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Albus Potter and the Hidden Tower

Summary:

**BOOK IS COMPLETE**

Albus Potter doesn’t mind being a Slytherin.

His friends are nice, his classes are enjoyable enough, and he’s sequestered far away from his brother. But there’s something that keeps gnawing at his mind, this feeling that the day ins and day outs are… lacking. Until, one day. Albus receives a sign.

Secrets of the castle long forgotten and late night adventures to places unknown make Albus’s first year at Hogwarts far from ordinary—not to mention the deadly secret that the professors are hiding from even the Ministry of Magic.

Notes:

*Release Schedule*

04.16.2021 Chapter One: Exordium Novum

04.16.2021 Chapter Two: The Golden Statue

04.23.2021 Chapter Three: Practical Potion-Making

04.30.2021 Chapter Four: More Peculiar Professors

05.07.2021 Chapter Five: The Hallowe’en Feast

05.14.2021 Chapter Six: Greenhouses After Dark

05.21.2021 Chapter Seven: The Shield Charm

05.28.2021 Chapter Eight: The Archway

06.04.2021 Chapter Nine: The Architect’s Chamber

06.11.2021 Chapter Ten: Back to the Burrow

06.18.2021 Chapter Eleven: Dark Magic

06.25.2021 Chapter Twelve: The Third Annual Potter-Weasley Quidditch Match

07.02.2021 Chapter Thirteen: The Malfoys

07.09.2021 Chapter Fourteen: Extended Leave

07.16.2021 Chapter Fifteen: The Blank Book

07.23.2021 Chapter Sixteen: The Earthquake

07.30.2021 Chapter Seventeen: The Infection

07.30.2021 Chapter Eighteen: A Return to the Roots

Chapter 1: Exordium Novum

Chapter Text

Albus tapped his foot rapidly as his father cruised down the road. The rolling hills and fields were their only company, save for the occasional cow or horse. His mother had stayed behind at Diagon Alley to round up James and Lily after Albus got his wand, and Albus had begged to come back in the car with his father. He liked car rides, especially if his Uncle Ron or Aunt Hermione weren’t driving. Something about the motions of the car, the open road, and the rolling countryside was peaceful. It was a bonus that his brother, James, hated car rides as much as Albus enjoyed them.

Harry glanced at his son. “Having fun?”

“Mmhm.” Albus nodded, matching each beat of the car bouncing on the road to his foot tapping. “It’s quiet.”

Harry chuckled. “Yes, it is.”

Albus’s wand vibrated in his pocket along with the thrum of the engine. It was like a great big question mark sitting there, one that Albus already knew the answer to. He asked, anyways. “When can I do magic?”

“When you go to school, you know this. You’re not allowed to do underage magic.”

“Yeah, but Aurora said that people normally do magic when they get their wands.”

Aurora Ollivander had assured him that his wand was the one, but it hadn’t done any magic when he held it. In fact, Albus had felt somewhat stupid. He’d expected a shower of sparks or something.

“I trust Aurora, just as much as I trusted her grandfather,” said Harry. “If she’s sure it’s the one, then I am, too.”

“What did your wand do?”

“When I got it?” Harry shrugged. “Not much. There was this big gust of wind, but I didn’t care about that, really. There was something else, this feeling. Like I knew that it was mine, really mine. You’ll have that, don’t worry,” Harry said quickly after Albus’s face turned pale. “When you start really learning magic, it’s the best thing in the world.”

“I wanna learn to drive, too,” Albus said. “That doesn’t take magic, does it?”

“No, but you have to wait another four years.”

Albus groaned. “Four years?”

“It’s not like you can sit on my lap anymore.”

Albus remembered. They went on little drives near the house when he was younger, and Albus would practically stand on his father’s legs and turn the wheel—or at least, pretend to turn the wheel as Harry’s hands guided his own. “I could try.”

“Please, no.”

Albus slouched. “Four years can’t come soon enough.”

Harry laughed again. “Don’t say that just yet.”

“Why?” Albus imagined he was swinging a great, big sword. “Will I get to fight a giant snake?”

“Why is it you always think about that bloody snake?”

Albus shrugged. “I dunno. It’s cool.”

“It’s messy,” said Harry, crinkling his nose. “Lots of blood.”

“See?! That’s so cool!” Albus turned and waved his arms about emphatically. “And you rode a dragon! I wanna ride a dragon!”

“Ask your Uncle Charlie, then, you’ll have better luck with him.”

Albus sat back again. “I wanna ride a dragon,” he repeated, muttering under his breath.

Harry smiled softly. “You know, I hated most of that stuff. The dragons and the snake and all that.”

Albus widened his eyes and stared at his father, unbelieving. “What? But you…” He sputtered, searching for the words. “You were Harry Potter!”

“Still am, last I checked.”

“You defeated The Dark Lord!”

“And it took me seven years.”

“After he came back to life, couldn’t Dumbledore just have…” Albus swung his imaginary blade again. “Found Voldemort and cut his head off?”

Harry’s smile wavered, but Albus didn’t notice. “Maybe.”

Albus took his wand from his pocket and held it with both hands. The bottom bit was ringed with nine circles that made a kind of grip. An uneven sphere separated the base of the wand from the longer part, like a guard before the sharp part of a sword. The wand hadn’t done any magic when Albus held it in the shop, but Aurora Ollivander had assured him that it was the one.

Albus grasped his wand firmly and pointed it out in front of him. “I bet I could take Voldemort down.”

“With magic?” asked Harry, not looking his son’s way.

“Yeah. Like pow.” Albus jabbed his wand forwards.

A great crunching sound came from the front end of the car, and Harry slammed the brakes in surprise, throwing himself and Albus forwards. The chassis rattled and shook as they rolled over something before coming to a stop. Smoke was pouring out the sides of the car’s bonnet, obscuring the road ahead.

Harry wrestled with his seatbelt and got out of the car, his wand at the ready. “Stay in the car!” he ordered, but Albus had already scrambled outside.

Albus stared at the front of the car. The bumper was entirely gone, and twisted fragments of metal remained, like it had been ripped from place. He tires were deflating at a steady pace, and a warped piece of metal laid across the road behind them.

Albus looked down slowly at his own wand, now pointed to the ground. “Whoa.”

Harry finally took notice. “Did you do this?”

Albus’s stomach dropped. “Yeah,” he said glumly. His father was mad, wasn’t he? He wasn’t allowed to do magic out of school, and Harry had just seen him. He was going to get his wand taken away, and he’d only just gotten it, too—

“Hey.”

Albus looked up guiltily, but Harry was beaming.

“You did magic.”

Albus took a moment to understand what his father was saying. “I did magic. With a wand.”

“You did.”

“But I’m not allowed!”

Harry waved his hand, dismissing Albus’s concerns. “It’s fine, accidents like this happen. You didn’t think they were going to arrest you, did you?”

Albus’s cheeks flushed red. “I dunno.”

Harry went around the front of the car and drew Albus into a hug. “There’s precedent for this kind of thing, accidental magic. Nothing is going to happen, I promise.”

Albus’s mind was already flooding with ideas as his father pulled away. “So if I accidentally set James’s hair on fire again—”

“I’m not sure that it would be an accident, then,” said Harry, walking towards the bumper lying in the middle of the road.

Albus pursed his lips, trying to conceal his grin. He couldn’t get in trouble if no one saw him do magic, right?

“Come on,” Harry called, “we’ve got some fixing to do!”

“We? I can’t use magic, you just said!”

 “You don’t need magic to lift with your arms!”

“Why can’t you just do it?” Albus griped.

“You’re the one who broke it!”

