“You’re going to be sick, Albus. Seriously!” said Rose exasperatedly as she watched her cousin inhale Yorkshire puddings. “You’d think you’d never eaten before! Slow down!”

Albus smiled. He had never felt so happy, having just been sorted into Gryffindor after months of worrying that the Sorting Hat would choose Slytherin for him instead. Seated beside his extended family and surrounded by the children of his parents’ friends and colleagues, Albus finally felt at ease. Not only was he a Gryffindor, but he appeared to be well on his way to making friends, already having met many of his fellow first-years. Perhaps his father had been right all along; Hogwarts was his home. And after a week of dreading his arrival at the school, unable to stomach food despite the tempting dishes his mother prepared, Albus’ appetite had indeed returned.

“I wonder when they’re going to hand out our schedules. I’m so excited for class,” said Rose. Albus nudged Roxanne, George and Angelina’s first-year daughter. Everyone in the Potter-Weasley clan, and beyond, were well-aware that Rose was a near clone of her brilliant mother, Hermione.

“I’m just exhausted. Who knew a train ride could be so tiring? Plus, all this food is going to put me in a coma. Mind you, it’s worth it. Have you tried the treacle tart?” Albus said, transitioning onto dessert.

Rose rolled her eyes, but inside, she understood. The excitement alone was enough to make one feel ravenous.

The hundreds of other students appeared to be getting full, and the boisterous, celebratory chatter that had taken place at the beginning of the meal was definitely quieted by the overconsumption of food and pumpkin juice. As Albus reached across Rose for yet another Eccles cake, the dishes disappeared from the Great Hall’s long tables, along with the numerous drink spills and crumbs strewn about.

Professor McGonagall got to her feet, and stood at the front of the Head Table. Albus felt a complete silence around him, even from the Slytherin table. No one would cross Professor McGonagall, and Albus had the deepest respect from her. His own father had railed on about the merits of her teaching and leadership, and even though Albus had only just met her, he could see she deserved, and expected, the utmost respect.

“Now that we have all shared this delicious meal, I must make a few start-of-term announcements. First, I must impress upon all of you the true importance of following the School rules. You are all well- aware, or will become aware of them,” she said, making eye-contact with a particularly rowdy Slytherin first-year, “and I assure you that misbehavior will not be tolerated.” James, Albus’ older brother, seated a few places down at the Gryffindor table, smiled and high-fived his best-friend, Carter Wilkinson. The two were trouble-makers, and Albus’ parents had received many less-than-favorable messages from the school last year about James’ mischievousness. Needless to say, Albus’ mother had pulled him aside prior to leaving for the train station, and made it clear that “Your father and I expect a little more maturity and restraint” from him than James displayed. Thankfully, Albus’ father was more understanding. Mrs. Potter’s comment was followed by a wink from Mr. Potter, who simply told Albus to “stay out of trouble and work hard.” Easy enough, thought Albus. Indeed, Albus had often been the victim of James’ practical jokes back at home in Godric’s Hollow. James’ leaving for Hogwarts last year had been a bit of a relief for Albus; Sitting down to a family meal was no longer a dangerous proposition. James was an avid consumer of Weasley products, and they often made their way into Albus’ glass of milk or pumpkin juice.

“As usual, Quidditch trials will begin next week. First-years, please know that you are not eligible for competitive play, but you will begin Flying lessons tomorrow.” This statement was met with varying responses. While many pure-blood first-years were outraged at this prohibition, Muggle-borns appeared torn between feelings of absolute astonishment, excitement and terror at the thought of flying. Albus figured he would have some explaining to do for his Muggle-born peers.

“Now, I wish you all a purely positive school-year. Work hard and you will succeed. We ask that you do your best, and I am confident that all have you have great potential to grow as wizards and witches in the coming school-year". McGonagall proceeded with a slightly sarcastic tone. "Now, it is time for our beloved school song-“

She raised her wand, apparently preparing to cue in the students, but before she got a chance, hundreds of voices started bellowing at the tune at horrifyingly different speeds and pitches. Albus knew the words, having been taught them by James a week prior to leaving for Hogwarts, but he preferred to listen, smiling at the sense of sheer love each of the students and teachers seemed to have for the school.

“It’s like a little safe-haven. You’d never know the ministry’s falling to pieces with the state the school’s in. McGonagall doesn’t seem phased by any of it,” Albus said quietly as the song died down.
“Yeah, that’s true. But after all, Hogwarts has never really reported back to the Ministry,” Rose replied.
“I guess. Still, with the way our parents worry, you’d think the whole world’s falling apart.”

Albus looked around the dormitory, dimly lit by the moon shining through a small slit window by Matthew Jenning’s bed. Albus sat up, aware of his heart beating faster than usual in his chest. He could hardly contain his excitement. He had been at Hogwarts not even twelve hours, yet he felt as though he had lived here his whole life. He had never quite understood the affection with which his parents’ generation, even his older brother and cousins, spoke of Hogwarts. It seemed family get-togethers always included long reminiscences of their days at Hogwarts, whether his father was recalling Quidditch successes or Aunt Hermione was praising the school library as “the finest wizarding library in all of Europe”. When his elder brother James had left for Hogwarts last year, occasionally sending home short letters to update his parents on the goings-on at the school, Albus was puzzled as to why James seemed to experience no home-sickness whatsoever. Even when he returned home for the summer, James appeared more interested in counting down the days to his return. Now, without having even attended a single class, Albus understood.

Albus sank back down into his bed, forcing his eyes shut in an attempt to go back to sleep; He felt he ought to be well-rested for his first day of classes. Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about his seven years to come at Hogwarts. Albus didn’t necessarily dislike the schooling he had gone through alongside his siblings back home in Godric’s Hollow, taught by his mother and supplemented by both Muggle and wizarding textbooks. Yet he had never truly been an avid reader or particularly passionate about any subject. After years of basic math and geography, Albus was itching to learn the magical feats his parents and other adults performed with ease. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, flipping his pillow over multiple times and fluffing up the duvet to no avail, Albus acknowledged falling back asleep was not a possibility.

In the bed to his right was a sleeping Philippe Leroy, the son of French-born Aurors who worked with Albus’ father. Albus had met Philippe a few times when the Leroys had come over for dinner; He was a big boy: athletic, and could easily pass for a third or fourth-year with his height, but he was friendly and Albus was glad he had been placed in Gryffindor as well.

