Albus did, indeed, find Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington where Snape had said he would be. In his haste to put as much distance between himself and the horrid ex-Headmaster, he nearly bypassed the ghost.
“Say, young man,” Sir Nicholas said, grabbing Albus’s attention, “what brings a young one such as yourself out at this hour? Hopefully not anything—“
When Albus stopped to look at Sir Nicholas, the spectre started. “Oh, you’re not that one. You must be Albus.”
Glaring, Albus mumbled, “Definitely not that one.”
With a flip of his hand, Sir Nicholas said, “Never mind that. Are you lost, dear boy?”
“You have no idea,” Albus said. “I’ve been lost for hours, and I would really just love to get to bed sometime before dawn.”
Sir Nicholas nodded, causing his barely attached head to flap on its flesh hinge. The sight made Albus cringe. “Right this way,” the spirit said, pointing down a corridor at a flight of stairs. “Follow me, young man.”
Albus followed the ghost, trying very hard not to let himself come in contact with him. One of the things that Harry had warned him about was that walking through ghosts was like being drenched in ice water. The description of the experience was sufficient enough for Albus to never want to find out firsthand what it felt like.
This point would probably have been an advantageous opportunity to ask Sir Nicholas questions, since he had inhabited the halls of the school for over five hundred years. However, it had to have been past midnight, and his mind was too fogged over with frustration and fatigue to think of anything relevant, anyway.
At last, they came to a stop in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait, which Albus recognised by both his parents’ descriptions and the facsimile in Hogwarts: A History. Sir Nicholas left him there, as it had been his final destination, and Albus stared at the portrait, waiting for it to open.
It took some time before Albus realised that he could stare until the end of time, and she would still not let him in; he did not have the password. The Fat Lady big her lip and shrugged sympathetically. He did not think that entreating her nicer side would help, but it could not hurt to try.
“Um, please, Miss, I would really like to go to bed now.” Albus imparted the tale of his fall on the stairs and subsequent parting from the group, though he did leave out his encounter with Snape.
“I’m sorry, love, but the rules are the rules. I simply can’t let you in without the password.” The Fat Lady really did look sorry that she had to say ‘no’, but judging by the tone in her voice, there was no changing her mind.
Resigned to sit outside the portrait hole until someone could either let him in or give him the password, Albus sat on the floor and leant his head against the cool stone. It was beginning to get chilly, and the hole in his trouser leg left his abraded skin exposed to it. The relief from the nagging pain afforded Albus calmness that he had not felt in hours, possibly even all day.
His eyelids slowly began to droop as the pressures of the day wore off. It had to get up early the next day, and it was far too late for him. About five minutes into this unintentional slumber, however, he was interrupted by the sound of one angry voice and at least two others. The fog had not worn off enough for Albus to distinguish whose was whose.
As the voices came closer, more and more of it became intelligible. The louder, more irritated voice was most definitely Professor Vector, and two of the softer ones were Neville and Elijah. Albus opened his eyes to peek at the oncoming group. Rose was there, as well, but she was silent and staring at her shoes. That look was one that he had seen before, and it meant that she was in trouble.
Abruptly, the voices stopped, and Albus’s partially opened eyes correlated this with the moment they realised that he was there. Neville looked relieved, Elijah seemed proud that he had managed to get back on his own, and Rose was not making eye contact with anyone. Professor Vector, on the other hand, had an expression that Albus had never seen before, but he was pretty sure that he did not want to see ever again.
“Mister Potter, where have you been?!” Professor Vector’s arms were crossed, and her foot was tapping on the floor impatiently.
“I got lost,” Albus said simply.
Professor Vector scoffed. “Likely story. I know what lot you come from, and I highly doubt it had anything to do with getting ‘lost’.” She practically spat out the last word.
Albus cringed. Somehow, in the span of one day, he had managed to alienate and anger the Deputy Headmistress, and he was not even sure how he had done it. He did not even know what he was supposed to say. Should he apologise, or was he meant to sit there and let her berate him until she ran out of insults? He was fairly certain of one thing, and it was that he had no desire to provoke her ire further. So, he decided to do nothing.
When Albus did not say anything, Professor Vector turned to Neville. “Professor Longbottom, can I be assured that you will take care of these miscreants properly?”
Neville nodded solemnly. “Yes, ma’am. These three will get exactly what they deserve.”
The three children gulped when they heard this. Albus had silently hoped that Neville would act as a buffer to keep them from being punished too severely by Professor Vector, but he was still a teacher and had his duties to fulfil.
With a nod of approval, Professor Vector swept away down the stairs. When she was well out of sight, Neville turned to the trio next to him. “If you three could follow me, please.”