 

*     *     *

 

Half an hour later, Albus ran into the house waving his wand, entirely pleased with himself and determined to make it to his room before his brother could find him. He hoped that the rest of his family hadn’t yet Floo’d home from Diagon Alley, so that he’d have a rare moment of independence to himself. Unfortunately, James was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, his mouth curved into an evil little grin.

“Well, well, well, Albus Squibberus Potter,” said James, sneering.

“I’ve got a wand, idiot,” said Albus, blowing the fattest raspberry he could muster.

“Not much point if you can’t use it out of school.”

“Not if no one sees me!”

James snorted. “Is that really what you think? They have ways of knowing, stupid! I’d do magic all the time if things were that simple.”

Albus glowered, and the ideas in his head fizzled out of existence. “That’s lame.”

“Not as lame as youuu—hey!” James’s teasing turned to indignation as their little sister, Lily, nearly pushed him off the stairs on her way from her room.

She bounded towards Albus and stopped in front of him, bouncing up and down with excitement. “Did you get it? Let me see, let me see!”

“You should have come to Ollivander’s when I said we were going,” said Harry, locking the door behind them.

Lily pouted. “But Uncle George was giving out new samples of the latest product, I couldn’t let James get them all for himself.”

“I got most of them,” James said, hands on his hips. He look scarily similar to their mother.

“Did you save any for me?” Albus asked, his hand hovering over his pocket as his sister stamped her foot.

Lily tried grabbing Albus’s wand herself, but Albus blocked her before she could. “Yes, I did!” she said. “Now let me see!”

Albus’s stupid grin returned and he withdrew his wand from his pocket. Lily gasped as Albus handed it over, turning it gently in her hands like it could explode any second. Could it explode any second? Albus didn’t actually know.

“What’s it made of?” Lily asked, turning it over.

“Acacia wood with a phoenix feather core, ten inches, and brittle flexibility.” Albus listed off its characteristics just as Aurora had told him.

“Brittle?” James matched Albus’s raspberry from before. “Doesn’t that mean you’re stupid, or something?”

“You’re the stupid one!” Lily said, turning and making a particularly rude gesture.

James doubled over and roared with laughter while Albus snickered, but Harry, who had been watching the siblings in silence from the door, seemed less amused.

“Lily!” Harry darted over to his daughter and grabbed her wrist. “Where in the world did you learn that?”

“Dominique told me about it.”

“Of course she did,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Do you even know what it means?”

“No.”

“Thank god.”

“What happened?” Ginny rushed into the foyer from the sitting room, a pen holding her hair up in a bun.

“Albus is being stupid like a Slyth—”

“Nothing,” said Harry, casting his eldest son a look. “Your daughter is being prodigious as ever.”

“Is she?” asked Ginny, locking the door.

“Yeah!” said Lily enthusiastically. “Look!” Facing her mother, Lily wrestled her hand from Harry’s grip and stuck her middle finger awkwardly in the air.

Ginny snorted and started laughing, but caught herself as Harry sent an irate look her way, too. “Maybe don’t do that too often, Lily.”

“Why? What does it mean?”

“Albus did something cool,” said Harry, trying to change the subject. “Go on, tell your mother.”

“Hello?” said Lily, waving her fists in the air, but Ginny ignored her and snatched Albus’s wand from her grasp.

Albus spoke with an air of satisfaction as his mother examined his wand. “I crashed the car!”

Ginny looked up sharply. “You what?”

“It was like BOOM! And then, then the engine started smoking and I thought the car was going to blow up—”

“He did magic, with his wand,” said Harry quickly, cutting his son off before he could mismanage his words any more.

“You did?!” Ginny squealed and hugged Albus, rubbing her knuckles against the top of his head. “I told you you could do it—”

“Mum, that hurts—!”

“Brilliant!” She grasped Albus’s shoulders and held him arm’s length away, smiling. “You’re going to be a phenomenal wizard, Al.”

“A phenomenal little Slytherin!” James scampered up the stairs before he could be told off, so quickly that he nearly tripped swinging around the bannister at the top.

“Ignore him,” said Ginny, patting Albus on the cheek. “Even if you’re Sorted into Slytherin, you’ll look great in green.”

“Mum!”

“I’m not kidding, green really is your color.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Harry, ruffling Albus’s hair. “You won’t have to deal with your brother if you’re in Slytherin. The dungeons are on the other side of the castle from Gryffindor tower.”

Albus started at his father, wondering if that was supposed to be cool. “The dungeons? Aren’t they smelly and cold?”

“The Slytherin common room is kind of neat, actually. It’s made from obsidian and black marble, and there are these massive, grand fireplaces everywhere.”

“Even bigger than ours?”

“Even bigger than ours,” Harry affirmed. “They’ve got a view out to the Black Lake, and you can see the giant squid swim by if you’re lucky.”

“A giant squid?” Lily asked, gasping with wonder. “Does it eat people?”

“Only if they’re misbehaving,” said Ginny, smirking.

“Can it eat James, then?” Lily wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think James would taste very good. I wouldn’t eat him.”

“You go tell the squid that, then.”

“How do you know?” Albus questioned, still staring at his father.

Harry frowned. “Know what?”

“Know all this about Slytherin. You’ve never been to the commons, you were a Gryffindor.”

Harry and Ginny exchanged a quick look. “Just… something someone told me,” said Harry.

“Sure.” His father was probably just trying to make him feel better. “Thanks.”

“Hey.” Harry leaned down and looked Albus in the eyes. “I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again: You would do perfectly well in Slytherin.”

“Really?” Albus asked, looking up expectantly.

“Undoubtedly.”

“But Voldemort was a Slytherin. That Wrinkle-ward guy was a Slytherin.”

“So was Merlin,” said Harry. “And the highest honor given to a witch or wizard is named after him. The Order of Merlin. Duxe Helios, the current headmaster of Hogwarts, he’s a Slytherin.”

“You needn’t worry about these kinds of things,” said Ginny. “The Sorting Hat will speak true. It’s been doing this for centuries.”

“Snakes are cool,” Lily said, nodding up and down like it was an indisputable fact. “And you’re cool. So if you’re in Slytherin, you’re, like, double cool.”

“Double cool,” Harry repeated, smiling.

 

*     *     *

 

The Sorting Hat felt heavy on his head. Albus expected to become absorbed in a kind of void-like space like his father had described, but instead continued staring out at the rest of the Great Hall for an entire minute.

Albus wanted to ask Neville if the thing was broken but was too afraid to do so. Long ribbons of fabric dangling around his ears, but no voice spoke in his head.

Albus bit his lip in frustration. I’m not actually a squib, am I?

“Oh, no, Albus Severus Potter. You are far from a squib.”

Albus shrieked and immediately cringed. He waited for a response from the eager Hogwarts student body, but none came. All Albus could hear was the frantic beat of his own heart. “What the hell?”

“Why, you are an odd one,” the Hat said.

“Why are you speaking out loud?” questioned Albus, speaking out loud himself. There was still no reaction from any of the students, as though they had been frozen in time.

“You tell me,” the voice spoke from above his head. “The way I speak to students depends wholly on the way they manifest my magic.”

“What exactly is your magic, then?”

“Oh, were that I knew,” the Hat said. “I was bore from magic beyond my knowledge, nor do I remember my creation. Tell me, do you remember the day of your birth?”

“No?”

“I imagine so.”

Albus laughed nervously. “Does that mean this is all in my head?”

“Of course, it is happening inside your head!” it hissed, causing the loose ribbons to tickle the tops of his ears. “But why on earth should that mean it is not real?”