Next to Philippe was Matthew Jennings, a Muggle-born from Wales whose eyes widened as he observed new magical occurrences around the castle; Albus could hardly contain his laughter when Matthew squealed at the sight of the replenishing food in the Great Hall.

On Albus’ left was Julian Wood, a small, quiet boy Albus’ father had pointed out as the son of Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in his day. Julian seemed nice enough, but given the tales of Oliver’s absolute obsession with the sport and sometimes tactless, though well-meaning, methods of training his players, Albus was surprised by Julian’s apparent shyness.

Albus, physically tired yet somehow bursting with nervous excitement, could hardly wait to throw on his robes and attend his first class. All first-years were called to a nine o’clock meeting in the Common Room, where school rules would be further discussed. Judging by the sky outside the window, Albus estimated he had well over five hours to wait. He heard a stirring across the room, and then an exasperated sigh.

“Philippe?” Albus whispered.

“Yeah. Is that you, Albus?” he replied.

“Yeah. Can’t sleep.”

“Me neither. Hey, let’s go explore.”

“Uh. I don’t know, Philippe. I mean, we haven’t been here very long. We could get lost. Or we could get in trouble. I think we’d better wait.”

“Come on, Albus. That’s the whole point. It’s our first day, so they aren’t going to be too mad at us if they catch us. Anyway, it’s nearly dawn. I doubt anyone’s patrolling the halls now.”

The argument was convincing. Albus slipped into his sneakers, impressing. himself with his ability to tie his shoes in the near pitch-black room, and met Philippe at the door.

“What are we going to say if they catch us?” Albus asked, still worried. He couldn’t help but think that his parents, if not the teachers, would be upset with him if they found out.

Philippe ignored him, slowly opening the creaky door that led to the spiral stairs. “Careful,” he said, as Albus delicately closed the door behind them. The two tip-toed down to the Common Room, which appeared much larger now that it was emptied of chattering students.

“Where are we going to go?” asked Albus, now worrying that this decision may not have been the wisest. What was the purpose in this anyway? He would get to see the castle in daylight in just a few hours. “Listen, I-“

“Let’s go check out the dungeon, you know, where the Slytherins live,” Philippe interrupted. Albus was glad the castle was so dark at night; He didn’t want Philippe to see the fear on his face.



“Listen, let’s just go back,” Albus whispered after Philippe accidentally extinguished their sole candle. The two were meandering down the hall on the second floor, trying to find the staircase that would most efficiently lead them to the dungeon. The school was confusing at best, and nearly un-navigable in the dark.
“Don’t be scared,” said Philippe calmly.

“Shhh,” Albus whispered, his voice wavering.

“Ahem.” The two boys, startled, turned around. A kindly-looking blonde man stood before them with a knowing smile.

“Nev-I mean Professor Long-“ started Albus.

“Hello Albus. You are?” Neville Longbottom turned to Philippe.

“Uh, Philippe. Leroy, sir” he responded sheepishly. Albus was amused by Philippe’s apparent fear.

“Nice to meet you, though I would rather our first introduction be in class, not at four in the morning. I thought you’d be a little wiser, Albus.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what we were-“

“Listen, I understand. You’re excited. It’s your first day. But please know that rules are rules, and as you know in your brother James’ case, a famous family name won’t prevent you from getting in trouble,” the teacher said kindly, though Albus couldn’t help but be disappointed.

He gulped. That was truly one of his biggest fears, that he would be treated differently simply because of his father’s fame and achievements. Albus took great pride in his father’s defeat of Voldemort, but while James seemed to enjoy the attention his last name brought, Albus wasn’t comfortable with the second glances and whispering that followed him everywhere he went. Longbottom must have noticed Albus’ dejected expression.

“I don’t mean to ruin your first day, or first night, rather. Albus, your family has been a great friend to me, and we’ve known each other for a long time. But please keep in mind that I can’t cover for you here at Hogwarts. Just be grateful it’s only the first night, and that it was me, not Professor McGonagall, who caught you two. Trust me, you’d both have a week’s worth of detentions if it were up to her,” the teacher said with a smile. He put his hand on Albus’ shoulder and shook him a little, perhaps hoping a little shake would help him come to his senses.

“Back to bed. I’ll walk you two to the tower.” Albus, relieved and comforted by Longbottom’s kindness, walked alongside the teacher and the still visibly-shaken Philippe.

The trek back seemed much shorter than the search for the dungeon. Only five or so minutes later, the three arrived at the Portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know the password. My days as a Gryffindor student are long gone. Not that I had a knack for remembering them in the first place,” Longbottom said with a smile. Albus chuckled, having heard stories from his father of Longbottom’s impressive forgetfulness.

“Aloe vera,” said Philippe timidly.

The painting swung open, Albus thanked the Professor, and the two boys headed back to their room. By now, it was partially illuminated by the rising sun. Matthew and Julian were still asleep, but Albus decided not to bother getting back in bed. He and Philippe sat on the floor by the head of Albus’ bed.

“I told you we’d get in trouble,” Albus said quietly, smiling. Philippe rolled his eyes and gave him a joking punch on the shoulder. Albus laughed, causing Matthew to stir in his bed. The two sat in near silence for the next two hours or so while flipping through the extra-large September issue of Quidditch Illustrated, hoping not to wake the others.

“Didn’t your dad have an Invisibility Cloak or something?” Philippe asked as the two admired an advertisement for the Nimbus 2400 Platinum Edition. Albus hesitated before answering. Why did people always assume that he’d follow right in his father’s footsteps, or that his dad was somehow different from any other parent?

“Yeah. Why?” Albus replied, though he already knew the answer.

“Well, I mean if we had it, we could sneak out whenever,” Philippe responded timidly.

“First of all, I don’t have it. Neither does James. I don’t even know where it is. My dad just showed it to us a few times when were little, but I’m pretty sure he uses it at work now. And anyway, why would we need to sneak out anymore? Especially since we just got caught.”

“Yeah, I guess. It just seems fun. And aren’t you kind of curious about, you know, the Slytherins?” Philippe asked.

“Why?"

"Because-well-with all the stuff happening at the Ministry...It's always the Slytherins behind it all"


“Not all Slytherins are bad, you know. And honestly, I want to stay out of all that. Let’s just let the Ministry deal with it,” Albus said.

“Yeah, whatever. Trust me, I’m not suggesting we take the guy down ourselves. They don't even know who did it. We can leave the dirty work to our parents. I’m pretty sure they’re experienced in the matter.”

