave enough to make up for his obvious character flaws?

Mid-thought, Albus came to the conclusion that, no matter how true James’s accusations were, no one was going to get the best of him. His brother was asking for it in a big way. With a smirk, he returned to his own room and sifted through his sock drawer for something that he had been saving for the perfect occasion. And this was it.

He eyed the dark brown bulb with a smirk and set back toward James’s room. He opened the door. pulled the string, and threw it inside and ran like hell. Listening to the accompanying squeal of horror paired with no small amount of irritation made Albus feel warm and tingly in his belly. There was no question about it; Dungbombs were divine.

When he returned to his room, Albus decided to proceed with his shower as planned. The fake snake found itself pinched between his thumb and forefinger and held at arm’s length before it was hurled into the far corner, behind the toilet.

His remaining morning ablutions were blissfully uneventful, even to the point where he did not even mind his mum’s choice in attire. He was even humming as he strolled from the loo, ready to go, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw his dad, sitting on the bed and looking much too stern for so early in the morning.

“Albus,” Harry said quietly.

“Dad,” Albus replied, his voice meek. “Are we, er, ready to go now?”

Harry stood and paced around the room, seeming to examine everything that crossed his path. “Not quite, son. Not quite.” He stopped his perusal at the shattered mirror. “Playing with your wand, I see.”

Albus gulped. “Yeah. Didn’t know it would do that.” It was true, after all. Besides, it was not like Harry could not fix the mirror with a flick of his own wand. This had to be something else for which he was in trouble.

And he was right. “Al,” Harry continued, “your brother’s room is coated with dung. Any insight as to how that came to be?” Harry’s green eyes, identical to Albus’s, bore straight into his soul and into his very brain. It was as if his mind was an aquarium, and his father was looking into it, seeing everything.

“I, er…” Albus was nearly in shock. The feeling of total mental transparency disconcerted him. Despite the layers of clothing he wore, it was almost like he was standing there naked. It was all he could do to avert his eyes and break the contact. “I threw a Dungbomb in there.”

Despite the admission, Harry did not seem angry. He merely strode over to stand in front of Albus. His hands fell gently onto his son’s shoulders. “Why did you do that?”

Biting his lip, hoping that it would be enough to get him out of the worst of the trouble, Albus said, “He put a fake snake in my shower to scare me.”

At this point, Harry’s attention was diverted from the putrid attack on James and settled on what had precipitated it. “Is there anything that you’d like to tell me, son?”

Each time Albus opened his mouth to spill his innermost terrors of being Sorted into Slytherin, his voice would betray him and lodge in his throat. He felt such intense shame that there was even a possibility of such a thing happening, and he could not bear to give the notion life by even saying it aloud.

Harry obviously knew that Albus did, indeed, want desperately to say something, but he also realised that his son was not quite ready to share that information yet. Instead, he patted Albus’s shoulder and said, “Just make sure you’re ready to go in twenty minutes.”

Unable to stand it any longer, Albus blurted, “Do I have to say I’m sorry?” He could have kicked himself. Harry had essentially let him off free of punishment, but, instead of taking what he was given, he had to stick his foot in his mouth like a complete prat.

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched. “I don’t know. Are you?”

Now, Albus was really confused. “Am I what?”

“Are you sorry? If you could go back, would you do it again?”

Albus looked for any sign he could that his dad was joking, but there was only earnestness, sprinkled liberally with mirth, in Harry’s eyes. That was when he knew that the only thing that he could say was the truth. “Not in the slightest. He had it coming.”

Harry tousled Albus’s already disobedient black hair. “Well, then it won’t do to apologise, now, would it?” With that, Harry flicked his wand three times: once to repair the mirror, once to open the door, and once to lift Albus’s trunk. He looked over his shoulder as he left and said, “Remember, now. Twenty minutes.”

When the door closed behind Albus, he felt a curious sensation wash over him. How he had managed to not get into severe trouble for what he had done to James completely escaped him, but, somehow, he knew that Harry had understood on some level why he had done it. Sure, his dad did not know precisely what had prompted James to leave the snake, but he knew that, for whatever reason, Harry was on his side.

About fifteen minutes later, it was time for Albus to head down the stairs, but a disturbance in the hallway stopped him in his tracks. He could hear two voices, which belonged to Harry and James. As he strained to hear what was being said, he felt guilty when he finally did.

“…And I don’t want to hear so much as a word that you did something like that again. Do you understand me?”

Dad sounds mad, Albus thought. I wonder if it’s about—

His musings were cut off by James sniffling. Was he…was he crying? Albus could scarcely believe his ears. Their dad had brought James—James—to tears for what he had done with the snake! Though it had been a completely horrid thing to do, Albus could not help but feel sympathy for his older brother, to whom pranking and joking came as second nature. The tongue-lashing that he had obviously received just seemed rather harsh in comparison to the actual deed.
 
Fearing that he was eavesdropping in on something that he should not have heard, Albus tiptoed down the stairs as quickly and quietly as he could. At the base of the stairs sat his and James’s trunks, so he took a seat on his own and stared straight at the wall, just in case anyone were to accuse him of listening in on James getting told off.

A few minutes later, a sullen and reserved James came down the stairs alone. He looked at Albus reproachfully before taking a similar stance of sitting on his trunk.

Albus knew that he should probably say something. “Listen, James, I—“

“Shut up, Al. I don’t even want to hear it.”

And that was that. Albus decided that he was not going to bring up anything else—at all—to James about the subject. That personal vow extended the entire duration of the car ride to King’s Cross Station. Neither Harry nor Ginny said anything to them, save for random reminders of things that they needed to remember for school. James was to use his broom servicing kit after each use, especially before Quidditch tryouts, and Albus was to remember the myriad of ghosts and apparitions that inhabited the halls of the school. The rest of the stillness was disrupted by Lily chattering on and on about Merlin knew what, but no one, perhaps save for Ginny, was paying attention.

In a way, the mundane nature of their conversation was a comfort, which distracted Albus from the impending fact that his life was about to change drastically. What had seemed like the grandest adventure of all just that morning was quickly turning into a march into the belly of the unknown. And the unknown was scary.

Harry pulled the car into a vast multi-storey car park. None of them had ever seen such a building before. It was just so awe-inspiring, especially when Albus tried to think of how many vehicles must be inside of it. Each of the slots in its massive walls revealed a fresh slew of Muggle cars. Rather childishly, he wondered, when they were parked and left for the station, whether his dad and mum would ever be able to find their own car again. It seemed close to impossible.

But, undaunted by the mammoth proportions of the car park, Harry found the nearest available space and manoeuvred the car expertly, at least in Albus’s opinion, into the small area between white lines.

When they got out, all three children looked around in wonder at the expanses of cement that constructed the car park. Last year, Harry had taken James alone in a Muggle taxi, as Albus and Lily had had the dragon pox, but now, as both of them needed to go, it became a family trip. So, for the first time, the youngest two were observing a feat of engineering by their non-magical brethren, for surely such a building could not stay intact without some sort of spell or charm.

“Dad, how did they build this thing? How does it stay up?” Albus asked, wandering after his parents, still staring at the awesome structure. He did so, however, when he should have been minding where he was walking, causing him to slam into the side of another car.

The air was filled with an ear-splitting noise the likes of which Albus had never heard. The headlamps of the car into which he had walked were flashing on and off, and the horn blared intermittently. He pressed his hands to the sides of his head, desperate to block out the unpleasant cacophony, but when he looked at his dad in askance, he found that both of his parents were chuckling.

Harry flicked his wand, and the noise thankfully stopped. Albus could feel his ears ringing from the auditory assault, and he could see that James and Lily fared no better.

“What was that?” James asked in an overly loud voice. “I may never hear right again!”

“That was a car alarm,” Harry explained. “When you touch someone else’s car, it sounds to let the owner know that their car has been disturbed.”

Albus scowled. “But that doesn’t make any sense. How do they know which one is theirs, and how do they hear it if they’re not here?”

Ginny laughed. “Now that is a good question. I wouldn’t mind knowing this one myself.”

But Harry shook his head. “I have no idea. You’ve got me there.” Unperturbed by the still-flashing headlamps on the car in question, he led them toward the lifts on the far wall. Fortunately for the children, they had seen this particular technology during their visits to the Ministry.