“Alright, alright,” said Albus softly, feeling defensive. “What am I meant to do, then?”

“Usually, you’re meant to listen. But you don’t seem to be usual.” The Hat sighed. “You are like your father, in many ways. Limitless potential… a great tenacity to accomplish things… but I see something deeper… Yes. Your father… he was always afraid of something. Perhaps his misconceptions about Slytherin house were associated with his perceptions of his extended family, or with its connection to his mortal enemy. When he was sitting on this very stool all those years ago, I told him he’d do well in Slytherin. I wasn’t lying.”

“How does that matter to me?” Albus asked, teetering on the stool.

“There is something you possess that your father never did. I would be doing a disservice to you if I did not inform you why.”

Albus stayed pensively silent. He had always been compared to his father, the great Harry Potter. The two looked near identical at age eleven, though Albus’s eyes and nose more resembled his mother’s. His father joked that Albus even acted like he did as a child, always quiet and modest.

Albus didn’t mind. His father was good, and kind, and just. He was a great wizard, and an even better person.

“Harry Potter wanted to escape the world he lived to trade it for another,” said the Hat. “It was a simple wish, and regardless of the decision he made on this stool it would have been granted. You have that already, Albus. You don’t want another world. You want to make this world your own. You have ambition to accomplish more than is required of you, and this is rare. Harry Potter grew into his predetermined role because it was necessary. You don’t have that expectation, and yet you desire it. Yes. You will make your place in this world, that I am sure of.”

The Hat paused for a moment before speaking.

“How many of your Sorted family are in Gryffindor, again?”

“All of them,” said Albus, dejected.

“Not all of them, not anymore.”

“Rose…” He spotted her face brimming with confused emotion at the Slytherin table.

Rose Granger-Weasley, a Slytherin. Who would have thought. It was a surprise to everyone, especially her. She was the ideal academic, so much so that her father called her the spitting image of her mother. If anything, she should have been in Ravenclaw.

“Not Rose, then.” Albus’s chest tightened.

“Fear. That’s what the both of you are feeling right now.”

Albus’s throat hitched. Fear? What am I afraid of?

“You know the answer. It is why the prospect of Slytherin still terrifies you, even if you convince yourself otherwise. It is also why you’re currently pursuing… extracurricular activities, shall we say.”

“How do you know—”

“I can read your mind, Albus. Fear is a blinding thing, for it is often a mortal reaction to the unknown. Slytherin is unknown and foreign to you, Albus, even more so than it is to your father. But your unfamiliarity with Slytherin is only part of the cause. In material terms, you are afraid of being different. Of being unable to fit in. What if I put you in Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw? You would be more alone there than you would in Slytherin.”

Albus hadn’t even thought of that. “Slytherin produces more Dark wizards than all the other houses,” he said meekly, echoing what he’d voiced to his father on multiple occasions.

The Hat chuckled. “The other houses have had their fair share of Dark wizards, though they don’t like talking about it. Quirinus Quirrell, he was a Ravenclaw. And Peter Pettigrew, a Gryffindor. The status of ‘Dark wizard’ is not exclusive to Slytherin.”

“It sounds like you want me to pick Slytherin.”

“I want you to choose from a point of impartiality. Your father never stopped to consider. Whether he knew it or not, his mind was set on Gryffindor, even before I was placed upon his head. I am merely a guide, not an executive party. I tried to convince him to consider the options, yet he gave my words little gravity. He was confident in his abilities. That was both his strength and his flaw. It happened to work in his favor, then. He made friends of the highest caliber, friends that guided him along the way. But you aren’t your father, Albus. You are different, just like everyone else. Don’t let the past define you.”

“And you offer this choice to all students?” Albus asked drily.

“I try. But only the truest choose to listen. Your cousin Rose was one of them.”

“She was?” Albus looked back at her face. “She’s crying, though.”

“I won’t divulge another’s most personal anxieties, Albus.”

“You told me that she’s afraid.”

“That is far different from telling you what she is afraid of.”

Albus shifted on the stool. He was starting to get uncomfortable.

“Allow me to offer you an advice,” the Hat whispered. “Fear of the unknown exists because it is unknown. Once the unknown is known, it is mundane, and the mundane is nothing to fear. Having fear is smart, Albus. But blind fear is dangerous, dangerous and overwhelming. Your fear will guide you to reason, but you must ensure it does not overcome your sensibilities. Exordium novum. Do what you think is right.”

Albus’s thoughts spun in his head as he looked out and homed his sights in on his brother. James’s face was showing signs of annoyance and self-satisfaction. His brother had continued to tease Albus to no end, even on the platform at King’s Cross. But there was something else in James’s eyes, now, something that Albus couldn’t recognize.

There was something curious about the emotion in a person’s eyes.

Harry’s words from the platform rattled in his head. Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won’t it?

“You know,” the Hat said.

Albus’s tongue felt like sandpaper as he spoke. “I do.”

He felt the Hat’s mouth curve into a smile above his head. “You’re a brave boy, Albus.”

“I hope so.”

Albus didn’t actually hear the Hat say ‘Slytherin.’ In fact, he didn’t hear anything for a few seconds until Neville pulled it off his head.

The sound that reached his ears was a torrent of jubilant screams, so loud that Albus staggered off of the stool in surprise. Practically the entirety of Slytherin house was giving a standing ovation, complete with whoops and cheers. The few Slytherins near the back of the table who shot angry glares his way were lost in the sea of triumphant students; even some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had joined in.

The Gryffindors were noticeably more static than the others, but one student was especially enthusiastic. James was the first Gryffindor standing and cheering, clapping his hands together obnoxiously. Albus’s cousins joined soon after, and the rest of Gryffindor begrudgingly followed.

Albus caught his brother’s eyes as people began to sit down. James was smiling widely, that unknown expression in his eyes gone.

Albus flashed him a shaky thumbs up.

His brother returned the gesture, beaming. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, loud enough that Albus could hear him. “I told you you’d be in Slytherin, idiot!”

Albus managed to put a nervous smile on his face as he stepped off the platform and headed towards the house table. A prefect came over to assist him, showing him to an open spot across from Rose.

A jab from one of the Slytherins at the end of the table slipped through as the noise died down. “We don’t want you, Potter!”

“Oi!” yelled the prefect who led him over, standing up and looking down the Slytherin table. “Shut your mouth!”

Albus flushed in mild embarrassment as a light chuckle ran through the hall, flattered that someone who didn’t know him was willing to defend him that vehemently.

Neville held up a hand. “Thank you, Ethan.”

The prefect nodded and sat down. He adjusted his robes as the Sorting continued, shaking his head and turning to Albus. “Sorry about that, mate. Some of these lot are still stuck in archaic times.” He extended a hand. “Ethan. Ethan Healy.”

“Albus,” he said, accepting the handshake. “Erm, thanks for that.”

“SLYTHERIN!” the Hat roared, and “Prince, Finn” strode down to the table.

Ethan talked to Albus while he clapped. “No problem. If those fools give you any trouble, don’t hesitate to come to me. Prince! Over here!”

Albus smiled and nodded before turning to Rose. He wanted to ask his cousin why, why she’d chosen Slytherin, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Well.”

“Well.” Rose sniffed, but plastered a smile to her face and wiped away her tears. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

“I’m great, aren’t I.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Love you too, Rosie.” Albus twisted his head to and watched “Queen, Seraphina” place the ratty old hat on the stool before heading to the Hufflepuff table. He could have sworn it winked at him.