Quietly, Albus, Rose, and Elijah followed Neville, dread entrenched in every step. Somehow, being in big trouble on their very first night at school had never been part of the master plan. The mere idea of it made Albus slightly queasy. How was he supposed to explain this to his parents?
Though none of them had a clue where they were, it was obvious that they were headed in the direction of the Great Hall, which was nowhere near Gryffindor Tower. Elijah ventured to do what neither Albus nor Rose dared.
“Say, where are we going, anyway?”
Neville smiled. “You’ll see.”
Albus was confused. He had just told Professor Vector that the three of them would get ‘exactly what they deserved’, but there seemed to be no malice or anything unkind that would agree with the former. Either his ‘uncle’ had a sadistic side that none of them knew about or they were not in nearly as much hot water as they thought they were.
Eventually, they ended up passing the Great Hall and stopping at an odd portrait of fruit. They watched in curiosity as Neville scratched on one of the pears in the picture. An odd giggle resonated through the empty passage, and the portrait swung open.
Inside, there were scores of house elves, cooking, cleaning, and washing up. Albus had never seen so many elves in one place, all cheerily buzzing about, doing their typical domestic chores.
“Cool,” Elijah said, grinning stupidly at where they were.
Rose, however, was scowling. “I hope these elves are getting paid.”
Chuckling, Neville said, “Merlin, you sound like Hermione!” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “No worries, Rose. Every single one of these elves are being paid above standard minimum wage.”
Elijah cocked his head to the side. “But how did you get them to actually take it? My dad can hardly get our elf to take a few Knuts, let alone that much.”
“Oh, Rose’s mum made sure that taking wages was part of the job requirement.”
“And rightly so,” Rose added. “They’re intelligent beings with feelings and individual thoughts.”
Neville held up his hands in mock surrender. “No need to convince me. I’m on their side.” When he was sure that Rose was done haranguing about elf rights, he gestured toward a table in the corner. “Now, if you could all take a seat.”
The group sat in the chairs surrounding the little table, and, immediately, an elf in an old but clean dress rushed toward them.
“Can Winky get you anything, sirs and miss?”
“Yes, Winky,” Neville said. “Could I trouble you for a round of hot chocolate and some of those Yorkshire puddings from dinner? Those were fantastic.”
Winky nodded, causing her overlarge ears to flap like bat wings. Albus was fairly certain that their house elf could never look so ridiculous. Pinky was much more articulate and prim.
As if Neville could sense the subject of Albus’s thoughts, he asked, “Albus, did you know that Winky here is your elf Pinky’s mother?”
Both Rose and Albus did a double take. “Are you serious?” Rose asked before Albus could form the words on his tongue.
“Absolutely,” Neville said. “Your mum was one of the people who got Winky the help she needed after Barty Crouch gave her clothes. In return for the kindness to his mother, Pinky offered his services to the family. Hermione didn’t need any extra help, but Harry took him, instead.”
Albus nodded in approval. “He’s a right good help, too. That does make me feel bad.” At the questioning look, he elaborated, “I sort of Dungbomb-ed James’s room before we left. Pinky probably had to clean that up.” Albus did feel ashamed of that fact. He would have felt much more satisfied with the deed in the end had James had to clean it up himself. Not that he would.
Neville laughed. “Oh, don’t worry about that. That’s simple stuff. Pinky could clean that up in five seconds flat. If I were you, I would worry more about what your parents have to say about that.”
“Oh, Dad didn’t care, and James did have it coming.”
At that point, the chocolate and desserts had arrived, bringing a comfortable silence to the group. Once they had ploughed through an entire tray of the puddings and emptied a pitcher of the cocoa, all three children started wondering what was supposed to happen next.
Elijah, the bravest thus far, dared to ask. “This is great and all, but do you mind if I ask what we’re doing here? I thought we were supposed to be in trouble or something.”
“Oh, that,” Neville said absently. “I just need Professor Vector to think that I’m lecturing you good and proper, so if you’re back in a few minutes, she’ll do it herself. I think chocolate and pudding is much more pleasant than the Arithmancy office. That crazy abacus thing that she has freaks me out.”
The kids laughed at Neville’s admission, but Rose sobered quickly. “But won’t she know that we didn’t get detention or anything?”
“I have to give you detention,” Neville said. “She’d have my…head mounted on her wall if I didn’t. But your detention will be with me, so I don’t foresee any problems.”
Albus sighed in relief. “Oh, thank Merlin!” Just as the exclamation slipped out, he slapped his hand over his mouth.
Smiling, Neville clapped Albus on the shoulder. “No need to worry. I know what happened, and I don’t think you should be punished for an accident, especially on your first night. Just make sure you don’t all go mucking about at ridiculous hours like your parents did.”