At the end of the lift ride, Harry acquired two trolleys for both trunks and birdcages. Each step brought a new sense of wonder to Albus. From the throngs of people, all the way to the impressive ceiling on the station, he could only stare. They nearly always took the Floo for travelling, so this aspect of Muggle culture was fairly unfamiliar to him. It was absolutely fantastic.

After a few minutes of pushing through the crowd, Lily tugged on Ginny’s arm. “Mum, I’ve got to use the loo.”

Their mum rolled her eyes. “Can’t it wait until we get your brothers on the train? And didn’t I tell you to go at home?”

Lily hung her head. “Yeah, but I didn’t have to go then.”

With a sigh, Ginny turned to Harry and said, “I’ll take her, so you keep an eye on this lot.” She cocked her head toward James and Albus before dragging Lily off toward the toilets.

When she left, James leaned over to Albus and whispered, “Not nervous, are you?”

“No,” Albus said defiantly.

James chuckled. “You should be, considering you’ll be in Slytherin and all. Every step closer to the train is one step closer to being evil.” He nonchalantly scanned his fingernails. “If I were you, I’d rather not go.”

Albus punched James in the arm as hard as he could. “Shut it!”

In an instant, both of them found their voices nullified. Harry glared at them. “Now, that’s enough! You will behave like civilised human beings.”

After their censure, both boys stared straight ahead, not even daring to look at the other. When their mum and Lily rejoined them, the family proceeded as Harry chatted with Ginny about the Ministry’s newest regulations regarding security at Quidditch matches. The boys were silent, afraid to annoy their dad further, but Lily took that opportunity to regale them with every minute detail of her trip to the bathroom and all of the awe-inspiring things that she had seen in there.

At last, the troupe reached the wall between Platforms 9 and 10. With a nod of encouragement, Harry indicated that James was to go first. Both Lily and Albus stared as they saw their brother dematerialise into a solid brick surface, about which their parents seemed entirely unperturbed.

Ginny gestured toward the same spot. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

Albus shook his head immediately. “Are you mad? That’s a wall!”

“But it’s a magic wall, Al,” Harry said. “I promise, you’ll be fine.”

Dad would never lie to me, Albus thought. Against every fibre of good judgement he possessed, he closed his eyes and ran toward the portal, all the while wondering how badly it was going to hurt when he crashed into it trolley first. But, to his amazement, he simply kept running when he reached the wall through the bricks and into momentary darkness.

When he emerged, the setting was completely different than the one that he had just left. There was a large sign post that read ‘Platform 9¾’, which told Albus that he was, indeed, where he was supposed to be. James had disappeared, but with the sights to behold, he did not care. The train, instead of the dull, grey colour that the Muggle ones had been, was bright red and emblazoned with the phrase ‘Hogwarts Express’ on the front. It was ruddy magnificent.

He turned when he heard his dad and mum chatting behind him. They had just emerged from the enchanted wall, and Lily was halfway through it; Albus could tell that his younger sibling was not nearly as in awe as he was.

“But I don’t want to wait two years, Daddy! I want to go now.” Lily bestowed their father with her best googly eyes, which never failed to get her what she wanted. Albus could see Harry’s eyes fill with slight panic as he endeavoured to find the words to deny his daughter what she wanted. It was not a customary feeling for him.

Harry stopped and took Lily’s hand in his. “Baby, you can’t go this year. You’re not big enough yet.” He sighed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn, and you’ll do brilliantly.”

With a roll of his eyes, Albus shook his head. Yet again, on his big day, it had still managed to become all about Lily and not him. It just never failed. Even when she was just along for the ride—literally—she instantly became the centre of attention. At least at this point, though, with a brother like James, who had a penchant for trouble, and a sister like Lily, who demanded so much attention and adoration, he was used to this by now. It was hard, being the forgotten one, but he supposed that it came with the territory, being the quiet one and all.

Ginny’s voice broke through his musings. “Ron and Hermione were supposed to meet us here at ten forty.”

“You know Ron,” Harry said with a chuckle. “He most likely demanded to be allowed to drive and got lost.”

For the next five minutes, they searched for Ron and Hermione Weasley, whose eldest, Rose, was also to start at Hogwarts this year with Albus. She was, without a doubt, the closest thing that he had to a friend, and he really wanted to ride on the train with her and not by himself. Merlin knew what James would do to him if he was caught by himself with no means of escape.

*“Where are they?” Albus finally said in exasperation. The only familiar voice he could hear was Uncle Percy, probably one of his least favourite relatives, talking about some boring Ministry thing or another, about which he could not care less.

*“We’ll find them,” Ginny said, her voice dripping with sweetness.

Albus supposed that she was trying to sound reassuring, but to be honest, he felt like she was cooing at him like a baby. It was cute five years ago, but he was closer to being a man than a baby, so it was time for that to stop. “Mum, not in public! I’ll never make friends if everyone thinks I’m a mum’s boy.”

Instead of sympathising with Albus’s plea for masculinity, Harry laughed and mussed his hair. “Relax, Al. You’ll make plenty of friends.”

*“I think that’s them, Al.” Ginny interjected.

Both he and Harry turned their attention to where Ginny was pointing, and, indeed, it was Ron, Hermione, along with Rose and Hugo. The mums hugged and rambled greetings, and the dads shook hands.

“Parked all right, then?” Ron asked Harry. Then they started chatting about driving while they loaded both Albus’s and Rose’s trunks onto the train.

Rose looked at Albus and snatched his hand. “This is it, then.”

All he could do was nod woodenly. “Yeah.” Albus just stared at the train, and what had been miraculous just a moment ago was now an ominous sign of drastic change. His life was about to become completely different, whether he liked it or not, and at that moment, he was not entirely sure that he did like it.

Next to them, Lily and Hugo struck up a lively conversation about, of all things, Hogwarts Houses and the one into which they thought that they would be Sorted eventually. The doubt returned to Albus in full force. He and Rose exchanged similar expressions of apprehension. He could tell that she was as nervous as he was.

Ron’s voice nearly caused Albus to jump out of his skin as he addressed his daughter. “If you’re not in Gryffindor, we’ll disinherit you.” With a slight grin, he added, “No pressure.”

Even when Hermione admonished Ron for what he had said, that did not stop the fresh wave of doom that matriculated into his brain, and it was apparent that Rose felt the same. What if they were not put in Gryffindor? Would they truly be disowned, or was his uncle merely joking?

“Oh, Merlin,” Albus muttered under his breath. He felt Rose’s hand squeeze his in reassurance.

Their attention was diverted once more by Ron pointing out someone across the platform. There was a blond man who seemed overly dressed for the relative warmth of the day along with a stern-faced woman and a boy, whom he assumed was their son, who looked exactly like his father.

*“So that’s little Scorpius,” Ron mumbled.

Albus finally recognised the little family. They had to be the Malfoys. He had heard about them via various accounts from relatives, and from those stories, they were not what one would consider a good lot. They had all been enemies during school, and Mr Malfoy had even been a Death Eater. If that did not make him a bad bloke, then there was not much else on this planet that would. But where did that leave Scorpius? Was he a git like his father, or was he like Albus: quiet, reserved, and completely eclipsed by his family’s fame (or infamy, in his case)?

But Ron was not done sowing the seeds of discord. “Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank Merlin you inherited your mother’s brains.”

As Hermione once again took him to task, Albus leaned toward Rose and asked, “What do you suppose he’s like, that Malfoy?”

Rose shook her head. “No idea. But I’m not going to piss off my dad by getting mixed up with him. He can’t be anything but trouble, if his family is any indication.”

Albus considered this. Rose was probably right, but something inside his head told him that it was not right to judge someone by what his or her parents are like. Of all people, he, Albus, should know better. He could not even count how many of his primary school classmates had assumed that he was smart or talented at anything because his dad was Harry Potter, but, alas, he was not.

He barely noticed James sprinting up to the group of adults, rambling on about Teddy and Victoire snogging (and everyone knew that anyway). He had larger issues, like, say, being in Slytherin and getting disowned! What would he do if that happened? Would he have to live at the school if his family did not want him any more? Would the Headmaster let him do that?

A million questions bombarded his poor little brain, and the sea of voices around him just added to the turmoil. More and more children were saying goodbye to their families and boarding the train, and for the first time all day, Albus really did not want to join them. His mum and dad could not disown him if he was never Sorted, could they?

