“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.