Albus smiled and the two boys turned around as Matthew began waking up with a not so tactful, extremely loud yawn. Seconds later, Julian had also awoken.

“Bloody hell. You’re already awake?” Matthew said to Albus and Philippe.

“Yup,” Albus replied.

“You’re up early. It’s only five thirty!” said Matthew, looking at his watch on his bedside table

“Nah, your watch must be broken. It’s already 7” said Philippe.

“Blimey, I guess it’s good I found that out before classes start. God, I still can’t believe this is all real. You know I dreamed last night that this whole thing was all a dream!” said Matthew.

Albus smiled as he rummaged through his trunk for his uniform robes. His first real day at Hogwarts had begun.

“We’ve only got a few minutes,” said Rose impatiently, eying her watch and her time-table with trepidation. She absolutely refused to be late to her very first class at Hogwarts, but she didn’t want to go alone.

“Rose, seriously,” said Albus as he grabbed another slice of buttered toast, “We’re fine. It’s not going to take us long to get there.” Albus and Rose had been close for years; all the kids in the Potter-Weasley family were friends, much like siblings. The Weasleys often came to visit the Potters, so Albus and Rose had essentially grown up together. Because of their ages, Rose and Albus, just like Hugo and Lily, had been constant play-mates at family gatherings.

“Don’t blame me when we lose points for Gryffindor!” Rose responded. Little did she know that Albus and Philippe had already had a run-in with the law.

Albus finished his breakfast and he, Matthew and Philippe were led out of the Great Hall by Rose, speed-walking in fear that being late to History of Magic would leave a bad impression on Professor Binns.

“You know he’s a ghost, like Nearly Headless Nick?” Albus said to Matthew as Rose led them toward a staircase to the First Floor.

“Who?” Matthew asked.

“Binns. History of Magic.”

Matthew’s eyes widened and he smiled. Albus, however, was not quite as excited for their first class. Upon receiving their timetables early that morning, Albus had been very disappointed to learn not only that the Gryffindor first years’ first class was History of Magic (notoriously boring), but that they would be paired with Slytherin for it.

The five students arrived at the History of Magic classroom just a few minutes later. Rose had studied a map of Hogwarts prior to arrival, and appeared to already know her way around. As they entered the room, Rose was visibly relieved that Professor Binns had not already arrived.

Just seconds later, though, a short, bearded ghost floated through the blackboard at the front of the room. The students rushed to take their seats. Apparently, Rose was not the only student determined to make a good impression.

Albus sat at a table near the back of the room, but far on the right side, next to Philippe. Directly in front of them sat Matthew and Julian, who had arrived on his own before Albus’ group. Rose, of course, had taken a place in the front row. Albus looked to his left, -the Slytherin side, -and to his dismay, realized he was in the same row as Scorpius Malfoy, the pale, blonde son of Draco Malfoy, one of Albus’ father’s enemies. Mr. Potter always tried not to discuss Ministry affairs in front of the kids, but Albus knew that Uncle Ron still held a major grudge against Draco, and Albus had overheard the parents gossiping about the Malfoy family on multiple occasions. Uncle Ron had even warned Rose against befriending Scorpius, who apparently was having trouble making friends anyway; he sat alone at the two-person desk.

“Welcome to History of Magic. Here, you will learn of the most momentous events in wizarding history. This class is lecture and reading-based, and it will be taught chronologically. I expect you all have Bathilda Bagshot’s A History of Magic,” said Professor Binns in a monotone voice as he rifled through a folder, likely looking for the rollbook.

“Ah. Now, we can begin,” he said, and he began calling the roll as Scorpius looked over to his right, noticing Albus for the first time.

“Psst. You’re Albus Potter?” Scorpius said with clear distaste.

“Yeah. Scorpius Malfoy, right?”

Scorpius nodded his head curtly and turned back to face the front of the class, but then immediately leaned over again toward Albus.

“I don’t know what your parents are telling you, but let me make one thing clear: if you start any rumors about my family, you will really regret it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Albus.

“Yes, you do. Don’t play dumb, although with the Weasley blood in you, I guess you probably aren’t going to set the world on fire with your brilliance,” Scorpius said with a smirk. “Present!” he called out to Professor Binns as the teacher reached his name in the roll.

Philippe turned around in his seat, having apparently overheard Scorpius’ threat. “What the hell is he talking about?” he asked.

Albus shrugged. Professor Binns finished taking roll and fished out a large packet of notes from his tattered leather bag.

“I expect you all to take notes. A test on today’s material should not come as a surprise next class,” said Binns.

***


Over the next few days, Albus and the others experienced their first classes at Hogwarts, and while disappointed by the hours and hours of homework, everyone, or at least all the Gryffindor first-years, seemed absolutely in love with school. Especially if Rose was willing to lend a hand with essay-writing.

“You know, it’s really not right, Albus. What if he springs a pop quiz on us or something? Then he’ll realize you aren’t actually doing your own homework, and it’ll be awfully awkward considering he’s been to every single one of your birthday parties and all of our Christmas dinners,” Rose said as she, Albus, Matthew and Philippe sat on the floor of the Gryffindor Common Room (having been kicked out of the comfy love-seats by some seventh-years). Despite her complaining, Rose continued adding the finishing touches to Albus’ thirty-six inch essay on various medicinal plants, having proclaimed his original draft “riddled with mistakes.”

Matthew and Philippe were reviewing Transfiguration together, as Professor McGonagall had warned the first-years that every year, the students were very much under-prepared for their first test. As the two frantically skimmed the textbook’s first chapter, reciting entire sentences to one another in an attempt to ingrain the statements in their minds, Matthew and Philippe had no doubt McGonagall was correct in assuming this years’ test results would be no better than usual.

It was nearly eleven o’clock, and Matthew and Philippe decided their best bet for doing reasonably well on the next day’s test was getting enough sleep; they headed upstairs, leaving Rose and Albus alone in the Common Room. Over the last half-hour, the room had been completely emptied of all students. Albus, who had been reviewing Transfiguration on his own with some flashcards, closed his book and turned to Rose.

“You done with that yet? Seriously, if it’s too good, he’ll know it’s not me,” he laughed, realizing his cousin was still perfecting his Herbology essay.

“Oh, it won’t be too good, Albus. Honestly,” Rose said, proof-reading the conclusion paragraph. Albus snatched the essay out of her hands.

“Seriously, thank you. You saved my life,” Albus said.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t count on this every night,” Rose replied, gathering her materials to go to her own dormitory room. “I’ve got my own work, you know.”