“It’s nearly eleven. You’d better get on board.”

Harry’s voice filtered through the haze in Albus’s mind. No matter what, he was going to get on this train whether he liked it or not. First, Ginny kissed James on the cheek and Harry hugged him a bit before he darted onto the train to find his best mate, Garrett. Over his shoulder, he made a mock hissing sound to his little brother. This made Albus’s blood run cold.

Ginny hugged Albus tightly. “We’ll see you at Christmas, and I’ll make sure to write at least once a week. We did the same for James last year, though he’d likely swear that it wasn’t necessary.” She kissed his cheek. “Love you, sweetheart.”

Albus attempted a half-smile. “Love you, Mum.”

When Ginny let him go, Albus just stared at the train. Rose was waiting for him, as she had completed her goodbyes already. He just could not bear to take another step toward what could be the ruination of his whole life.

But, just as he was ready to do a runner back to the car, Harry knelt down to ruffle his already hopeless mop of hair and embrace him. Albus clung to his father for dear life. Surely, if he did not want to go, his dad would not force him.

Harry pulled away a bit; already, Albus missed that reassurance. “Bye, son. We’re going to miss you.” He gave Albus a kind smile, the one that made him feel like he could tell his dad anything.

*“What if I’m in Slytherin?” There, he had finally said it. Harry now knew his deepest, darkest fear.

Two identical pairs of green eyes connected at that moment. “Albus,” Harry began, “one of the bravest men I’ve ever known was in Slytherin.”

*“But, just say—“ Albus tried to interject.

*“—then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student.” Harry put his hands on Albus’s shoulders, his face completely serious. “It doesn’t matter to us, Al. You’re our son, and we’ll love you, no matter what. Just remember that.” He stood and gestured toward Rose, who was now pacing in annoyance. “Besides,” he added, “if it matters that much to you, you can choose one over another. *The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account.”

*”Really?”

With a nod, Harry said, *”It did for me.”


As he and Rose were shepherded onto the train and the doors closed behind them, Albus smiled for the first time in hours. Just that morning, his biggest concern was how his mother dressed him, but now, he just had a feeling that everything was going to be all right.

He hoped.

Upon further review, Albus was not so sure how he felt about being on the train once it started moving. He mutely followed Rose through the corridor as she searched for a place to sit. Her huff of annoyance told him that she had been unsuccessful in spotting either an empty compartment or a herd of their cousins with whom they could pass the time.

“We’ve got to sit down some time. I’m starting to feel a bit sick.” And it was the truth. Albus did not do well standing on things that moved, which was the reason why Harry had bought a car for family trips. The tube was brutal for the middle Potter child, much to the amusement of his siblings.

Rose pursed her lips. “Well, there’s one, but…” By the way her words drifted off, Albus figured that the rest of it was something along the lines of ‘but someone we don’t want to be around is sitting there’.

He just shook his head. “I don’t care who’s sitting there, Rose. I just need to sit down.” With a snort, he added, “I’d even sit near James right now, and I’m right pissed at him at the moment.”

Snickering at her cousin’s use of profanity, Rose said, “I’m not sure if this bloke is better or worse than James, so I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Albus leaned his forehead against the wall of the hallway and struggled to catch his breath. “I don’t feel so good.”

Putting her arm around Albus’s shoulders, Rose guided him toward the aforementioned carriage. “We’ll get you sorted out, and if you want to move after you feel better, I’ll find us somewhere else.”

Albus nodded meekly and allowed himself to be led like a child through the cars full of students. While most of them ignored him, some stared at the boy who looked exactly like the saviour of the modern world, who was currently also as green around the gills as one could get without vomiting on the spot.

He could vaguely hear some of them whispering as he passed. Though he could not hear exactly what they were saying, he knew the subject of their covert conversations: Harry Potter’s son could not even ride on a train?! Normally, that would have bothered him, but at this point, he was so desperate for relief that he could not care less what anyone was saying about him.

Finally, they stopped outside a compartment, and Albus lifted his head just enough to see who this mystery person was that was supposed to be worse than his terrorist brother. He almost could not believe his eyes when he saw that it was none other than Scorpius Malfoy. What completely shoddy luck!

Rose opened the door and pushed Albus into the nearest seat. He just laid down on it and closed his eyes in an effort to stop the rollicking waves of nausea that churned in his abdomen. His breathing was laboured, and his breath tasted foul, and he already knew what that meant. He was definitely about to vomit.

He waved his hand to Rose, trying to get her attention. She knelt down next to him, her eyes alight with concern, and whispered, “Do you need…” She did not finish her question, but she knew him well enough to know what he was asking of her. “Okay. I’ll see what I can find.”

Rose rummaged through her rucksack for a couple minutes before producing the paper bag that had formerly held her packed lunch. The sandwich, apple, and bag of crisps that had formerly occupied it were dumped haphazardly on the seat behind her as she held it out to Albus. Soon, the sounds of retching filled the car.

After his breakfast had been completely jettisoned from his stomach, Albus rolled onto his back, eyes still closed to quell further sickness. He blindly reached out for Rose’s hand. Instead, he felt another hand touch his, and that foreign presence left something behind.

Albus dared to open his eyes long enough to look at it. It was very small, white, and felt like it was made of powder pressed into a tiny pellet. Curious, he sat up, albeit too abruptly. “What is this?” he asked, ignoring the renewed illness.

The voice that answered most definitely did not belong to Rose. “It’ll help with the sickness.”

His head jerking toward Scorpius, Albus said, “Thanks.” He examined it further before asking, “But what is it?”

 “It’s called dimenhydrinate.”

Both Rose and Albus pored over the little pill. Neither of them had taken anything remotely resembling it before. Usually, any sort of remedy involved choking down a gobful of noxious potions, but never a simple, little disk.

Her curiosity taking over, Rose snatched it from Albus’s hand. “I’ve never heard of it. It must be new or something.” She held it up to the light and squinted to read the tiny printing on it.

Scorpius…chuckled? If Albus had to venture a guess, from what he had seen of this pariah Malfoy boy, he was not one prone to mirth. The action surprised him to the point where he almost missed what Scorpius was saying about the dye-my…whatever it was.

“Well, that’s because it’s Muggle.”

At that point, both Albus and Rose’s heads snapped toward this blond young man, who they were supposed to revile on sight because of his blood purist background. Had they heard him wrong, or had he just said that he took Muggle medicine?

Albus had to know. “How is it that you, of all people, end up taking Muggle medicine? I thought your family was supposed to hate Muggles.” He really had not meant to say the last part, but it sort of slipped out.

The left corner of Scorpius’s mouth twitched. “Ah, you are just as daft as my grandfather said you’d be. Always assuming things about us just because of our name.”

“I…” Albus was taken aback. He had not expected himself to be the bigoted one in this exchange, but sure enough, he had been. “I’m sorry,” he said truthfully.

With that, he took a bottle of pumpkin juice from his own rucksack and swallowed the little tablet. The flavour of it was almost indescribable…almost. It was, without a doubt, more foul-tasting than anything that he had ever taken before, and the bitterness sunk into the roof of his mouth, despite the pumpkin juice to act as a buffer.

It was several seconds before he could talk again. “How did you end up with Muggle medicine, anyway?”

Scorpius looked triumphant, as if the acrid medicine was his own private revenge for Albus’s lack of tact. “I’m allergic to motion sickness potion, so my father looked elsewhere.”

That statement raised many questions about what Albus supposedly knew about Scorpius. For the spawn of a flock of pure-blooded fanatics, his willingness to use Muggle remedies was no less than shocking. Not even his own father trusted Muggle Healers (he could not remember what they were properly called) for anything.

“Next time,” Scorpius continued, “try not letting it touch your tongue. It’ll keep most of the bad flavour from lingering.”

Next time? “Wha—“ Albus stopped mid-word as Scorpius withdrew a decent-sized bottle, full of these little Muggle pills, and poured a generous number of them into his hand. He held them out to Albus, who simply accepted them while staring like an idiot. “I…”

“You’re not much for words, are you, Potter?” Scorpius was smirking, but this time, his smile seemed more genuine than mocking.

Albus blushed, much to his irritation. “I don’t know what to say.”