Elijah snorted derisively. “Ha! My dad never did anything interesting! He’s like a dotty old man half the time. He thinks brooms are too dangerous.”
“Brooms are dangerous, Elijah,” Rose said simply. “Only a maniac would trust their safety to a stick flying hundreds of feet in the air.”
Albus nodded in agreement, which left Neville shaking his head. “How you two came out of the same gene pool as Harry, Ginny, and Ron, I’ll have no idea.”
“I get that a lot,” Albus said nonchalantly as he finished the dregs of his hot chocolate. He let out a mighty yawn, which spread through the first-years quickly, as they were all up far too late. “Blimey, I’m tired.”
Neville must have noticed that all of their eyelids had grown rather heavy, because he got up and signalled that they should follow suit. After bidding a sleepy adieu to the elves, the group departed the kitchens and headed back toward Gryffindor Tower.
At the Fat Lady’s portrait, Neville stopped them. “Now, remember, the tour of the castle is at ten tomorrow morning, and the second half is at two in the afternoon. Make sure you’re there so you don’t get lost again.” All three nodded. “Oh, and the password is ‘signo indictus’.”
“What does that mean, anyway?” Elijah asked.
“Written in the stars,” Neville and Rose said simultaneously.
“Oh,” Albus said, not at all surprised at his cousin’s knowledge of such a random piece of information. “Smashing. Can we go to bed now?”
As the portrait hole had opened when Neville gave them the password, the children made to clamber into the common room. Rose and Elijah went first, but Neville held Albus back. “Albus, can I ask you a few questions?”
Shrugging, Albus said, “Sure.”
“Now, just so you know, you’re not in any extra trouble or anything. Those stairs…”
Albus could almost see Neville shudder. “You did that, too? Fell into the stairs, I mean.” After the affirmative nod, Albus stared. His Uncle Neville had always been so brave and…cool. It was hard to think of him as a klutz like Albus was wont to be. “I never would have guessed.”
“You have no idea,” Neville said. “But that’s not the point. When you were lost, do you have any idea where you were?”
From there, Albus gave an account of everything that had happened, excluding his conversation with Snape, but Neville seemed to know that something was missing. “Did you talk to anyone or any other ghosts but Nick? Perhaps a portrait?”
Staring a hole into the top of his shoe, Albus mumbled, “I saw Snape. He, um, doesn’t like me much.”
Neville’s expression darkened. “Not surprised. Was he the one who told you where you were?”
“Yes.”
“And did he say anything else to you about anything?”
Albus was not sure what he was supposed to say. Neville was obviously interested in the topic greatly, though he had no idea why. So Snape was a git? He was fairly certain that it was common knowledge by that time. “Why does it matter?”
Neville scratched the back of his head in thought. “So...he did. Listen, I know he’s not very nice, and to be honest, I was afraid of him until I was in sixth-year, but there is a lot more to him than that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Albus interjected with sarcasm, “but I think causing innocent people to get killed by a mad wizard kind of cancels that out.”
There was a tense silence between the two after Albus’s barb, who had probably crossed a hundred lines by saying what he had. But this was Neville, his favourite ‘uncle’, someone he looked up to. Besides, it was not as if he did not tell the truth.
“Albus,” Neville started before amending, “Al, your dad was afraid that this would happen. He wanted to be the one to do this, to explain what Professor Snape had done and how he atoned for it. You don’t know the whole story, and, frankly, neither do I, but I can tell you that you shouldn’t hate him nearly as much as you do. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be alive right now.”
“Oh, please.” Albus had never had much of a rebellious streak, but after meeting Severus Snape, he was not in the mood to listen to the man’s virtues being extolled with little regard to how much of an arrogant, snide prat he was. He again surprised himself with his gall to speak to a professor thus, but he could not help it.
Neville sighed in frustration. “Never mind. I’m just going to owl your dad and tell him that it’s his problem, not mine. I was supposed to keep you from seeing him, but no one thought you’d get lost on your first night at school and stumble into him.”
Noticing the need for a change of subject, Albus said, “Can I just go to bed? I’m really tired, and I do have to get up early tomorrow for the tour—“
“Of course, of course!” Neville said, happy with the switch in moods. “Get along now, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
As Albus climbed into the portrait hole and made his slow trudge up toward the first-years’ dorm, he could not help but think that people were mad. Just…mad.
The tour was uneventful, especially for the three weary Gryffindors who could barely stay awake throughout the entire affair. They simply nodded when addressed and tried desperately to remember how to get to each of their classes.
Later that night, though, was their detention with Neville in the greenhouses. The idea of working with plants was, in short, frightening. Just looking at the moving pictures of various plants that could attack and harm a human being in their brand new copies of 1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi made Albus very nervous.