“I know. But after all, Rose, you’re the smartest of all of us. You could probably do this stuff in your sleep. You and your mother could practically be twins,” Albus said with a genuine smile.

“I hate it when people say that,” Rose said huffily, haphazardly grabbing her books and running off toward the staircase without saying goodnight. Albus knew she was mad, but couldn’t quite understand why.

“Hey, wait up. What’s wrong, Rose? Come on, you’re brilliant. You know-“

“Albus, it’s so unfair. Everyone just figures it’s no big deal. Everyone thinks it’s so easy being-being her daughter. I just hate it,” Rose snapped at Albus, stopping on the first step of the spiral staircase.

“What on earth-“

“It’s so frustrating! I mean, I know I’m not dumb, but everyone thinks I have to be just like her. And she’s so insistent on my getting perfect grades. It’s-it’s just not fair. Why can’t-“ Rose said quickly as tears welled up in her eyes. Albus couldn’t believe his ears. Rose had always loved school, even the boring non-magical material Aunt Hermione had taught Rose before Hogwarts. Rose was a bookworm, and everyone joked she would turn out just like her mother.

“Rose, you are smart,” Albus said, pulling his cousin off the first step and sitting her down next to him on a nearby couch.

“I know that. I mean, I really do. But I’m not brilliant. I’m not like her. I don’t care how much time she spent studying; she’s a genius. And I’ll never be good enough. It’s not natural for me, you know. I’m not clever or wit-“

“I find that a little hard to believe, Rose,” Albus said, struck by Rose’s open-ness.

“It’s true. Everything comes so naturally to her,” Rose replied, looking down at her feet.

“Yeah, well, you think you have it bad?” Albus asked.

“What-“

“Oh, come on. My dad’s “the Chosen One”, the “Boy who lived! How do you think I feel?” Albus said. He felt as though a major burden had been lifted from his chest.

“Well-“

“Listen, Rose. You think it’s tough living up to your mum’s brilliance? What about my dad? Everywhere we go, someone’s asking for his signature or thanking him for “what he’s done for mankind.” And they always make some comment about me having a lot to live up to. As though I really needed someone to remind me of it,” Albus ranted on.

“I’m sorry, Albus. I really am. I think we’ve both had a long day,” Rose replied.

Albus nodded his head, startled by his own outburst. He and Rose had a brother-sister relationship, but he couldn’t remember a time when they’d really had a serious conversation.

“Goodnight, Albus. I’m sorry I went crazy on you like that,” Rose said, getting up from the couch and heading off toward the staircase.

“Yeah, me too. ‘Night,” Albus replied as he dragged his tired legs up the other staircase.

“I’m so excited. How much longer?” whispered Albus to Philippe. It was Tuesday of their second week, and the Gryffindor first-years were in their fourth History of Magic class of the school year. At the moment, the only light at the end of the tunnel, given Binns’ unbearably boring lecture on Constantine’s secret alliance with pagan witches, was the thought of the Flying lesson to follow.

“Just eleven more minutes,” replied Philippe. “Make that ten.”

“Shhhhhh” came a nasty voice from the boys’ left. They turned to see Scorpius grinning nastily at Albus. “Some of us are trying to focus, Potter.”

“Oh, please. I can see you’re writing your Potions essay right now,” Albus responded.

Scorpius turned a bluish-gray (perhaps someone that pale and blonde goes blue when blushing) and turned away from Albus and Philippe, who snickered and went back to taking notes.

Ten minutes later, they met Rose and Matthew (who had taken to sitting at the front of the class in an attempt to stay awake) at the door. “I’m going back to my room. I forgot a scarf, and it’s getting a little windy out there,” Rose said, and she left the three boys.

“All set? Let’s go,” said Albus, and led the others out to the Training Grounds. They were some of the first to get there, along with Julian and a few Hufflepuffs. Professor Bell, however, had already arrived and noticed Albus talking with Philippe and Matthew.

“Albus, I’d forgotten you’d be a first-year this year! Let’s hope you’re better than James, huh?” she said. Expectations had been very high for James last year when he arrived at Hogwarts, particularly in terms of Quidditch. Albus’ dad had spent nearly every weekend with the boys since James was seven or so, trying to teach them to fly. Over the years, James made essentially no improvement, and Bell, a former team-mate of Albus’ dad’s, was shocked by his lack of skill. She really didn’t expect much from Albus given James’ inability.

Albus simply smiled. He couldn’t claim to be as studious as Rose, as popular as James or quite as good-looking as Fred (Uncle George’s eldest son), but Albus was a damn good flier, and he was excited to prove himself. Philippe had played with his fair share of toy broomsticks as a kid, but definitely didn’t enjoy flying as much as Albus. Still, Philippe wasn’t a huge fan of lectures, reading or writing, and the notion of a class outside, away from books and blackboards, was a welcome notion. Matthew, who was still reeling at the idea of grown men riding around on broomsticks, was practically shaking with anticipation. Finally, the other Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors arrived, including Rose. She appeared unconcerned with nearly being late to this class. Albus couldn’t help but laugh to himself; he knew she felt a Flying lesson was far inferior to any other class. In addition, Rose was terrified of heights. Last year at Easter, Rose had thrown a complete hissy fit when Teddy Lupin levitated her as a joke.

“First-years, please come pick up a broomstick and line up horizontally,” Professor Bell yelled over the excited chatter. All the students, with the notable exception of Rose and a few equally nervous Hufflepuffs, rushed to grab a broomstick. Once he picked his up, Albus joined the line alongside Rose, Matthew and Philippe.

Bell then instructed the students to order their brooms “up” into their hands, but Albus, Philippe and a Hufflepuff girl were the only successful ones. Most brooms simply vibrated against the grass or popped up for a second off the ground. Albus noticed Rose hadn’t even bothered saying “up”, and he suspected she secretly wanted to not try flying at all. After ten minutes or so, though, everyone, even Rose, managed to mount their brooms. Bell then instructed them to kick off, hover a few feet above the ground, and return. Most of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs managed this task, though Rose chickened out and landed her broomstick before she even got three feet off the ground.

“Not too bad. Not bad at all, actually. Let’s see, Albus, Philippe, Julian, Peter, Sam, Angela, and, maybe even Theresa, I’d like you all to try going a little further. Push off as you just did, reach twenty feet above ground or so, and then land over there,” Bell said, pointing across the field. “Hannah, maybe you’d like to try, too. The rest of you, it looks like we’ve got more work to do. Let’s try the last exercise again. You’ll get the hang of it. Even students from wizarding families struggle with flying, isn’t that right, Rose?”