Rose saved him from further embarrassment. “I’m sure he means to say ‘thank you’, but no, Al isn’t very…clear all the time.”

“Obviously.” Scorpius looked out the window, giving Albus the chance to straighten himself out. He was already feeling better with the help of the pill, and the greenish tinge had started to leave his cheeks. “You know,” Scorpius added, surprising Albus, “if you take them before you go anywhere, you won’t get sick.”

Nodding his head, Albus said, “I’ll remember that.”

The rest of the train ride passed in relative silence, which gave Albus time to reflect on what had just occurred. There had been so many preconceived notions in his mind about who Scorpius Malfoy was supposed to be, but every one of them had been proven false by a five-minute conversation. What was he supposed to think now? Everyone he knew had spoken ill of the Malfoy family, but this boy who sat across from him, the one who had offered to help when Albus needed it, could not be included in that.

Could he?


Hogsmeade Station was as completely different from King’s Cross Station as was humanly possible. Where there had been massive throngs of people, there were now only the students, teachers, and a few townsfolk to greet the incoming flock. Even though he had never been there before and was generally uncomfortable in new surroundings, Albus felt an immediate connection with the place.

Rose, apparently, felt the same. Albus heard her sigh of wonder as she looked around at the village and the pristine countryside that framed it. For both of them, the extent of their rural living had been playing in the orchard of The Burrow, but they had never seen the crisp, blue sky meet the distant mountains in quite that breathtaking fashion as it did in the waning daylight.

Their reverie was broken by a booming voice that was instantly recognised by them both.

“Firs’ years, this way!”

Had they not been summoned to him, both Albus and Rose would have gone anyway, if only to say hello to an old friend of the family. “Hagrid!” they bellowed at they ran toward him and clutched an arm apiece.

Hagrid chuckled. “Ah, now I was wonderin’ when I’d see the likes of ye two. Yer dads want me to keep ye outter trouble, but seein’ what young James is like…”

Rose giggled. “Oh, Hagrid, we’re nothing like James. He’s a right git!”

Albus nodded in agreement, still miffed about the snake incident. “Yeah, we’re the behaved ones.”

“Likely story,” snorted Hagrid. He then gestured toward a fleet of small boats. “Ye’ll need to be getting’ on here soon. No more ‘n’ four of ye!” He shooed the pair toward the dock, where throngs of their classmates were boarding the tiny boats.

He had not been joking when he said only four to a boat. Any more probably would have toppled any one of them into the dark, murky water.

Much to Albus’s frustration, most everyone had separated themselves into groups of four, which left both he and Rose in search of two more passengers.

“Who’s going to ride with us?” Rose asked.

With a shrug, Albus said, “Well, I suppose we could ask Malfoy. He seemed decent enough.”

This seemed agreeable to Rose, as she was soon shouting, “Oi! Malfoy!” She gestured wildly for him to approach from his lonely spot behind the horde.

Though he seemed reluctant to associate himself with Rose’s rather embarrassing hail, Scorpius wandered over to his former fellow train car passengers.

When he got there, Rose rambled, “Be in our boat!”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. He seemed on edge to Albus, but, as he had no idea why, he decided to stay out of it.

Since nearly all of the students’ boats had already departed, they started boarding the next available one with just the three of them. At the last second, however, a girl, about the same height as Rose but of a stockier build, jumped into their diminutive vessel before it could leave.

Again, without prompting, the girl said in a fast, high-pitched voice, “Hi, I’m Nichola. Nichola Bussey.” She shook everyone’s hand in a rapid and hyper manner that made Albus hope that she would not be in too many of his classes. But she was not done quite yet. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, have you? Magic and stuff is still pretty new to me, but it’s all so exciting.” Her prattle continued at lightning speed, in which she asked several questions for which she did not even wait for an answer.

It was Scorpius who broke her stream of chatter. “Do you ever shut up, you silly little bint?”

Silence ensued as everyone stared at Scorpius, who somehow seemed unperturbed by his little bout of ill manners. Even the children in the surrounding boats were staring, slack-jawed, at the rude boy that they had all heard about, as well as at the girl who he had just reduced to tears.

Rose was the first to round on him. “How could you be so mean? What kind of person says something like that to someone they don’t even know?”

“Her name is Nichola. She’s a Mudblood, she doesn’t like trains, has a cat, her favourite colour is purple, and she talks entirely too much. I think I know her pretty well by now, or at least more than I ever wished to.”

Albus was completely nonplussed. Never in all of his life…not even James was that horrid, and his older brother was easily the vilest person that Albus knew. “You’re a right foul git, Malfoy.”

Scorpius snorted. “Oh, and I suppose you’re going to say that it runs in the family like all the rest of them?”

“No,” Albus replied, crossing his arms defensively. “I mean it because you are acting like a complete tosser to someone who’s done nothing to you but chat a bit and share a boat for a ten minute ride.”

“Like you can stand to listen to her go on and on like some mad shrew! I—“

He was never able to finish his sentence after Rose shoved him with all her might into the lake, her face beyond enraged. As Scorpius came to the surface of the water, sputtering, she hissed, “You want a mad shrew? I’ll give you a mad shrew, you straw-haired back end of a hippogriff!”

Everyone in earshot stared at Rose. Even Albus, who was used to her particular brand of irritation, was stunned at this point. And though the scene was epically ridiculous, no one even thought to laugh, and most definitely did not think to help the sodden Scorpius from the water before the weight of his robes pulled him under.

That would, however, not be necessary. With a great splash that caused both Rose and Albus to jump in their seats, a tentacle that looked like it belonged to a gargantuan octopus, pulled Scorpius from the lake and unceremoniously plunked him into the boat once more.

Though Nichola, still huddled in a ball and as far away from the others as she could get, did not look at him at all, Rose and Albus stared down their new rival—the former with disgust, and the other with disappointment. Everything had gone so well up to the point where Scorpius decided to act like a prejudiced snob, but given the warning that Ron had issued, they both felt like they should have seen it coming.

The rest of the boat ride passed in utter silence. Albus did not speak, because he honestly could not think of anything to say that would do justice to how angry he was with Scorpius. He figured that Rose was keeping quiet to avoid knocking her victim into the lake once more, or worse, running the risk of being caught doing it.

When the boat slid onto the shore of the Hogwarts side of the lake, for the first time, the occupants disembarked hastily. Nichola practically sprinted in the opposite direction, but the other three found themselves staring up at the magnificent castle that had seen so many young witches and wizards just like themselves—including their parents—walk through those historic halls. The night was clear and sparkling, and with the dusk came a blanket of stars, which twinkled with a brilliance that none of them had ever seen before.

It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing that Albus had ever seen. He stared at the shining constellations, rapt by the fact that those stars were so far away, yet they still saw fit to say hello to the world every night.

A none-too-gentle tug on Albus’s arm pulled him back from the cosmos and to the Hogwarts grounds once more, where Rose was pointedly cocking her head toward two great, wooden doors. Since swarms of students, from both the carriage rides from Hogsmeade and the first-years in the boats, were filing in, he knew that Rose meant for them to follow before they got completely lost and shuffled away from their classmates.

Albus knew what was best for his personal safety, especially after the fiasco on the lake, so he allowed himself to be dragged toward the door. He was surprised, however, when Scorpius simply followed them quietly. Rose did not seem to notice him, and in a wave of sympathy for someone that obviously did not deserve it, he decided not to enlighten her.

A middle-aged woman, who identified herself as Professor Vector, the Deputy Headmistress, herded the first-years to a room off to the side of the Great Hall. The older students all sat down at the tables, boisterously greeting friends and acquaintances.

“Children,” she started, trying to speak over the din of over forty excited eleven-year-olds, but they drowned her out. “Children!”

Every adolescent mouth within ten metres snapped shut instantly. They could all already tell that this woman was going to be even more fearsome than the legendary Professor McGonagall, about whom even the Muggle-borns had heard during the train ride.

Professor Vector smiled, though it was completely without joy or mirth. “Much better.” After clearing her throat, she continued. “On behalf of Headmaster Flitwick and all of the teachers, I would like to formally welcome you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For over ten centuries, this institution has commanded the respect of the wizard world for its fine traditions of excellence and honour.

“There are four Houses here at Hogwarts, and, by the end of the night, each of you will have been Sorted into one of them. The Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.”