As it turns out, it was not nearly as bad as Albus had imagined. They were just asked to kiss some seeds for the new crop of Basiatonis plants. When the seeds were kissed before planting, the flower produced a natural remedy for dry lips. The school’s entire Herbology programme was funded by the sale of these blooms at the end of term to Amore Enterprises, which was the leading manufacturer of wizarding health and beauty products. Albus was not sure he ever wanted to know that much about lip balm, but, to be fair, Elijah had refused to lock lips with a plant seed without an explanation.
Two days later, which was the first Monday of the school year, saw the start of classes. At breakfast, he received his daily timetable, which determined the day and time for every one of his classes. The very first one on the agenda made him gulp—flying lessons.
Madam Hooch, the same flying instructor from back in all of their parents’ days at Hogwarts, was nearing the end of her career and, thus, patience. She had explained the process of Summoning the broom to one’s hand, but some students, most specifically a bespectacled Gryffindor, could not make it work for anything.
Albus glared at the accursed broom, lying on the ground, still as could be, as if mocking his inability to make it move. With every failed second, Albus became more and more frustrated to the point where he thrust out his hand and growled, “Up!”
Much to his surprise, the broom catapulted into his hand as it was supposed to, though it did smart when it slapped into his palm. He looked around him to see if anyone else was still trying, but not so surprising was the fact that he was the last to accomplish the feat.
Until that moment, Albus had not realised that Gryffindor was sharing that class with Slytherin, so Scorpius was there. Of course his broom had flown into his hand instantly. No doubt the prat could already fly.
One by one, each of the students was to practise kicking off the ground and landing in the same spot. For the most part, this exercise went without incident. Some were better than others, but no one looked overtly uncomfortable—at least, until it was Albus’s turn.
“Mister Potter, we don’t have all day,” Madam Hooch said after Albus simply stared at the broom between his legs. He really wanted to do as he was told, but some invisible force kept his feet firmly planted on the ground.
Beside him, Rose said, “C’mon, Al. It’s easy. Even I can do it.” When Albus did not look like he was going to change his mind anytime soon, she added, “Plus, you have to if you ever want to get out of this class.”
There. That had been it. For first-years, flying was only a half-year class, but any student who failed would have to re-take it again the second half of the year. Albus knew that he had no desire to spend an entire school year on a broom, so he had to do it right the first go, or he would be stuck there forever.
Closing his eyes to the inevitable wave of vertigo and nausea, Albus squatted on the ground and shoved off with all his might. His stomach felt like it was lurching into his chest as he was flung into the air, much higher than anyone else had gone. The abrupt movement made his belly roil as it did when he was coming down with motion sickness, but an entirely new sensation overtook him.
Fear. Intense, unadulterated, paralysing fear. Albus’s breath came in quick, shallow gasps as he struggled to fight this sensation of being totally surrounded by air. He did not like it in the least, and his subconscious silently cursed anyone who did. It was awful, it was terrifying, and it was embarrassing.
Albus Potter, son of Harry Potter, one of the most prolific Seekers in the history of Hogwarts, was afraid of heights.
He could hear Madam Hooch’s voice, bellowing for him to return to the ground, but it was merely an echo. There was no way that he could come back down, because that involved leaning forward on the broom. If he did that, he would plummet to the earth and break his neck.
His hands clutched to the broom handle in a death grip, Albus ventured to open one eye to look down and gauge how far he was from the grass. His heart shot into his throat when he saw that he was no less than thirty metres off the ground.
This is it, Albus thought to himself. This is how I’m going to die. I’m only eleven, and I’m going to die on a broom. His hands began to shake, despite their vice-like hold, and his palms began to sweat profusely. Unable to stand the sight of the ground so very far away, he snapped his eyes closed and held onto the broom even tighter.
However, his perspiring hands had other plans. His hands, which were not positioned correctly on the grip of the handle, began to slide up the polished wood of the shaft. He could feel his torso drifting forward, and that, in turn, caused his feet to become less stabilised on the stirrup hooks.
On the ground, another student, whom Albus did not recognise from that altitude, began flitting about on his own broom, either unaware of what was going on above or uncaring. Madam Hooch’s attention shifted away from her stranded student for a moment to stop the rebellious flier.
And a few seconds was all it would take. As his tentative grip on the handle slipped, Albus’s eyes flew open, giving him a split second opportunity to grab onto the stirrup. He knew that he could not hold this position for long, but perhaps Madam Hooch would be so kind as to rescue him before he bloody died a horrible death!
All too quickly, the pressure of his whole weight on his fingers caused his nerves to release his grip on the last vestige of his broom. Albus was falling hard and fast toward the ground, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to go home.