Rose blushed, and felt humiliated even though she knew her teacher meant well. Albus shoved her lightly on the shoulder. “Oh shut up! Don’t expect any help with your homework later on!” she snapped.

Albus and the others performed their task, and Rose heard many of her fellow flying-failures comment on Albus’ skill. As he and the others whizzed about the field, she and most of the Muggle-borns worked with Bell on the basics. After an hour or so, she dismissed the class, and Albus and his friends headed back to the castle.

“Looks like you aren’t so brilliant at everything, Rose,” Philippe said jokingly. Albus studied Rose’s face carefully, hoping she would not take offense at the playful comment.

“There are plenty of skills more useful than flying, Phil, as my Mum says,” Rose replied, apparently undeterred by the joke.

“She only says that because she can’t fly,” Phil laughed.



As the four walked back toward the Gryffindor Common Room, they passed by Scorpius on the Ground Floor near the entrance to the Hufflepuff dormitories, looking his usual sullen, solitary self. Rose smiled as a peace offering; she had privately admitted to Albus that she felt bad for Scorpius. After all, his family had been shamed and villanized for years, and he had made essentially no friends at Hogwarts, even within his House. Most Slytherins, it seemed, didn’t want to be associated with the Malfoy name, a family known for weaseling its way out of Azkaban and switching loyalties at the drop of a hat.

Scorpius, however, wasn’t interested in amiable relations with the Weasley clan. He gave Rose a look of great distaste, and hurried past the group as fast as possible, heading straight in the direction of the Hufflepuff rooms. “What on earth’s he doing here?” Philippe asked.

“You could ask the same of us. We aren’t Hufflepuffs either, you know,” Rose pointed out.


***


“She can really be so bossy,” Philippe said as he filled his plate with another stack of Belgian waffles at breakfast the next day. Rose had been particularly irritating the night prior, forcing the three boys to finish their Potions reading before proceeding with a particularly “disruptive and inane” game of wizard’s chess. Refusing to help them with the assignment, Matthew, Philippe and Albus were forced to stay up until three finishing homework. Needless to say, the lack of sleep had put them in a bad mood.

“Yeah, tell me about it. She’s always been tha-“ Albus began, but was cut off by the arrival of Rose.

“Oh, here are the owls,” exclaimed Rose as she took a seat next to her cousin. Albus’, a snowy owl named Lonessa, dropped a letter directly next to his fried egg. He ripped it open and read aloud:

Dear Albus,

We hope everything’s going well at school, and that you’re adjusting nicely to life at Hogwarts. How are your classes? Do you have a favorite yet? I hope you’ve gone down to visit Hagrid, and please tell him, and Professors Longbottom, Bell and McGonagall, for that matter, that we say hello!

Your sister Lily seems to be adjusting to life as an only-child quite well. She’s definitely enjoying the attention, and especially loves that she gets first dibs on the crusty brownie pieces. Anyway, I’m sure you’re having a wonderful time, and making some great friends. I know it seems a long ways away, but please know that you’re more than welcome to invite a few over for the Christmas holiday if you’d like. We’ve already got the Weasleys coming, so a few extra mouths to feed won’t really make a difference.

I hate to nag, but your father and I would really love for you to write. Your Aunt Hermione said she’s already received three letters from Rose. Perhaps you could take a page out of her book, rather than James’. Thankfully, no reports of any mischief-making on your part yet, not that I really expected any. Apparently James has already managed two practical jokes on Neville. I really wish he’d stop it; it makes the situation awkward for your father and me. Speaking of your dad, he’s very busy with work lately, and only comes home one or two days of the week. Everything’s pretty hectic with the Ministry at the moment, but please don’t worry about any of that. Just focus on your schoolwork.

Lots of love,
Mum

“How many times have I told you to write?” Rose laughed as she spread jam on a piece of toast. “Some of us have better things to do,” Albus replied.

“Like what, putting off doing homework? What’d you get, Matthew?” she asked. Matthew was ripping open a brown cardboard box roughly the size of a bread loaf.

“Oh, sweet! It’s my Mum’s fudge! And she sent me a signed Ryan Giggs t-shirt as an early birthday gift! He’s the best-“

“Who?” Albus asked, assuming Matthew must be referencing some Muggle politician or celebrity.

“Ryan Giggs. Of Manchester United. Please tell me you know about Manchester United,” Matthew said in disbelief, launching into a ten-minute rant on English football and his favorite team.

“Hey! Look at this! Just arrived!” Julian exclaimed, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in the air. All the first-year Gryffindors gasped; Julian had hardly voiced a single word since arriving at Hogwarts.

“Merlin’s beard!” Rose cried out, looking over Julian’s shoulder at the newspaper headline, which read:

Ministry Falling Apart: Anonymous Directorate Established
With the murder of Minister Jordan just over a year ago and the attack on Minister Boot this July, a vote by all current employees of the Ministry of Magic has decided not to elect a new Minister for the time being. Rather, a group of top Ministry officials from various departments, who will remain anonymous outside of the Ministry, has been selected as the Directorate, with ruling power over the Minsitry. Their identities will remain unknown, and for the time being, the headquarters in London will remain closed.

The Daily Prophet has been in communication with the Press Secretary of the Directorate, who issued the following statement to us for publication:

“We urge the entire wizarding world, particularly those in the United Kingdom, to remain calm and collected in this time of upheaval. Though this change in government appears radical, it is purely a short-term solution, and the Ministry has plans to return to its traditional governance once this situation is dealt with. The culprit behind the attacks on the Ministers of Magic have not been identified, and any link between these crimes has not been proven. Again, first and foremost, the Ministry’s main priority and function is the protection of the wizarding world. We assure you that all witches and wizards are perfectly safe if they follow common sense and wizarding law.”

“What on Earth? I didn’t know the Minister’d been attacked!” Matthew squealed.

“How did you not know that?” Albus asked. “I thought you read up on the magical world or whatever before coming to school?”

“I did, but I read A Wizard's History from Pre-History to 2000. It was on clearance at Flourish and Blottes,” Matthew explained. “And anyway, I sort of only skimmed it. It was pretty thick.”