Chapter 2: The Golden Statue

Chapter Text

Albus sat looking out at the lake. It was just as black as its name suggested, but every so often the moonlight would reflect off of ripples sent through the water. Albus had been trying to catch a glimpse of the giant squid, but he’d either missed it or it wasn’t feeling particularly active. The Invisibility Cloak, the parting gift that Harry had given his son the day before, sat on Albus’s head and pooled around him. Albus had been elated to receive it; he couldn’t possibly imagine the kinds of adventures his father had had while roaming the halls of Hogwarts invisible.

The boys’ dormitories were set up along a long corridor, and the entire left wall was made of magical, fingerprint-removing glass. When two or three older students started going about their business, Albus figured he should at least pretend he slept the night. He hurried back down the corridor and into his dorm, ensured that the Cloak was tightly wrapped around his person, and climbed into bed as quietly as possible upon realizing that everyone else was sleeping. There, wrapped under the Invisibility Cloak and the sheets, Albus stared at the ceiling, unable to doze off.

Albus checked the clock on his bedside table after what felt like three days. It was only five-thirty in the morning. Albus felt comfortable enough, something he didn’t expect after pulling an all-nighter, and he figured now would be a reasonable time to wake up. He let out a short puff of breath and sat up. Albus resisted the urge to fall back onto the bed and forced himself to stand.

The Slytherin dormitories were spacious compared to his father’s description of the Gryffindor equivalent. The six four-poster beds were arranged in a circle around a velvet green carpet bearing the characteristic silver snake. The ceiling came to a point, almost like an elongated dome. It was accented by thin cords of stone that created a symmetrical, ornate design. Enchanted windows were placed a couple meters off the ground in between beds, and unlike the windowed corridor just outside, they illuminated the room with soft morning light.

Albus hadn’t used any of his sleepless night to unpack, and his full trunk laid at the foot of his bed. He proceeded to stuff the Cloak deep, deep down into his trunk past all his unpacked belongings before fishing out a pair of socks and shorts, pulling them on, and heading downstairs.

Hogwarts had adapted to modern times, a feat that took a massive overhaul. Professor Helios was an advocate of progress in the name of progress. The headmaster had managed to tap into the font of magic that characterized Hogwarts, meaning that some Muggle technologies could now be permitted within the castle walls—given that they had a certain enchantment placed on them. It allowed for the presence of catered air conditioning in classes (but not in dormitories, for some reason), digital clocks, and even a PA system.

Albus had done some research at his Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron’s house, poring through multiple editions of Hogwarts, a History to read up on the enchantments placed on the castle during its inception. Its early history was mysterious, yet Albus was determined to uncover its origins, even more so than Rose, who had joined his search. He had a theory, one whose required research would most definitely be unsanctioned, and one that he and Rose had vowed to investigate the day after the Sorting. The two had planned to meet in the common room by six, though their plan had been made rather hastily in the busy Great Hall as prefects guided students like farmers herding cattle.

Albus was met by a moderately full common room, even for an early Saturday morning. The Slytherin commons were cozier than one would expect a dungeon to be, as they were charmed to be warm and comfortable, unlike the drafty corridors that led there. The cobbled walls were a polished obsidian, and the large fireplaces, indeed bigger than the one he had at home, casted warm light that bounced off of the stones and paintings, the latter of which were often empty. There were chairs of all assortments: plush and velvet; large and leather; soft and fluffy.

Some older students were sitting near the fireplace on the cozier couches and seats, either reading books or doing homework. An ornate, enchanted clock hung above the mantle. Its arms were a shiny green on a white face, save for the seconds marker, which was a lustrous purple color. A small rectangular portion on an empty area of the watch face displayed the time in digital characters.

A large notice board was positioned near the back of the chamber, away from the front entrance to disperse traffic. Albus made his way towards it; there were only a few announcements.

The schedules were to be distributed the following morning during breakfast from six to ten, after which they would be available in the deputy headmaster’s office. Club formation and reformation forms would be distributed during the first week of school, after which students could sign up. A flyer about Quidditch tryouts was plastered over an official-looking message—something about a dueling exhibition?—and displayed a looping image of a Gryffindor player smacking into a tree. There were more posts involving personal messages between students and notices posted by prefects, but none of them appeared to be of much concern to Albus or any of his dormmates.

Albus looked to the stairs leading up to the girls’ dormitory and sighed. He figured that Rose would be up early, but it seemed he was wrong. He ran back upstairs, returning with a book and claiming an empty seat near the fire. His legs dangled over the armrest and he opened to the last page he had bookmarked.

Ten minutes later, he heard someone sit in the chair next to him. He looked over the book to find the same prefect that had helped him to the table the previous day, Ethan.

“What are you reading?” Ethan asked.

“It’s the second book in a Muggle series,” Albus said, dog-earing the page and closing it. He handed it to Ethan. “It’s called Percy Jackson.

Ethan flipped the book over and skimmed the summary on the back. “This is a fantasy book?”

“Yeah. About Greek mythology.”

“Wow.” He was visibly surprised. “You don’t see many of these in the Wizarding world.”

“Really?” asked Albus, curious.

“It kind of makes sense. A lot of wizards don’t read as a pastime, and when they do, it’s typically an autobiography of some sort. Fantasy novels are especially uncommon, given that we live in a world where magic and dragons and all that actually exists.”

“Why? That seems rather unproductive, no?”

Ethan chuckled. “Maybe so. Perhaps more people will start reading now that the Minister is Muggle-born.”

“Are there any Wizarding magical fiction writers?” Albus asked.

“I’m sure there are,” answered Ethan, handing the book back. “They just aren’t popular, I guess.” He continued staring at the cover. “Say, could I borrow the first book if you’ve brought it with you?”

“Yeah, of course. I can fetch it now, if you’d like?”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Ethan said. “You can hand it to me tonight. I’m intrigued now.” He glanced over at the notice board. “Anything take your fancy?”

“Quidditch, though I can’t exactly try out.”

Ethan chuckled. “I assumed Quidditch might be your thing. Are you as good as your brother?”

“Better,” said Albus immediately. “He’s all show, no skill.”

“I’ll hope to see you on the team next year, then.”

“Do you play?”

“No, no, I leave that to the professionals. Though this year isn’t looking too good… How do you feel about the Dueling Exhibition? It’s open to all students, you know.”

Albus said nothing about the grim look that had overtaken Ethan’s face for a split second. “Er, I saw a little thing about it, but it was covered by the Quidditch flyer.”

“Drat, was it? I’ll have to fix that later, then. I’m sure Professors M and McCaffrey will tell you more, they’re very engaged in the D.E. Professor M was a former duelist, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, well he wasn’t the famous one. That would be his partner, Darius Glover. He teaches at Ilvermorny, you know.”

The two exchanged a few more pleasantries before Ethan headed out of the room, mentioning something about needing to speak to a professor.

Albus stretched, catlike in his movements, and resumed reading. He looked up at the enchanted clock on the wall a while later to find that almost an hour had passed. About half of the students had left come six o’clock to have an early breakfast.

He frowned. It wasn’t like Rose to miss an appointment. Albus was certain that she’d agreed to meet him in the common room at six the previous night; it was now six-thirty. Ten minutes later, he was beginning to get worried. He was tempted to try and check on her, but he knew that the consequences for trying to enter the girls’ dormitory were severe.

His savior arrived in the form of a nervous-looking girl who descended down the steps. Albus recognized her from the Sorting the previous night. She had a Mediterranean complexion, chocolate brown hair, and strikingly grey eyes. Albus placed his book on the chair and walked over towards where she stood, analyzing the notice board like him.

“Excuse me?” he asked, startling her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed softly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Albus said. “Talia, right?”

“Yeah. Albus?”