At that last name, Albus felt his entire body stiffen. This was it. This was the night that would make or break who he was as a person. And the thought that it was so close made Albus’s knees wobble. Whatever Professor Vector was saying by then, he had no idea; over and over in his mind, all he could think about was being sent to sit with the green and silver clad students and, moreover, what James would do the next time they saw one another.

An elbow in the ribs from some unidentified individual signalled that he needed to pay attention again as students were circling and sorting themselves alphabetically. Within seconds, Rose was far behind Albus in line, and the only person near him that he recognised was Scorpius, who was separated from him by two others, a girl and a boy.

Even though he was a complete prat, Albus would not have minded having Scorpius’s familiar presence right about that moment. Not only was he mere moments away from possibly the scariest experience of his life, he was doing it alone for the first time in his entire eleven year existence. How was that not supposed to be borderline petrifying?

The line of first-years, finally in their proper order, stood single-file outside the door of the Great Hall, ready for what lay within: the Sorting Hat. The Muggle-born students quietly speculated about how their Houses would be chosen, while the rest fidgeted nervously. That comforted Albus, albeit only slightly; it was nice to know that at least someone was as miserable as he was during this excruciating wait.

The metaphorical waters parted as Neville Longbottom, Herbology professor, Head of Gryffindor House, and long-time family friend, carried an ancient, three-legged stool and an even older hat. That had to be the Sorting Hat. The minutes until his showdown with his future were winding down, and even the slight smile of encouragement from the man affectionately referred to as ‘Uncle Neville’ could not stop Albus from nearly hyperventilating with anxiety.

When the Hat was placed on the stool in front of the staff table, nearly all of the new arrivals jumped when a singed rip near the brim opened like a mouth and started to…sing? Albus’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

‘Listen up, those who are new,
For I am the Sorting Hat,
I shall know each one of you,
And we’ll have a little chat.
Will you wear black and yellow?
Or maybe red and gold?
Will green and silver be your fellow?
Or blue and bronze in your future told?

‘For those made of loyal stuff,
Hard working to the hilt,
Will find themselves in Hufflepuff,
With others of their ilk.
Those of valour and inner strength,
Of undiluted bravery,
The Gryffindors go to quite a length,
For justice, friends, and family.
The Slytherins, wily and slick,
May be your future’s key,
Ready and willing for any trick,
Cunning you must be.
Perhaps reason is your light,
A desire to learn and to know,
One who will think instead of fight,
Then in Ravenclaw you’ll go.

‘Come one and all, place me on your head,
For I’ve not once been wrong,
Though once I was naught but thread,
Now I sing the welcome song.
In each and every one of you,
I shall delve deep within,
To know your House and colours true,
Now let the Sorting begin!’

A round of applause met the end of the rather unorthodox vocals. The older students did not seem surprised by the singing Hat, but a clamour trickled through the first-years, still standing in alphabetical order, now speculating about their Houses more than ever. Even the Muggle-born children, who could not be anything but overwhelmed, were in on it. Personally, Albus could not even conceive how they could be so relaxed when a quarter of them were going to be in Slytherin!

Professor Vector stood next to the stool that bore the Hat, a scroll in hand, and started at the top of the list. “Avery, Lennox.”

A boy who was nearly twice the size of Albus strode toward the stool confidently. He plunked himself down where the Hat had been sitting and placed the ancient headgear on his sandy-coloured hair. After less than ten seconds, the Hat spoke once more, but instead of a song, it bellowed, “Slytherin!”

The table on the far left of the Great Hall stood and clapped for their newest member. Lennox merely smirked and sauntered like a peacock to his place amongst the Slytherins.

One by one, the rest of the boys and girls in front of Albus took their turn with the Sorting Hat. A good number of them went to Hufflepuff, and about five went to each Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Only three others walked to the same table that Lennox had.

That was, of course, until the first person of interest approached the stool. As Scorpius walked through the Hall, commenced as both first-years and older students alike talked about him. Some of the murmuring was speculative, but most of it, from what Albus could hear, was not very kind. There had to be something about Scorpius that he did not know, because none of the occupants of the Hall knew of what happened on the boats.

Despite his self-assurance earlier in the day, Scorpius did not look so calm now. If possible, he was even paler than he was by nature. Albus could see him chewing on his lip nervously as he walked as slowly as possible toward the Sorting Hat. It took nearly an eternity for him to actually sit down and put the Hat on his head.

Albus expected the Hat to shout ‘Slytherin’ almost immediately, but it did not; actually, this was the longest Sorting of the night up to that point. The only one that had taken more than a minute had been Elijah Macmillan, who had gone right before Scorpius, but that had ended with an assignment to Gryffindor and smiles from their newest member.

But Scorpius was not smiling at that moment. The frown on his face was deep, despite the fact that it seemed to be moving. Was he talking to the Hat? Could he do that? Harry had said that his choice would be taken into account, but was he supposed to physically say where he wanted to go?

Nearly five minutes had passed, and still the Hat had not spoken. Albus figured that either Scorpius was going to be kicked out for being a git, or he was arguing with the Hat himself to keep from going into a certain House. And, with all things odd and curious, he really wanted to know what was going on inside Scorpius’s head.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Hat called out, “Slytherin!” If Albus did not know better, he would have said that Scorpius looked upset. Whatever had gone on in that conversation had shaken him thoroughly, and even the cheers and handshakes that he received from his new Housemates fell short of cheering him up.

Albus was now dangerously close to fainting. Now, only “Marten, Jane” and “O’Dell, Sean” separated him form the same fate as Scorpius. A new fear took hold; what if the Hat did not honour his request to be in a certain House? It had done that for Harry, but his father was the exception to a lot of rules. That did not mean that Albus was going to be.

“Potter, Albus.”

He stood stark still. The proclamation of his name brought a rush of whispering, just like it had for Scorpius, but Albus did not hear anything except for the sound of his own name echoing in his head. He tried to will his feet to move forward, but they would not comply.

Professor Vector gave him a meaningful look, but he simply stared at her, not even daring to blink, as if trying to say that he was simply incapable of proceeding. Her eyes narrowed in annoyance, which did not help his motor functions in the slightest.

A hand touched his shoulder, and, finally unfrozen, Albus turned around to see Rose, who had broken out of line. She gave him a weak smile, which was not any more reassuring than the scowl of the irritated Deputy Headmistress.

“Al, it’s okay. Whatever happens, I’ll be your friend. I don’t care if you’re a Slytherin or a Gryffindor or whatever. You’re still you.”

She squeezed his hand in hers, and some of the tension seeped from Albus. No matter what House the Sorting Hat chose, he would always have an ally in Rose, to whom he was closer than his own brother and sister. That thought gave him the push he needed to finally take his place on the stool.

The Hat was overly large, and it engulfed nearly Albus’s entire head. Only his chin stuck out below the brim, and he could swear that it smelled like mould and burnt wood. That bit of unpleasantness, however, was nothing compared to the heart attack that he nearly had when it spoke to him.

‘You’re not much like the last Potter that sat on this stool, are you?’

Er, hello? Albus thought to himself. How was he supposed to answer? Did he actually talk, or did it know what he was thinking?

‘Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I know every little thing that goes on in your head.’

Albus was glad that the Hat was covering his face, because he was fairly certain that he was redder than a radish at that very moment. No one ever knew what he was truly thinking—not even Harry. Most people just took him at face value because he did not demand otherwise, but this manky old hat knew his innermost fears and desires.

‘You’re very worried about where you’ll end up, even though your family will accept you regardless.’

Well, if you had a brother like mine…do you have some sort of brother? Albus had no desire to ask a question like that, but he could not very well stop himself, since the Hat was reading his mind and all.

The Hat chuckled. ‘No, I have no brother, but I do know yours. Your brother is a Gryffindor without a doubt, but I’m not so sure about you.’

Yes, I am! Albus’s psyche rebutted.

‘Books are often your companion, and you are one for puzzles and challenges. Ravenclaw may suit you best.’

Ravenclaw? Albus had not once considered that he might end up in any House other than Gryffindor or Slytherin. All he knew of Ravenclaw was that it was the destination of the brightest students, and Albus did not consider himself particularly intelligent—at least not more or less than anyone else.

What he really wanted was to be where he belonged, and something told him that Ravenclaw was not it.

‘Very well, then. If Ravenclaw isn’t where you think you should be, then there is only one place left to put you.’