“Well, basically, Minister Jordan, a former classmate of our parents’, was found dead in his office early in the morning the spring before last. Then, his successor, Minister Boot, was attacked at his home in August; his wife’s memory was obliviated, so they don’t know who broke in. He’s still at St. Mungo’s, and only came back to consciousness in late August. They don’t know if he’ll ever be able to function normally,” Rose explained.

“Is that, normal, for the Ministry to-to just shut down, like that?” Matthew asked.

“No. Not at all. Everyone’s very worried. Especially since they have no idea who did it,” Albus replied. He sighed and sat back in his seat on the bench. He looked up from the table, and directly across the Great Hall, he saw Scorpius Malfoy staring at him. The two locked eyes, and Scorpius hurriedly chugged his remaining orange juice and sprinted out of the Great Hall.

As the weeks progressed and the first-years grew accustomed to their classes, the weather took a drastic turn for the worse; by the opening match of the Hogwarts Quidditch season on November fourth, between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, the spectators could see their breath as they huddled together for warmth in the stands.

“I really don’t see why we bothered coming. The weather’s awful, and everybody knows Gryffindor’ll win, anyway,” Rose complained as the students took their seats just prior to the beginning of the game. She clearly would have rather spent her Saturday morning in the cozy Gryffindor Common Room with a book.

“That’s the point, Rose. We’re obviously going to win! And besides, it’s our first Hogwarts Quidditch game. Why wouldn’t you want to be here?” Albus asked as he took the seat Matthew had been saving for him.

“Well, I just hope it’s not too long. I’m about to freeze to death,” Rose mumbled. Albus rolled his eyes and sat forward in his seat as the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff teams walked out onto the field. Minutes later, the game had started.


***

A deafening roar came from the Hufflepuff stands as Seeker Jennifer Chancess held the Snitch above her head in victory. As the Hufflepuffs celebrated their win, the defeated Gryffindors quietly left the stands, embarrassed and infuriated by the unbelievable defeat.

“Merlin’s beard! I can’t believe we just lost!” Albus exclaimed as he, Matthew, Philippe and Rose headed back up to the Common Room. The match had been surprisingly short, and the final score was 10-160. Each team had made just one goal prior to the Snitch being caught in a move most Gryffindors considered pure luck on Jennifer Carroll’s part; apparently, the fourth-year had never even come close to catching the Snitch in her two years of competitive play at Hogwarts.

“It’s not even noon yet. What are we supposed to do all day?” Rose asked.

“I thought you didn’t even want to go,” Albus pointed out.

“Well, oh, never mind, Albus,” Rose replied as Albus, Matthew and Philippe giggled.
“It really looked like Jeremy Bucket wasn’t even looking for the Snitch. He just kept an eye on the Bludgers the entire time,” Albus said in reference to the Gryffindor Seeker.

“It’s a shame. The rest of the team’s so good. If only we had a better Seeker,” Philippe pointed out as the four arrived back at the Gryffindor Common Room. In anticipation of their expected win, some third-years had gotten up early to decorate the Common Room with a “Congratulations” banner and red and gold streamers. The four, along with a few other students that had arrived early back at the Common Room, began taking down the decorations, hurrying to remove all signs of celebration before the dejected team returned to the castle.

***

Classes continued as normal, though the first-years were infuriated by the ever increasing amount of homework; it seemed the teachers were piling on work in anticipation of the upcoming Christmas holiday. Still, between History of Magic essays and frequent Potions tests, the fall seemed to fly by.

“You forgot this,” Albus said as he tossed a hopefully clean sock over toward Philippe. The students were packing to head home for the holidays, and, as usual, Albus and the other boys had left this task until the very last minute. The Hogwarts Express would be leaving in just under two hours, but Albus, Philippe and Matthew had each barely sorted through the piles and piles of clothing strewn around the room, filtering dirty from clean, school clothes from home clothes. The three heard a knock on the door to their dormitory.

“Merlin’s beard, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Rose exclaimed as she tentatively opened the door to the room, perhaps expecting a dragon made out of dirty clothes and candy wrappers to engulf her as she caught sight of the room’s disarray. “I thought you guys were packing last night!”

“Yeah. Well, that didn’t quite happen,” Albus said as he sat atop his bed, which was covered in random articles of clothing, throwing any winter gear he could find into the open trunk that lay on the floor.

“You know the train’s leaving at elev--“ Rose pointed out.

“Yes,” Albus interrupted. “We do.”

Rose rolled her eyes and gave Albus a look of great annoyance, but he was too busy searching for last year’s Weasley sweater to notice. Feeling a little pity, she decided to help. “How about I bring you some breakfast up from the Great Hall? That way you can just continue packing,” Rose said, turning to leave.

“Thanks,” Philippe and Matthew said simultaneously. Once the door shut, Philippe looked over toward Albus. “Sure is a moody one, isn’t she?” he asked.

“Yeah, but that’s just how she is. It can be irritating----“ Albus replied.

“Trust me, I know,” Philippe interrupted. “But I’d have to say, she’s grown on me. I could hardly stand her at the beginning of the year.”

Albus laughed. He couldn’t help but wonder if Philippe had a thing for Rose.

***

“Here, let me give you a hand with that,” Mr. Potter said, taking Rose’s suitcase from her as she, Albus, James, Victoire and Philippe arrived at the Potters’ doorstep in Godric’s Hollow, accompanied by Albus’ father, who had picked the five up from King’s Cross. Matthew, though invited to celebrate with the Potters, had returned to his home to spend time with his own family. There was still a week until Christmas, and the remaining family members, including the rest of Rose and Victoire’s family, as well as some of the other Weasleys and Philippe’s parents, would be arriving over the next few days. Thankfully, Mr. Potter had erected a “small” house in the backyard of their modestly sized home, much like the tent he had used in the year prior to the Great Battle; though the house was merely the size of a storage shed from the outside, its interior included six bedrooms and five bathrooms, along with a kitchenette (which the mothers planned to use for all the Christmas desserts, given that the Potter’s real oven would be used for the bird).

“Hi everyone!” Mrs. Potter called, emerging from the real house’s kitchen as the group entered the foyer, her baby blue apron and fiery red hair sprinkled with flour. “I’ve missed you so much, Al!” she exclaimed, running over to her youngest son and kissing him on the forehead. “You, too, of course,” she said to James. Lily appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, sticking her tongue out at James, who said “Mum! She’s already bugging---“

“Oh, come on, James, she’s your little sister. Be nice,” Mr. Potter warned James with a stern look, not wanting any sibling drama to tarnish what should be a perfect holiday season. “How are you all doing? Philippe? Getting taller, I see. Soon you’ll be towering over my boy James here,” Mr. Potter said with a smile, referencing James’ height, well above average for his age.