“Yep,” he answered. There was a beat of awkward silence. “I know it’s sort of odd for me to ask, but can you do me a favor?”

“I suppose so,” she said slowly, “depending on what it is.”

He glanced at the clock. “My cousin Rose was supposed to meet me down here forty minutes ago. D’you think you could check on her for me?”

“Oh, sure,” she said, brightening a little. “Give me a moment.”

A couple minutes later, she approached Albus’s chair, where he had resumed reading.

“Rose said she’d be down in a few,” said Talia. “She was sleeping.”

“Thanks, really,” said Albus, marking his book once more.

“Sure. Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Talia made her way to the door, looking around the common room in what seemed to be a sense of wonderment as she left.

Rose, true to Talia’s word, came down the stairs a few minutes later. Her normally well-kept mane of red hair was in disarray. It was obvious that she had brushed it down hastily to prevent stands from sticking out obnoxiously. Her eyes were a little puffy.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine,” said Albus. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just a rough night.” She yawned softly and rubbed her eyes. “Let me just check the notice board and we can go. Why is it so damn bright?” she muttered.

“I’ve already read it. We can talk on the way there.”

Rose nodded, looking as though she were beginning to adjust to the light.

They made it to the Great Hall after navigating the maze of dungeon corridors. “At least we don’t have to deal with the staircases,” sighed Albus as they walked through the large doors.

“True.” Rose had evidently become accustomed to the sights and sounds of morning, as her eyes were fully open and expressive. “Oh, wow,” she gasped, staring straight ahead.

Albus copied her gaze. The Great Hall was indeed astounding as ever. The windows towered fifteen or twenty meters into the air, flanked by carved gothic artwork and house crests. They let in enormous amounts of sunlight that flooded the room in orange and yellow. It hardly felt like Britain. There was something inherently magical about the place, splendid and bright and welcoming.

They had arrived rather early to breakfast, but the Hall still felt warm even when half empty. The staff table sat on a raised platform, and the few professors there chatted amicably, casting looks to the students every now and then when someone made a loud noise. But then, as the scents of breakfast drifted towards him, Albus turned his focus to the food.

Oh, the food. The feast last night was the most impressive sight Albus had seen food-wise, but breakfast was right up there on the list. Each of the house tables was piled high with rashers of bacon, stacks of kippers and sausages, piles of toast, croissants, pastries, rolls, pancakes, waffles, platters and bowls of eggs, potatoes, roasted vegetables, fruits, cereals, beans, boats of butter, jam, syrup, and pitchers of water, milk, and pumpkin juice—

“Holy shit,” Albus whispered.

Rose slapped him on the shoulder. “Language!”

“Sorry,” he said. He wasn’t really that sorry.

There were only a few people at the Slytherin table, given that it was still only seven o’clock. Talia was sitting near the edge of the table near the doorway. Albus made his way over to her, not wanting to sit with the other Slytherins since Ethan was nowhere to be seen. “Hey,” he said, pulling a plate over.

“Hello again.” She was dabbing her face with a napkin. “You should try the waffles. They’re fantastic.”

“Really?” asked Rose, copying Albus’s movements. “I don’t usually like waffles.”

“Trust her,” said Albus, who already had a piece in his mouth. “They’re good.”

“Chew with your mouth closed,” Rose chastised, pulling over a plate of bacon.

Albus chewed and swallowed heavily. “Sure,” he said, grabbing the plate of bacon from Rose as she began putting it back in its original place.

“Is he always like this?” asked Talia, watching Albus tear through his food in mild disgust.

“Unfortunately,” answered Rose. “His parents complain that he eats like my father. Thank goodness I don’t,” she added, muttering.

“Somfshimes shu do,” Albus remarked through a mouthful of food.

“What did you say?” Talia asked, wrinkling her nose while ladling more eggs onto her plate.

Albus spoke louder, but food started spraying out of the corners of his mouth. “I fhaid tha—”

“Never mind! I don’t want to know.”

“Oi, Malfoy!” Albus called, waving his new friend over as he entered.

Scorpius flushed beet red at Albus’s exclamation and walked over, sitting down next to Albus and looking profusely uncomfortable. Scorpius was pale and skinny, with hair so blond it was almost white, but he looked ever paler in sunlight, almost like a ghost had gained a physical body.

Rose inched away from him slightly, but Scorpius didn’t seem to notice. Albus frowned but said nothing. The Malfoys had a reputation in the magical community, one associated with the Dark Arts and the wizards and witches who practiced them, but from what Albus could tell, Scorpius was nothing like how the press described his family in the tabloids.

Albus spread his arms. “Scorpius, this is Talia and Rose.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Scorpius quietly.

Rose did a kind of stiff bow, as if she’d forgotten how to nod her head. Talia nodded apologetically, her hand covering her mouth full of food.

“What d’you all plan on doing today?” asked Albus, mainly directing the question at Scorpius.

“I dunno,” Scorpius responded, looking down as he took as single piece of toast. “Probably visit the library.”

Rose relaxed. “Oh, Albus and I are headed there, too, to do some research.” Her reservations appeared to have vanished after discovering he was a fellow bookworm.

“Yeah,” said Albus, glad his friends were warming up to each other. “But first I want to check out the statue of the Architect, right near the entrance. There isn’t much info about him in the books, it’s kind of weird.”

“We can go check it out first, then,” Rose said.

“Wait, what’s all this about?” Talia asked. “Surely you aren’t studying for classes already?”

“No.” Albus answered before Rose could respond affirmatively. “I have a sort of theory.”

“A theory?” questioned Scorpius. “What d’you mean?”

“We’ve been trying to figure out why Muggle technologies can function in Hogwarts now, so we can get Albus’s phone to work,” explained Rose.

“Phone?”

“I’ll show you later,” said Albus.

“We know that Headmaster Helios used some kind of enchantment, but its nature must be ancient,” continued Rose, as though Albus hadn’t just spoken. “Hogwarts is a magical enigma, for it generates its own signature.”

“Think of it like a giant wand,” Albus enumerated. “It sustains itself by routing the magical energy of its occupants. Rowena Ravenclaw detailed it in some of her journals.”

“Exactly,” said Rose. “The castle repairs itself whenever it’s damaged, just like after the Battle of Hogwarts during the war. Yet for some reason, it used to reject any non-magical signatures it detected within its walls. That’s why Muggle devices short-circuited all the time; it was as though the castle’s immune system was fighting off a virus.”

“Sorry, explain the last bit?” asked Scorpius.

“It’s science,” said Talia. “The immune system is the part of our body that fights off diseases and maladies. There are things called white blood cells that recognize pathogens or unfamiliar particles in the body and relay to the brain, which in turn produces symptoms to let you know that something is out of the ordinary.”

Scorpius paused for a moment and looked at Albus. “I’m just wondering… why?”

“Why, what?” Albus responded.

“Why do all this for a—what is it?—a phone?”

Albus shrugged hesitantly and tried to wipe his suddenly sweaty palms on his robes. “Because I’m bored?”

“That’s a bloody stupid reason—aah!” Scorpius ducked and as an owl narrowly missed his head. “Mail, already?” He watched the windows as a couple more owls streamed through, as if waiting for one himself.

The brown screech owl that tried to take Scorpius’s head off crashed into the table in front of Albus, sending a pile of scones tumbling to the floor. It shook itself off indignantly and pranced over to Albus.

“Sorry, mate,” said Albus, untying a roll of parchment from its leg. “I expected more, to be honest,” he said, looking around at the few owls that had settled along the other tables.

“Well, this can’t possibly be all of them,” said Rose. “Not everyone is awake yet.”