Albus held his breath and clenched his fists so hard that he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms, but he did not care. He just concentrated with all of his might on one thought. Please, not Slytherin.

“Gryffindor!”

A sigh of relief accompanied the escape of his bated breath at the Hat’s proclamation. The waiting was over. It was finally done. He was not a Slytherin, and James could shove off, because he was a Gryffindor!

Now that the Sorting was done, all Albus had to do was think about everything else that could possibly go wrong at school. And knowing himself better than anyone, the possibilities of that were nearly endless.

As the flock of first-year Gryffindors followed the Prefect toward the tower that would become their home for a majority of the next seven years, Albus could not help but grin to himself. James had been so wrong; he was eager to rub it into his brother’s face. He was not a Slytherin, and he was not a bad guy. He was just Albus. Plus, without the stigma of being Sorted any differently than the rest of his family, he could go back to being overlooked and ignored, which suited him just fine.

Then, Albus felt a cold lump swell in his throat. Where was Rose? In the wake of relief after his Sorting, he had forgotten to at least find out what had happened with Rose. How could he not even notice? She had been there to give him strength, and in repayment, he had not given her a second thought.

Despite the prefect’s warning to watch where he was going at all times, Albus craned his neck around to search for Rose. This had proven to be difficult, as the younger students were still mingled in with the older ones. It did not help at all that Albus was short and could not see past most everyone’s shoulders. In fact, by this time, he could only see one person whom he recognised, and that was the kid who had been Sorted before Scorpius.

Even though he could not remember the other boy’s name, Albus screwed up enough courage to tap him on the shoulder. “Um, excuse me?”

When kid-before-Scorpius turned around, Albus could not help but notice the drastic differences between their respective expressions. Where Albus’s face was mostly full of dread, nervousness, and an innate desire to hide alone somewhere, his counterpart seemed rapt by his surroundings and the experience as a whole.

“Whatcha need, Albus?”

Now Albus felt really ashamed. This boy had taken the effort to remember his name, but had Albus extended the same courtesy? Maybe James had not been entirely off the mark after all, since he clearly had difficulty thinking of anyone but himself.

It took some time before Albus snapped out of his trance. He had even stopped walking, but, to his credit, he had not been abandoned completely.

“Are you all right, mate?”

Albus tried to speak, but just as he was about to humble himself by asking this boy what his name was, Rose came up beside him and latched her arm in his.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Don’t go disappearing like that again.”

Rose’s admonishment made him smile. Trust her to lecture him over something so simple. “Oh, sorry, Rose,” he said sheepishly, trying to keep himself out of trouble. There were no lakes into which he could be tossed, but she was resourceful when it came to doling out punishment. “I was looking for you. I was about to ask him,” gesturing toward the boy next to him, who looked lost in the conversation, “if he’d seen you.”

Narrowing her eyes, Rose said, “Well, in that case.” She turned from Albus, extended her hand, and said, “Hello. Rose Weasley. Nice to meet you.”

The other boy gave her a cocky smile and reciprocated the greeting. “Elijah Macmillan.  Pleasure is all mine.”

Of course! Albus could have kicked himself for not remembering Elijah’s name, especially considering it had been on the list of classmates that both his parents had talked about.

Rose, however, was as blunt as usual. “You seem to think you’re charming or something. Do explain, because I just don’t see it.”

Elijah did not seem perturbed in the slightest by Rose’s barb. “We can’t all be the cranky and out of sorts one, now can we? I’ll leave that to you.”

Just as Rose was about to whack Elijah with her rucksack, the stairs underneath Albus’s feet failed him, and he fell waist-deep into a gap between two of them. He was torn between embarrassment and needing help to get out of his predicament.

“Rose!” he shouted, hoping only his cousin would notice. There was, alas, no such luck. Several of the other students, even some of the older ones, turned to see what was going on. Soon, whispers and snickers circulating, all of which were centred around the ickle Potter boy stuck in the stairs like a stumblebum.

Albus felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment as his fellow Gryffindors amused themselves at his expense. Only Rose was not among those numbers; instead, she looked exasperated.

“Seriously, Albus, can you go one day without nearly maiming yourself? If you did, I’d eat my own shoes.” Shaking her head, she leaned to offer her hand to Albus. After a well-placed elbow in the ribs, Elijah followed suit. Grunting and yanking ensued, most of which caused Albus no small amount of pain and discomfort.

At last, after a small eternity, Albus was free, but at a price. His robes were ripped in the back and along his left side. The tear on the side was so bad that it had ripped his pants, as well, even leaving an angry red scrape on the skin of his leg. He sat on the step and rubbed it gingerly, trying to soothe the burning that had now begun.

Biting her lip, Rose knelt down to look at it. “Looks kind of bad, Al. Maybe you should go to the hospital wing.”

“No!” Albus said quickly, startling Rose. “It’s just a scratch, and we need to get going before we fall too far behind.”

Elijah shook his head. “I’d listen to her if I were you, mate. She’s a right sight scarier than you could ever be.” Dodging the hand that was about to smack him on the arm, he added, “And I’d wager she can hit harder than you can, too.”

But Albus would not allow himself to be embarrassed any further. “I said no. Can we just get moving, please?” Without waiting for an answer, he shakily rose back to his feet to keep trekking up the stairs. However, yet again, his balance would abandon him when his leg gave out and he fell to his knees. The limb was tingling like it had fallen asleep, and one thing was for certain—it would not hold his weight.

“I—I can’t move my leg.”

“It can’t be that bad. It looks painful, but you should be able to walk on it.” This obviously perplexed Rose, but Albus did not want to become one more of her puzzles.

Elijah just rolled his eyes and knelt down next to Albus. “Well, standing here and staring won’t do any good. Let’s just keep going, and we’ll ask one of the professors what to do.” He manoeuvred him arm underneath Albus’s, and with a grunt, hoisted him to his feet.

On the other side, Rose did the same, for which Albus was grateful. What had started as a mild tingle had progressed into a full on burn. However, when they angled themselves to proceed up the stairs, there was not a soul in sight. Not a single other Gryffindor could be found to tell them how to get to the common room or even back to the Great Hall.

“Damn,” Elijah swore under his breath. “What are we supposed to do now?”

Albus echoed those sentiments. There was nothing like being lost and not even being able to move about to find one’s way back to familiar territory. He knew that Rose and Elijah dragging him along would get them nowhere. Even though it scared the hell out of him, he knew what had to be done. “You two go on without me.”

Rose shook her head. “No. I’m not leaving you here.”

“There is no other way, Rose,” Albus said. “We can’t just sit here until someone happens to find us. You and Elijah can go try and find the Tower or at least a teacher. I’ll be fine.” This, of course, was a lie. The only thing that Albus disliked more than strange places was being alone in strange places, let alone on a staircase with holes in it. But it was not fair to the other two to ruin their first night at Hogwarts any more than he already had.

Elijah seemed to be gauging Albus’s reaction, but he eventually nodded and looked at Rose. “He’s right, you know. He’ll be fine. If we come across one of the ghosts, we can have them go for help, and we can come back here.”

“I don’t like it,” Rose said firmly. “What if he gets scared?”

Just as Albus was about to tell Rose that she was being daft, Elijah interjected. “Merlin’s bearded backside, woman, he’s eleven, not five! Besides, this is Hogwarts. What could possibly happen to him on a bloody staircase?”

“Well, look what’s already happened!” Rose glared at Elijah, planting her fists on her hips in a way that was frightfully reminiscent of Grandmum Weasley when she was angry. “There are plenty of ways to get hurt in this place, and we don’t even have the benefit of knowing what they are. Either we all go, or—“

Albus had had enough. “Oi!” When Rose stopped her tirade, he jabbed his finger in the direction of the top of the stairs. “Get moving, or I’ll tell your mum you dumped Malfoy in the lake!”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Rose considered her cousin carefully, but Albus knew that he would do it if he had to. The question was if she knew that, as well. After some careful thought, Rose sighed and looked up the stairs again. “Fine. Let’s get on with it.”

With that, Rose stomped up the stairs with Elijah following, imitating her childish manner. Albus had to keep himself from laughing, because there was no way that Rose would let him get away with it. The second they were out of sight, though, Albus started to feel nerves set in. Rose had been absolutely right to worry about him being by himself, as he was fairly certain that he was gong to start panicking very soon.