“We’ll be eating dinner in about an hour. How about you all get settled in in the meantime? I think we’ll have you, Philippe, room with Albus, just to simplify things. Dominique’ll be with you, Lily. Rose and Victoire, you’ll be together in the little house outside, just pick whichever room you like. The beds and everything are all set to go,” Mrs. Potter said as she rushed back to the kitchen to keep an eye on her shepherd’s pie.
Rose and Victoire (Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur’s eldest) left for the backyard, accompanied by Albus and Philippe, who offered to take their bags. “It’s going to be so crowded this year. Normally, my dad’s brothers and their kids don’t come for Christmas,” Rose commented.

“Yeah, it’s going to be crazy. Crazy delicious,” Albus joked as he exaggerated a big sniff of the scrumptious smell wafting from his mother’s kitchen.

***

With a bustling houehold, hours of cleaning, eating and wizard’s chess-playing, the entire family finally breathed a huge sigh of relief once Christmas dinner was over. While the adults scattered across the house to help clean up, Albus, Rose and Philippe took off for the living room, needing a seat to recover from the feast.

“I haven’t even started studying yet,” Rose said after a few moments of blissful silence, with Christmas music emanating from the dining room and the soft glow of the lit Christmas tree in the corner illuminating the otherwise dark room.

“What are you talking about?” Philippe asked.

“Exams, of course. We’re in the second half of the year now, and the finals will be cumulative, so---“

“You’re mad, Rose. You know that? Seriously mad,” Philippe replied, rolling his eyes. He and Albus had every intention of cramming solely the night before each final exam, though it wasn’t surprising that Rose was already preparing for the tests. “I’m about to pop a button on my pants. I’m going to go change into some pajamas, I think. The pie was worth it, though,” Philippe said, turning to leave for the house out back.

“I’ll change, too,” Rose said, leaving Albus alone in the living room. About five minutes later, he heard a voice from the doorway behind him.

“Harry, I know you don’t want to talk business today, but we’ve got to tell the Leroys what we’ve learned. Pascale is leaving early tomorrow morning, so this is really---“ Uncle Ron abruptly stopped as Albus turned around to face him in the loveseat. “I’m sorry, Al. I thought you were your Dad. Never mind,” Uncle Ron continued, looking embarrassed and somewhat nervous as his face quickly reddened to match his hair. He immediately left the room, and Albus knew something was fishy.

About five minutes later, after explaining the situation to Philippe and Rose, the three found themselves with their ears plastered against the wall of the living room, adjacent to the kitchen, where the adults were talking.

“So the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation thinks they saw who it was?” Mrs. Leroy asked.

“Apparently. Tall, dark brown hair, pale skin. Had never seen him before,” Albus’ father replied in a hushed tone.

“I thought there were no witnesses,” Mr. Leroy, pointed out.

“I thought so, too. Apparently, Josephine had left her watch in her office that day when she left, and she was just about to leave for a family vacation, so she needed to go back to get it. She returned to the Ministry at around four in the morning or so; she said their family portkey was leaving for Bermuda at six. When she got to the Ministry, the whole place was, unsurprisingly, deserted. But on her way out, she saw a man walking in the general direction of the Minister’s office,” Albus’ father explained.

“But why didn’t she come forward earlier. It’s been a year! And that still doesn’t explain why the Minister was there,” Mrs. Leroy said.

“I presume she didn’t want to get involved,” Uncle Ron said.

“That’s what she told me. And as for why Lee was even there at four, I have no idea. But we’ve got to find this guy,” Albus’ father said. “There’s got to be more than this to the story. Something’s ver. People don’t just go sneaking around Ministry headquarters at dawn. And we still don’t have any possible motive for Lee’s murder. And then, of course, there’s the question of Terry,” he continued.

“Do we have any profiles on criminals that sound like this man? Any ideas whatsoever as to who this might be?” Mrs. Leroy asked.

“Nothing. I mean, the reality is, we haven’t seen such high profile murders since, well, since we were kids,” Albus’ father said tentatively. An awkward moment of silence came over the group. Albus, Rose and Philippe could feel the tension from behind the wall.

“I have a feeling there’s a connection. Why would two consecutive ministers be attacked like this, by different attackers. It just doesn’t make sense. Anyway, we need to discuss this further as soon as the holiday’s over. At least now we have some information about the suspect. Ron and I’ll just be focusing on this case until, well, until everything’s all sorted out,” Albus’ father continued.

“Yes. When can we meet next?” Mr. Leroy asked.

“A week from tomorrow? My place? The kids’ll be off at school by then. Except for the little ones, of course,” Uncle Ron responded.

Albus, Philippe and Rose heard murmurs of agreement. As the footsteps of those in the kitchen grew louder, the three sprinted over to the couch opposite the Potters’ fireplace, sitting down just as Uncle Ron and his lifelong best friend entered the living room with surprisingly jovial expressions.

“What have you been up to?” Albus’ father asked cheerfully. Albus was impressed with his change in demeanor in a matter of sheer seconds.

“Oh, nothing. Just trying to digest,” Rose replied, a little too eagerly.

“I sympathize,” Uncle Ron responded with a smile, rubbing his belly.

“To think we were actually excited about coming back,” Albus joked as he, Philippe and Matthew sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, hurriedly finishing their breakfast while completing a Herbology essay that was due in just under fifteen minutes. While the students were happy to have returned to Hogwarts after the Christmas holiday, all of them, non of them, not even Rose, were rejoicing in the demanding workload. It was mid-January, and the relaxing Christmas break seemed years ago.

“Where’s Rose?” Philippe asked. “She’s always here before us.”

“I dunno. It is sort of odd,” Albus replied. The three boys waited at the table for another ten minutes or so, waiting for Rose to show up, before heading off to Greenhouse Two. Just as they were walking through the door, Albus felt someone grab his shoulder and yank him a few feet back away from his friends. It was his brother, accompanied by Rose. James’ eyes were bloodshot, and Rose looked pale and nervous, as though she might be sick. “Professor McGonagall just pulled us aside before breakfast; she couldn’t find you,” she explained. “Your Dad’s gone missing.”

***
That night, Albus and James sat in silence in the Potters’ living room with Mrs. Potter, Roses’ parents and Lily, who was just old enough to understand the true gravity of the situation; as an accomplished Auror, the children could surmise their father’s disappearance was more than an Apparition mishap.

