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.
Written in the Stars by ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor
Chapter Notes:Wonderful chapter art has been supplied for this particular section by the superbly talented Dinny/Evora.
http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a322/AvsNo26Rocks/Written%20in%20the%20Stars%20Chapter%20Art%20by%20Dinny/Scan7.jpg
Chapter Endnotes: Thoughts? I daresay that this is not the last meeting between Snape and Albus.