It had been nearly an hour since they had left. A long, agonising hour. Trying to dispel his fears, Albus closed his eyes and leaned back on the stairs. In his mind, he was trying to visualise a familiar place, one in which he would never be nervous. Images of the kitchen at home began to surface, a platter of biscuits and glasses of milk in front of him and Rose. They were reading the newest issue of The Quibbler, ‘ooh’ing and ‘ahh’ing over the latest magical creature discovery made by batty ‘Aunt’ Luna.

But as soon as the scene was there, it was gone, replaced by the creaks and groans that accompany a thousand-year-old structure. By Albus’s estimation, it was getting quite late—at least past ten—and the torches on the walls were starting to dim themselves for the night. The escalating darkness made Albus want to run as far away as he could, even if there was no way he could.

Eager to be somewhere—anywhere—else but there, Albus tentatively tried to stand on his injured leg. He was pleased to find that it would support his weight, though he did not know whether it was due to adrenaline brought on by fear or because the pain had simply passed. One thing was certain, and it was that there was no way he was staying there in the middle of the staircase.

Albus leaned against the stone handrail for support, just in case his leg decided to start burning again, and he slowly started to ascend the steps. Not so bad, he reassured himself. Just a little more, and I’ll—

Under his feet, the staircase started to move. Horror-struck, Albus watched as the hallway that would take him to Gryffindor Tower slid from view, shifting toward another corridor. He felt his heart sink. Either he had to continue on through this mysterious passage or go back toward the Great Hall. It was time to weigh the alternatives.

On one hand, going down would only take him further from his destination, but it was somewhere that he had been before. On the other, he knew that he had to go up further to get to the Tower, but he had no earthly idea which way to go from there. Going back down, all he could do is hope that he would happen to meet a professor or the caretaker, but going up, even though it was a gamble, he would be more likely to run into a Prefect patrolling the Tower, looking for miscreants and snoggers. The former would likely mean detention, whereas the latter could be anything. The question was, which was the lesser of two evils?

With a sigh, Albus decided. His feet slowly began hauling him upward toward the foreign hallway. If Professor Vector was any indication, running into a member of the staff was the last thing he wanted to do. Not even James had garnered himself a detention on his first night at Hogwarts, and Albus would not allow that dubious distinction to fall to him. He would just have to work out his way for himself.

The torches that had lined the other hallways were conspicuously absent. The only light there was came from torches that flanked either side of the entrance. Not that he knew how to use it, but Albus did not even have his wand to provide himself with light. Instead, he slipped one of the torches from its sconce and proceeded into the darkness.

The flame barely illuminated the way, but from what Albus could see, this part of the castle was either rarely used or rarely cleaned. Age-old dust was settled into the seams of the flagstones on the floor. Liberal amounts of cobwebs caked the arched ceilings and closed doorways. There were tapestries so mired with dirt that the scenes woven into them were unintelligible. Several paintings lined the walls, none of which held their intended occupants. In short, there was absolutely nothing.

The further he went, the more Albus was sure that he was going the wrong way. It was painfully obvious that no one was supposed to be there, no one came there, and he definitely would not find his way to Gryffindor Tower anywhere near there. He would just have to turn back and try his luck downstairs. Leery of the dark, he briskly walked back toward the pinprick of light that was the other torch, ignoring the pain in his leg.

When Albus got back to the mouth of the corridor, he almost wanted to cry. The staircase had shifted again, leaving him stranded there. Now there was no other option but to move forward. As much as he did not want to go back through that abandoned stretch, it was either that or take a chance on the stairs coming back. Considering his present luck with them, he decided not to count on that working in his favour.

With a deep breath, Albus turned back toward the yawning chasm of dirt and blackness. One way or another, he would find is way, whether he had to walk for hours or end up in detention to do it. At this juncture, detention sounded a right sight better than this awful solitude.

Albus proceeded down the hall, walking for at least five minutes without finding anything remotely resembling another staircase. There were not even signs of rodents, which would surely populate an area such as this. Not that he could blame them, of course, considering the looming feeling of despair that seemed to hang in the air like the latent fragrance of must and mildew. There was no explanation for it, other than Albus being even more afraid of the dark than he thought he was, but he was sure that it was something more.

A cold shiver raced through Albus, as if his entire body had been pushed through a cascade of icy water. Something else was here. He had no idea what it was, but he could feel it, and it felt sinister, possibly even evil. And whatever it was, it was glowing, and it was getting closer.

The scream of terror that wanted to fly free from Albus’s throat came out as no more than a helpless squeak as the figure of a tiny man with beady, black eyes flew at him. Its arms were extended, as if to strangle him, and its teeth were bared. Though this demon was no larger than him, Albus was sure that he had never seen anything so vicious and horrible in his life. He slowly backed away from its advances, all the while mumbling the only thing he could think of under his breath: ‘biscuits and milk’.

For each step back Albus took, his assailant came even closer. He did not know who or what it was, but if it was trying to petrify him on the spot, then it was doing a bloody good job of it. Just as Albus was about to turn his back on this malicious thing, a voice, definitely male, cut through the silence, stopping both Albus and the creature in their tracks.

“Enough!” the speaker hissed, obviously irritated.

Instantly, the face of this spectre morphed from its fear-inducing expression to one of boredom. Make no mistake, Albus was still more frightened of it than he had ever thought possible, but he knew right away that it was not as it seemed.

“Aww, Professor Killjoy wants to ruin me fun.” Pressing its palms to its face, the creature blew sloppily into them, the sound reminiscent to a loud, wet raspberry. Even in his panic, Albus crinkled his nose in distaste.

The mysterious voice obviously did not find it amusing, either. “Peeves! Stop it, or you will be sorry, I promise you.” Ignoring Peeves rolling his eyes, Albus’s anonymous benefactor continued, “Do not, even for a second, think that I’m joking. Now, begone!”

Peeves flew off, cackling madly as Albus looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, but all that was there were the various wall-hangings. “Who’s there?” he said warily.

“Think, Potter. Think really hard.”

Albus could almost hear an eyeroll in the reply, which meant that it was someone who he should really know. Who could it be? Obviously, it was a professor, or Peeves would not have called him thus, but there simply was no one else there. Not in the shadows, not in a room (the doors were all barred), not anywhere. There were only tapestries and empty portraits—

That was it. That had to be it. “Are you a portrait?” Albus asked, hoping his question was not met with further scorn.

The voice replied, “Very good. You are apparently a fraction smarter than your father.” With a scoff, he added, “Not that it’s saying much.”

There was something about that voice that sparked recognition in Albus. It was not the actual voice so much as how he spoke, as well as his general disdain for Harry. Normally, everyone had nothing but good things to say about his dad, but Albus knew of at least one person in portrait form who did not care for Harry.

“You’re Snape, aren’t you?”

Silence met Albus’s inquiry, all but confirming his suspicions. It took nearly a minute before Snape replied. “And just how do you figure that?”

Albus shrugged, though it was likely that no one could see him do it. “I dunno. I guess it’s because everyone else on the planet loves my dad, so the only people who don’t are either criminals—which you aren’t, or you wouldn’t be here—or Snape. Which would be you.”

“Very good,” Snape replied. “There may be hope for you yet. You may prove to be much less of a cretin than your brother, and most definitely more so than his namesake.”

With a frown, Albus asked, “What’s your deal, anyway? You hate my dad and my granddad so much, but I don’t get it. Why?”

The question seemed to have caught Snape off guard. There were several moments of dead quiet before Albus crossed his arms and smirked. “Well? I’m waiting.”

“I lied. You are most definitely your father’s son.” Snape scoffed. “Why should I waste my time on a silly child such as yourself?”

This was one of his father’s greatest childhood nemeses? Snape was petty, insulting, and not at all pleasant—all rather pathetic, really. Albus raised a brow to the darkness. “Why should I waste my time on you? You’re just…mean.”

Snape laughed mirthlessly. “The world is mean, Mr Potter. Get used to it.”

“No,” said Albus, “that’s not what I meant. What I’m saying is that my dad named me after two Headmasters of Hogwarts. He said that they were the bravest, most loyal men he knew, but I really can’t see how he could be talking about you. You’re…you’re worse than my brother.”