Mrs. Potter’s delicate face was swollen and red, and Albus assumed she had been crying earlier. Now though, with the children present and nearly the entire family present, she sat in silence, her bubbly, fiery personality quashed by Mr. Potter’s disappearance. As she sat in her family’s home surrounded by reminders of her husband including pictures from their wedding day and the family portrait above the fireplace, she appeared to grow more distraught by the second. “You three should go to bed,” Uncle Ron said quietly, and Albus, James and Lily headed up the stairs to their rooms.

Albus could not believe it. His father was missing, gone. His father, the genius, the “Chosen One”: courageous, talented and celebrated around the world. He had tracked and imprisoned Death Eaters, restored the Ministry to its former glory and corruption-free political transparency within five years after the end of the Second War, and, most famously, defeated history’s darkest wizard when he was just seventeen. Though he refused to discuss work matters in front of the children, Albus was never surprised to see his father return with a few scratches after “work”. Still, he had never really considered the possibility that his father might be kidnapped, seriously injured, or, Albus shuddered at the thought, killed.

Rather than entering his room, Albus knelt by the landing of the staircase, allowing himself a partial view of the left side of the living room. He could see his mother’s lower body, as well as both of the Weasleys, and could make out their conversation if he listened closely.

“I don’t know how much he’s told you, Ginny,” Uncle Ron said.

“Nothing, really. I know he’s been working on that case with you,” Mrs. Potter replied weakly.

“Yeah. Well, he told me he thought he had found the man. He wasn’t sure, but he wanted to investigate the spot where he thought he might be,” Uncle Ron said.

“Who?” Mrs. Potter asked.

“We believe it’s a man by the name of Tuernius. We don’t have a last name, but after searching Minister Boot’s home last week, we found a note we had missed before. This,” Uncle Ron said, handing Mrs. Potter a small, crumpled piece of paper, “was found behind the oven. It must have gotten lodged back there during the attack. Clearly, he wanted whoever found Boot and his wife to get the note.” There was silence for about thirty seconds as, Albus assumed, his mother read the note.

“Oh my God. This can’t be true,” Mrs. Potter said, handing the note back to Mr. Weasley as though the paper was contaminated. Albus, though he could not see his mother’s face, could tell she was tearing up, her voice shaky and feeble, a state he was not accustomed to seeing his mother in.

“Yes, but this does explain a lot. We suspect this Tuernius man was behind Lee’s murder, as well,” Uncle Ron said.

“You don’t think he knows about-about you all-“ Mrs. Potter began.

“We don’t know. He might, but he might not just as easily. After all, Harry isn’t exactly a random target. He’s popular, well-known. Many would say he’s a more influential figure than the Minister of Magic. Honestly, it’s not that surprising Harry would be the next to-“ Uncle Ron’s voice trailed off as Albus heard a whimper-like son of Aunt Hermione. It was remarkable how differently his family, particularly his uncle and mother, were acting; Uncle Ron was incredibly optimistic and far from cynical. Albus had never witnessed his uncle so emotional, so clearly confused and shocked.

“But he’s not- No. He’s not dead. He can’t be. He’s fine,” Mrs. Potter said, clearly trying to comfort herself, rather unconvincingly. Albus saw his Aunt Hermione get up from her seat and wrap her arm around his mother.

“Ron’s doing all he can, Ginny. I’m sure we’ll find him. I liked Lee very much, but honestly, Harry is much more capable. He can defend himself. He’ll be fine,” Aunt Hermione said, though she too sounded uncharacteristically unsure.

Albus got up, not wanting to hear anymore. While he had suspected there was something fishy about his father’s disappearance, this Tuernius man sounded downright evil. Attacking two Ministers? Killing one? And now his father was gone after heading off to hunt the man down? Had his father’s good luck run out? His Dad had always said that many of his victories, even over Voldemort, were a result of luck and significant help.

And then there was that note. While Albus, like his mother, had a sense of sheer repulsion at the thought of Tuernius, he wanted nothing more than to read that paper. Of course, getting his hands on it would be nearly impossible, as his uncle had returned it to the inside pocket of his jacket.

***

Albus and James remained at the Potter household for the next three days, awkwardly avoiding conversation about their father when their mother was around. Albus kept a constant eye on his uncle, who only left the house a few hours a day, trying to find a moment to take the note from the pocket. Unfortunately, it seemed Uncle Ron kept his jacket on nearly always, and when it wasn’t on him, it was lying on a chair within his eyesight.

Saturday arrived, and after much convincing from the Weasleys, Albus’ mother agreed to let the boys return to Hogwarts: No real progress or new information (that they were willing to tell the boys, at least) had surfaced, and there was no use in them missing any more school.

Uncle Ron offered to bring them to school by side-along Apparition into Hogsmeade, from which they would walk up to the castle. After a depressing morning of teary goodbyes, Albus, James and Uncle Ron arrived right in front of the Three Broomsticks. The boys had never been to Hogsmeade, a privilege only third-years and above were given. “You two hungry? We’re a little early, and there’s no real rush to get you to school. And I sure wouldn’t mind a little food,” Uncle Ron said with a weak smile, gesturing them toward the inn.

The three took a table near the middle of the room. It was warm, and quite full, packed with middle-aged wizards enjoying a weekend lunch and drink or two. They each ordered a butterbeer, and Albus settled on fish and chips, while James and his uncle chose bangers and mash.

“I’m sure you boys aren’t having an easy time right now, but don’t worry too much. Harry’ll be fine. He’s a great wizard, you know that, and he’ll be fine. Just fine,” Uncle Ron said as he stuffed potatoes into his mouth. James looked mildly reassured, but Albus’ mind was still restless, and he knew that while his uncle was attempting to put on a brave face, he was extremely worried about his best friend and brother-in-law. Albus was frustrated with how his uncle, mother and even his aunt were treating him and James, as though they couldn’t handle the truth, and needed to be babied. Albus felt he’d rather see his uncle distraught and worried, as he had been with Mrs. Potter and Aunt Hermione just a few days earlier. Albus felt this false confidence and belief that his father would surely turn up just fine was ingenuine and near insulting.

“Uncle Ron, do you know who might have done this?” Albus asked sweetly, hoping his uncle would present him with the note and a full explanation of the situation.

“No, we don’t really know anything,” Uncle Ron said as he took a swig from his frothy butterbeer. No such luck.