“Seems rather inefficient,” Talia muttered, pushing feathers off the edge of her plate. “Is your owl okay?”

“She’s fine,” said Albus, watching the Potter family owl pluck bent feathers from her coat.

“What’s her name?”

“Beethoven,” said Albus. He patted the owl on the head. “She’s normally quite docile. Don’t doubt her, though, she’s a damn good flier.”

Scorpius tilted his head. “She?”

“Yeah.”

“But… her name is Beethoven.”

“And? Lily named her.” Albus fished a roll from a basket, tore off a piece, and handed it to Beethoven. “Here you go.”

The owl chirped happily and practically swallowed the bread whole. She took flight, coasting out one of the windows and dipping in the air before gliding out of sight.

“Magic is weird,” Talia muttered.

Scorpius pursed his lips. “I know it’s rather uncouth to ask like this, but are you Muggle-born?”

“My parents don’t know magic, yeah.”

“And you were Sorted into Slytherin?” Scorpius questioned.

Talia tilted her head quizzically. “Obviously. Why?”

Scorpius shook his head. “It’s just… Slytherin house doesn’t get very many Muggle-born students given its… history.”

Talia shrugged. “That Hat said Slytherin, didn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Scorpius continued to stare at her oddly.

“How did your parents react?” Rose asked, trying to pull the conversation back on track.

“They were quite skeptical when they received the letter,” said Talia. “They did some internet research and saw that Hogwarts didn’t apparently exist. They only believed it when Professor Longbottom showed up at our door a few days later and displayed some magic.”

“That must be some experience,” commented Scorpius, having emerged from his thoughts to spread jam on toast. “What did you think?”

Talia laughed. “Honestly, I felt like I always knew. When I was in primary school, I used to be able to run unbelievably fast whenever I played tag with my friends. People just thought I was extremely athletic, but I always thought it was something else. It felt as though the wind was pushing me forwards, if that makes any sense.”

“My mum told me that most children’s first act of magic is elemental,” said Rose. “The first time I used magic I was four. I made all of the taps in the house turn on when Albus’s brother James stole one of my toys.”

“Rose and I are cousins, by the way,” Albus added.

“Don’t remind me,” Rose muttered. “I prefer to pretend James and I aren’t related.”

Scorpius smiled wistfully. “Mine was when I was three. It was snowing outside, and my parents didn’t let me out, so I made it snow in the living room. My mum and I made snow angels together.” His expression fell and turned gloomy. “It was fun.” Scorpius sat in pensive silence for a moment before looking at his dormmate. “What about you, Albus?”

Albus snorted. “I set my brother on fire.”

Scorpius spat a sip of pumpkin juice back into his cup. “You what?”

“I was seven—”

“Seven? That’s quite old!”

“Yeah, I know,” muttered Albus. The tips of his ears went red. “James used to call me a squib. It got to the point where he changed the lettering on my birthday cake to spell ‘Albus Squibberus Potter.’”

“What’s a Squib?” Talia asked.

“It’s someone who can’t use magic whose parents both can. James always tried to use magic around me when I was little, he said that maybe I’d learn how to do it by watching him. He made my cake explode, too, after I saw it. I just… I dunno, something snapped. And I set his hair on fire.” Albus had never had to explain it before, and it felt odd to do so.

 “Is his hair fine?” Talia asked, concerned.

“Well, you see,” said Rose, “even after his parents put James out, they couldn’t regrow his eyebrows. They stayed that way for over a year.”

“We had to get Aunt Hermione to concoct a potion,” Albus said, grinning. “She actually had to do new research to brew a fitting remedy.”

“Wait a second,” said Talia, looking at Rose wide-eyed. “Your mum is the Minister for Magic?!”

“That’s her,” Rose said. “It’s neat, I guess. D’you know Harry Potter?” she asked, feeling uncomfortable about the fact that Albus wasn’t uncomfortable.

“No, why?” Talia turned to Albus. “Is he your dad?”

Albus broke out into a fit of laughter, and Rose just smiled awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it,” she said.

Scorpius’s face broke out into a grin as a massive snowy owl beat its wings heavily. “There you are!” he said as it landed on the table with a noticeable thump.

“Your owl’s beautiful!” said Talia, reaching forward to pat its head as Scorpius untied a bundle of parchment from its leg.

“Thank you,” said Scorpius, beaming. “His name’s Thunder.”

“Fitting.”

“Is that the Prophet?” asked Albus.

“Well, yeah—hey!” Scorpius exclaimed as Albus snatched the paper from his hands. “You’re welcome!”

“Here,” said Albus, tossing Scorpius a note that had fallen out of the newspaper. He spread the Prophet out on the table. His aunt was on the front page, grasping either side of a podium as camera flashes illuminated her pale face. Granger-Weasley: Brilliant or Mad? the headline read. “Darn.”

“Not again,” Rose mumbled.

Albus scanned the column.

 

On Thursday, August 31st, Minister Granger-Weasley held a press conference announcing her intent to promote the general welfare of non-Wizarding populations utilizing magical technologies. Such implementation is unprecedented considering the limitations brought on by the International Statute of Secrecy, and the Minister’s new plan for ‘innocuous integration’ is being questioned by many vocally derisive Aegeans, including the head of the conservative party, Ronan Farris. Turn to page six for our exclusive interview with the shield of the Aegean party, discussing this and other controversial executive decisions by Minister Granger-Weasley, along with the possibility of a new Aegean candidate in the upcoming 2019 election.

 

Albus handed the paper back to Scorpius. “It’s just the usual rubbish.”

“Are you sure?” asked Rose. She snatched the paper away from an increasingly annoyed Scorpius. “This doesn’t look too good.”

“Rose, it’s not a smear piece. It’s fine.”

“But still—"

Albus belched loudly. “Well, I’m stuffed.”

“And I’ve lost my appetite,” said Rose drily, handing the paper back to Scorpius. “Let’s go, then,” she said. Rose stood and pushed her plate away with an air of urgency, as if she craved sudden escape from the Great Hall. “I think the statue is near the doors to the front courtyard.”

“This Muggle technology thing sounds interesting,” said Scorpius, tucking both papers into his robes. “Mind if I join you two?”

“Ooh, count me in,” said Talia. “It’ll give me a chance to look around the castle, too.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Albus. “The more hands we have, the better.”

The four of them made their way out of the Great Hall. The stone double doors to the front courtyard were wide open. The orange-yellow sunlight washed over the mountains and the lake that wrapped around the castle. The place looked picturesque.

 “Here,” said Rose, pointing before the door on the right-hand side. “This is it.”

There was a small indent in the wall, in front of which stood a statue. It was gold and grand, about three or four meters tall. In one hand the wizard presented a model of Hogwarts, and in the other held a large roll of parchment. He stood atop a pedestal whose four corners were adorned with the animals of each house. A plaque centered on the base proudly read, The Architect of Hogwarts.

“What’s that meant to be?” asked Rose, pointing at the roll of parchment.

“Those are the blueprints for Hogwarts,” Albus explained. “The Architect supposedly designed them along with Rowena Ravenclaw, who devised the ever-changing floor plan.”

“Why couldn’t they just design a castle without moving staircases?” muttered Scorpius. “I tried to get to the Great Hall and ended up in a ladies’ toilet.”

The four of them stared at the statue for a moment. Talia looked around. “Well? What now?”

Albus frowned. “Maybe there’s some writing somewhere?”

They scoured all sides of the statue, but couldn’t find anything. Scorpius was scrawny enough to skirt around between the back of the statue and the wall, but he came up with nothing, too.

“I could try using a Revealing Charm,” he suggested after emerging from the other side.

“Go for it,” said Albus.