Again, silence reigned. Whilst growing up, Albus had heard the story a thousand times, of how the great Severus Snape had risked everything to protect Harry because of how much he had loved Lily Evans. Harry had said that love meant a lot when it came to stuff like that, but Albus was hard-pressed to see exactly how this sneering, unpleasant man in the portrait could possibly be the subject of those stories. He was just a sarcastic, cynical prat, and Albus did not like him at all. And he said as much. “You know, I’m fairly certain I don’t like you.”

“And I’m supposed to care?” Snape said with a chortle.

“You should,” Albus said simply. “Your portrait is going to be here for a long, long time. Don’t you think spending that entire time by yourself would be a bit...miserable, even for you?”

“Such a silly child. You don’t understand anything.”

Despite the words he heard, Albus could hear something in Snape’s voice. He obviously had struck a nerve. “And why is that?” Albus asked, playing along. “If you’re so happy with your lot, then why are you still here, talking to a silly child like me? Doesn’t make much sense, Professor.”

Albus smirked at the shadows when Snape did not reply. At this point, he was beyond caring that the ‘hero’ whose name he bore was naught but a bitter old berk; now, it was all about making Snape admit that it bothered him to be like that. While it was true that Albus preferred to spend his time alone, he never wanted to be this alone, resigned to lurking in dark corridors where not even the painted residents of Hogwarts would go.

What Snape said next, though, surprised Albus. “Do you know where you are?”

“No,” Albus said truthfully. “Why does it matter?” Why, indeed?

Snape’s satisfaction was almost palpable. “Because there is a very good chance that someone died in the very spot you’re standing. Maybe even your Uncle Fred.”

It dawned on Albus what Snape was talking about. That was why this particular hallway was abandoned. This was where so many had died, trying to defend good people from Voldemort and his Death Eaters—for which this very man had died. So, instead of reverence and respect, Albus was merely taunting a war hero. At that moment, he could not have felt any more shame if he tried.

“I’m sorry.” Albus could not think of what else he could say.

Snape seemed to be caught off guard. Whatever he had expected to hear, that had not been it. Albus waited for an answer, but there was none. The impasse could have been for seconds, for minutes, or even for hours, such was its seeming interminability.

Finally, Albus decided that he had waited long enough. “So, that’s it, then? You don’t have anything to say? No insults, no questioning my intelligence? Nothing?”

“You have her eyes.”

Albus frowned. “Whose? Grandmum’s?” He shrugged. “I suppose. So, I have my grandmother’s eyes. Big deal. It has happened before.” Wherever Snape was going with that comment, Albus had no idea.

The sneer did not return, as Albus had expected, to Snape’s tone. Instead, something quieter took over. “Because they were the last thing that I saw while I was still alive.”

“Oh,” Albus said dumbly. “I can, er, look somewhere else, if you’d like.” He was not sure what he should do. It was not like he cared overly much about Snape’s feelings, but he was in somewhat of an awkward position of reminding someone of how he died. Was there any such thing as proper etiquette for a situation like this?

Instead of responding to Albus’s offer, Snape said, “You shouldn’t be here. Perhaps you ought to move along.”

Easier said than done. “Um, I can’t really do that. I’m completely lost.”

“Then why are you wandering about the castle in the dark? If I could, I would take fifteen points from Gryffindor for sheer idiocy.”

“B-but it’s not my fault!” Albus stuttered. “The staircases move! I just w-wanted to find Rose, and—“ At this point, an onslaught of weariness, frustration, and fear overwhelmed Albus. It was late, he was lost, and on top of that, Snape seemed more content to goad and insult him than to help him find his way. It had simply become too much for him to bear.

With a sniff, Albus sat on the dirt-encrusted floor, drew his knees to his chest, and hid his face in the loose material of his robes. “I want to go home,” he said aloud, not particularly to Snape so much as to himself. He did not want to cry, but it was hard not to when one felt so very small in such a very large place. When the tears came, he did not even bother wiping them from his cheeks.

Snape seemed to be disarmed by something as simple as a crying child. One would think that, with his attitude, he would be used to making first-years cry, but this was obviously not the case. “Stop it, Potter. Stop crying, you useless child!”

“Bugger off!” Albus sniffed, not caring about what Snape, sputtering indignantly in the background, had to say. He was nothing but a plonker, and Albus wanted nothing to do with him, even if he was lost. Either he had to find his way alone, or he would have to wait until someone found him.

Still not sure what he should do, Albus simply sat on the floor, hugging his knees and staring into the unknown depths of the corridor. Then it dawned on him to ask Snape a question. “Why do you come here when no one else does?”

There was no answer for several minutes. Albus could not tell whether Snape was ignoring him for telling him off, or if he genuinely had no answer. Perhaps he had already left Albus alone there, moving to a different part of the castle. It made sense, since it was unlikely that the former Headmaster would care to watch a little boy weep on the floor like a baby.

Just as Albus had given up on an answer, Snape’s voice came from the darkness yet again. “Because it is my penance.”

Penance? “Penance for what?” Albus asked. Sure, Snape had worked for the Death Eaters, but he had become a double agent and fought for the good side. What sort of punishment would he have coming that’s worse than being dead? Could anyone actually punish a portrait?

“Penance for what I did to Lily.”

Albus still did not understand. Obviously, Snape meant his grandmother, not his sister, but he could not think of anything that required decades of staring into the face of death and loss. “I don’t get it. What did you do to my grandmum?”

“Honestly, boy, you really are as thick as your father.”

Though the words were meant to hurt, Albus could not help but notice that they did not carry the same edge that they had before. The barbs seemed like more of an afterthought, as if by habit. Snape obviously thought that Albus should have understood what he was implying.

Things began to click together in Albus’s brain. The one event that brought Snape from the Dark Lord’s side was the threat to Lily through the prophecy. But what did that have to do with Snape? “Are you talking about the prophecy, the one that said that my dad would have to kill off Voldemort?”

“Of course that’s what I mean!”

There was a lot of anger in Snape’s tone, coupled with hurt, frustration, and probably a good dose of self-hatred. Albus really wanted to know, now. “I still don’t know what that has to do with you. What did you do?”

Again, Snape was silent, but when he finally did speak, all of the bile was gone. “Your father never told you what I’d done?”

Albus scratched his head. “Well, I suppose not, seeing how I have no idea what you’re talking about. What did you have to do with the prophecy?”

“I’m the one who told the prophecy to the Dark Lord, which caused him to murder the only person I every truly cared about. If I hadn’t done that, she would still be alive, and the death that happened in this very hallway would have never occurred.”

By that point, Albus had barely heard any of the explanation, as had a fix on the source of Snape’s voice. He walked toward it. The frame was gilded, but the sheen had been tarnished by decades of neglect. A placard on the bottom was covered in dust, but with the swipe of a finger, it became legible once again. ‘In Memorandum’, it read, but there was nothing in the picture but Snape, who had turned away from Albus, and an empty room with large windows full of sunshine.

“Where is this, and in memory of who?”

Snape, not turning around, said, “In memory of the Order of the Phoenix. This was taken at their secret meeting place, but no one knows where it was. Everyone who was originally in this portrait is dead now.” His voice was flat and emotionless, like he was reading from a particularly dry passage in a textbook.

Albus could not help but feel that there was something deeper to the significance of this particular painting. “But why this one? There are dozens of empty portraits to be in. Why this one?”

But Snape was not going to co-operate anymore. “I believe it’s time for you to leave, Mr Potter. Follow this passage about a hundred metres and take the next left. You should run into Sir Nicholas, who will take you to Gryffindor Tower from there.”

At last, Albus had what he needed to find Rose and the rest of his housemates again, but he could not move. It had taken that long for Snape’s admission to take its full effect. “It was all because of you. You killed them all with that prophecy.” He slowly backed away from Snape, whose visage was becoming increasingly more monstrous the more it all sunk in. Snape had caused the death of his grandparents; this man was the reason why Harry had grown up without a mum and dad. Harry had always spoken well of Snape, but he had never told him anything further than that—apparently for a good reason. “You killed them!” Albus repeated, still horrified.

“I know.” That was all Snape had to say as Albus turned his back and ran in the opposite direction. There could not be a large enough space between Severus Snape and Albus, but this traitor, this bastard, this monster man, would irrevocably be with him forever in his name.