Scorpius drew his wand and placed its tip on the base of the statue. He took a deep breath. “Aparecium!”

Nothing happened. Scorpius begrudgingly went behind the statue once more and cast the spell again.

“Still nothing,” he said.

“Maybe it’s too advanced for us to tap into,” suggested Talia.

“Possibly,” said Rose. “Sorry, Al. It was a good try.”

“I’m sure we can get something out of this,” Albus said. “But we can come back later, I guess.” He was disappointed, nonetheless. He had finally gotten a proper lead, but it was all for naught. It was… demoralizing.

Scorpius noticed the look on his friend’s face as the two girls walked away. “Hey, it’s fine. I’m sure we can figure something out,” he said, patting Albus on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Scorpius.”

The two of them walked around the castle for an hour or two until they got lost on the second floor and struggled to make their way back to the common room. There, a desperate-looking third year girl supporting a heavy armful of books was trying to gently budge a house of Exploding Snap cards to the side.

Albus turned back to Scorpius, but his eyes landed on empty air. Frowning, Albus looked back at the girl to find that Scorpius was helping carry her things to a different table near the fireplace.

Albus shook his head as Scorpius returned. “How chivalrous.”

“Oh, shut it.”

Albus introduced Scorpius to the wonders of the Muggle smartphone, a device whose functions had still not found themselves integrated into the Wizarding world. His father had never abandoned common Muggle technology like television and automobiles, and had even encouraged Albus after he expressed interest.

It seemed like Albus, besides his father and his uncle George, was one of the very few people in all of Wizarding Britain who cared about Muggle technology, a circumstance that Albus found alarming. Uncle George often complained that wizards still hadn’t developed a way to communicate as quickly and conveniently as Muggle phones, and Albus assumed that the assignment his uncle had tasked him with had something to do with it.

George had approached Albus over the summer, just a few days before his departure for Hogwarts. Albus was afraid he was in trouble—George could practically hear everything going on in the Burrow, what with his magical prosthetic ear and all—but his uncle had offered a proposition.

“I want to install something on your phone,” George had said.

“Install what?” Albus asked.

George looked about the sitting room nervously, as if afraid someone would overhear them. “It’s top secret, Al.”

“Top secret?” Albus grinned. “Cool!” His grin faltered. “Well, what is it?”

“It’s an app. I want to test it at Hogwarts, but I don’t think Professor Helios is keen on inviting alumni into the castle without need.”

“What does it do?”

George winked. “That’s the top secret part. You’ll find out when you use it, I suppose. So, what d’you say?”

Albus was planning on saying yes, regardless of whether or not George had decided to tell him more, and he nodded emphatically.

“Good. Can I see your phone, then?” Albus handed it over. George laid it flat on the coffee table and pointed his wand at it. “You might want to stand back, I have no idea if this will explode.”

“What?!”

Luckily, Albus’s phone didn’t explode. It was completely normal afterwards, save for a little application icon of a tattered roll of parchment. George grinned and urged Albus to tap on it.

Albus opened the application eagerly, and was met with a white circle on a background image of a starry sky. “What is this?”

George peered over his shoulder. “Keep your finger on the circle and say, I solemnly swear I am up to no good.

“What?”

“Just try it.”

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” said Albus. The circle faded and was replaced by white text. “Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs are sadly unavailable to assist you at this time.

George roared in delight. “Bloody hell! It actually worked! I’ve been trying this with older phones, but I don’t think they can handle it—”

Albus blanched. “You didn’t even know if this would work?! What spell did you use?”

“I didn’t.”

“What does it even—” Albus paused. “Wait, what?”

“Try again at Hogwarts,” George insisted. “You’ll see. Hopefully.”

Albus had planned on keeping George’s project a secret from everyone—well, everyone but Rose, of course. Albus always told Rose everything, and he knew that she’d keep a secret if he begged her to.

Yet somehow, even though Albus or Rose hadn’t told a single soul, the Sorting Hat knew. It hadn’t said it out loud, but Albus could tell. It was this knowledge that caused Albus to debate his current predicament—whether or not to tell his new friends.

Unfortunately, Albus’s problems were exacerbated by a miserable development. For some reason, only half of the phone’s functions performed. Albus could turn off cellular data and play almost all downloaded games and content, yet he was unable to connect to anything else. There was certainly some kind of cell signal there, since his phone registered bars in the top corner, but none of its functionality was accessible. All of his texts and emails to his father came back with error messages, and the normal ringing sound whenever he called someone instead registered as harsh and grainy, like a siren. George’s app displayed a black screen instead of the message Albus had seen before, and Albus highly doubted that that was its intended function.

Much to Albus’s chagrin, his music didn’t work either, something he figured out during the previous sleepless night while wearing earbuds. His phone produced no sound at all save for that same siren, meaning Albus had to turn the volume and ringer down at all times to avoid its wails.

Albus figured that his problems had something to do with the castle’s magic, but the whole situation was still odd. How had Professor Helios managed it?

“I hope all Muggle technology isn’t like this,” said Scorpius, frowning as Albus shook his phone in dismay.

“It’s not, I swear. Haven’t you used the fan?”

“What, the one you brought along with you?”

Albus had asked his mum to shrink a box fan into his trunk with an expanding timer. She had been deathly afraid that Albus would forget and blow up his trunk, but Albus had managed to assure her that he would be responsible. His mother had set the timer to eleven at night, giving Albus two hours after the feast to unpack the fan and place it in a safe space for expansion. “I’ll teach you the spell over the Christmas break,” she had said, smirking.

“I like to sleep in very cold temperatures,” Albus told Scorpius. “I literally have three fans set up in optimal positioning in my room back at home.”

“Sounds posh.”

“Don’t be mad when you ask to use it and I say, ‘I told you so.’”

Scorpius smirked. “I have no need for petty ornaments like a fan.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Hey!” he said, pretending to look offended. “I eat my cucumber sandwiches with the crusts on, thank you very much.”

Both of them laughed. Albus rubbed his eyes. “I severely regret not having slept right about now.”

“I would suggest that you take a nap but it’s already almost lunchtime.”

Albus looked up at the clock. It was in fact almost noon; they had spent an hour in conversation. “Have we really been talking for that long?”

“Doesn’t feel like it, hmm?”

Albus shook his head. He traced his tongue around the roof of his mouth. “Damn. I forgot to brush.”

“And shower,” said Scorpius, wrinkling his nose.

“I’m going to go shower, then.”

“Cool,” said Scorpius. “I’m going to stop by the library. I’ll meet you at lunch?”

“Yeah,” Albus said, waving goodbye and heading up the stairs to the first year dormitory.

Albus noticed that all of the beds were empty, save for one. Finn, a boy with chocolate skin and curly black hair, was still sound asleep, curled up into fetal position underneath his sheets.

Albus tiptoed around Finn’s bed to his own, grabbing his soaps, a change of clothes, and, inspired by a guilty conscience, his toothbrush and toothpaste. The two full bathrooms were located to the right side of the dormitory, for the sake of privacy if someone came in through the front door.

But as Albus pulled his wand from his pocket, the roll of parchment from breakfast dropped to the tile floor. He picked it up and unfurled it, and smiled as his father’s handwriting came into view.

 

Dear Albus,

 

I hope you’re well. Your mother and I are so incredibly proud of you. Slytherin is lucky to have such a brilliant young man in their ranks, and I have no doubt that you will accomplish all that you dream of.

A word of advice: good friends are hard to come by. When you find them, keep them close. You’ll never regret it. We’re both here for anything you need, Al. Don’t hesitate to reach out for any reason.

 

Sending our love,

Your mum and dad.

 

Smiling, Albus carefully rolled up the parchment and placed the tie back on, stepping out of the bathroom momentarily to place it carefully on his desk.

Albus showered and brushed his teeth simultaneously, all the while wishing that his phone’s music worked. Fifteen minutes later, he felt and smelled considerably cleaner. But after noticing that his dormmate was still asleep, Albus resolved to wake him up.

Albus tapped Finn’s shoulder. The boy didn’t wake. Albus frowned and tried multiple tactics for the next few minutes, including shaking his shoulder, shaking both of his shoulders, tapping his face, and even yelling his name. None worked.

Albus was getting extremely frustrated and ready to leave before an idea struck him. He unlocked his phone, turned up the volume to full blast and, bracing himself, played a music file. The grating siren blared its hell-song, startling Albus and waking Finn, who shrieked and jumped out of bed, nearly falling onto the heater in the middle of the room.

“What the hell is that?” Finn yelled, covering his ears.

Albus turned it off and released a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “You weren’t waking up; I didn’t know what to—” He spun around quickly. “Why are you naked?”

Finn yelped. “Sorry.” Albus heard some rustling behind him. “You’re good now.”

Albus turned to find Finn wearing a hideous pair of neon green pyjamas. Albus wrinkled his nose and wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. “It took me ten minutes to wake you up!”

“Yeah, I’m a very heavy sleeper,” Finn said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “I also sometimes have a tendency to fall asleep with my pyjamas on and wake up completely naked. It’s a condition.”

“I figured as much,” said Albus, grimacing at the fresh memory. “D’you know a memory charm, by chance?”

“Sorry. You’re stuck with that forever.”

Albus placed his dirty clothes into his unfolded collapsible hamper. “I’m heading down to lunch now. It’s already past noon; you should probably eat something.”

“Sure, let me freshen up first,” Finn said, opening his trunk with a loud crash. “Ah, crud.”

“You okay?” asked Albus, scrambling around his own bed to see what had happened.

“Damn!” Finn was standing over a mound of light brown powder.

“What is that?” Albus asked, grabbing a cleaning broom from the space between two bathroom doors. He handed the broom to Finn and fetched the dustpan.

“Instant coffee,” he muttered. “My dad told me that the castle doesn’t stock coffee, so I brought some of my own.”

“I’m sure that there’s some form of coffee somewhere in the castle,” said Albus, holding the dustpan steady against the floor as Finn swept the powder into a small pile. “Surely the professors have some.”

“Maybe, but I doubt they’re willing to share. I certainly wouldn’t.”

Albus frowned. “Possibly. I’ll ask Neville—Professor Longbottom if he could lend me any.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it. Maybe it’s a sign.” Finn shrugged.

 “Sure,” said Albus, moving to grab the broom off the floor.

“Wait, I’ll get it,” Finn said, reaching it before Albus. “Go on down to lunch, I’ll clean this up.”

“You sure?” asked Albus, dusting off his knees. “I can stay and help.”

“It’s fine. I need to shower after this, anyways.”

“Alright,” Albus said, relenting. “Have fun.”

“I will!” Finn shouted as Albus walked out the door.

Albus glanced around the common room and left. It seemed that Scorpius had in fact gone to the library. He exited and, on his way out of the door, nearly walked directly into Rose.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, jumping back. “Careful, Rosie.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t expect anyone to be coming out.”

“It’s fine,” said Albus. “Have you eaten already?”

“No,” she said as the two stepped to the side, allowing an older student to pass by. “I’m grabbing a copy of a second year Defense book to show Talia. She’s waiting in the Great Hall.”

“Oh, I’m heading down there now,” Albus said. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah,” nodded Rose before tucking through the doors.

Albus watched as they closed behind his cousin. The archway recessed into the wall and the handles disappeared, the beveling melting into the cold stone and fading until it seemed like a dead end. He shook his head in mild amazement.

Concealing magic always mesmerized him. The practice of illusion was one both mysterious and heavily relied upon in the magical world for the protection of their society. It was employed in a plethora of ways, from hiding small valuables in a house to disguising an entire government headquarters.

Perhaps that was why Albus was so intrigued by the statue of the Architect. There was something vexing him, something that seemed odd. The statue had only ever been mentioned in that one edition of Hogwarts, a History, the only edition available to Hogwarts students. Why hadn’t he seen mention of it elsewhere?

Figuring that he could case the statue once more before lunch, Albus headed out of the dungeons and back up towards the front entrance. He stood in front of the statue, staring up at the Architect’s face. Whoever had sculpted the statue had done a fantastic job. Albus almost felt as though the golden man would lean down and speak.

“What are you doing?”

Albus shrieked and whirled around to find his brother looking skeptical. “Bloody hell, James.”

“New boyfriend?” he suggested, gesturing to the statue.

“Don’t worry about it,” Albus muttered, placing his hand over his chest. “I’m just trying to figure something out.”

“What, exactly?” asked James. “There’s not much to figure out when classes haven’t even started.”

“I said, don’t worry about it.”

James held his hands up. “Someone’s touchy.”

Albus sighed. “Just shut up. Why are you even here?”

“Er…” James shifted uncomfortably. “To check on you?”

Albus looked at him is disbelief and laughed. “You… checking on… me?”

James glowered. “Here I thought you’d be all moody.”

Albus just kept laughing, doing his best to keep his breaths steady.

“Fine, then.” James gave him a look and turned, heading back through the Entrance Hall.

Albus recovered quickly after James left. He didn’t want to look at an insane person, staring at a statue and laughing. He turned his keen eye to the recess that the statue occupied. The outline of the stone arch was parabolically shaped and either side came to a soft peak at the top. He frowned; something was odd about its construction.

Albus continued studying the statue for another five minutes, even trying to slip behind to see if Scorpius had missed anything. Suffice to say his efforts were futile. He grunted in frustration and stomped to the Great Hall, taking a moment outside to compose his unruly hair before heading in.

Talia and Scorpius were talking amicably on opposite sides of the table. Albus sat down to Scorpius’s right, and Scorpius immediately noticed that something was off. “You alright?”

“I dunno,” Albus said, grabbing a leg of roast chicken. “I’m still thinking about that statue.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” said Talia. “I’m sure we’ll find something.”

Oh, we will, thought Albus, his mind still determined. He munched on his piece of chicken solemnly. “How was your library visit, Scorpius?”

“Oh, it was incredible.” Scorpius smiled. “The library at home is big, sure, but nothing like the Hogwarts one.”

“It’s massive,” Talia agreed. “Rose and I almost got lost in the Potions section.”

“Rose doesn’t get lost easily,” Albus pointed out.

Talia’s smile wavered. “Okay, maybe I almost got lost in the Potions section.”

Albus tuned out as Talia and Scorpius began talking about the staircases. He was on the far side of the room, meaning he had a good view of the Gryffindor table. James was shoveling potatoes into his mouth as his three best friends, Ben, Toby, and Mark, looked around like guards.

Albus frowned. James and his posse were normally odd, sure, but they seemed more… suspicious than normal.

Albus glanced up at the Head Table. Only a few professors were present, none of whom he knew. He looked back the at Gryffindor table to find that James had finished and was slinking out of the hall, his friends staying behind and whispering.

James sprinted away from the Entrance Hall as soon as he was out of sight of the Head Table. Albus could have sworn he saw his brother pull a stained piece of folded parchment from his pocket before completely vanishing from Albus’s point of view.

Chapter 3: Practical Potion-Making

Chapter Text

True to the announcement on the notice board, schedules were handed out on Sunday. Albus found that his schedule was fairly simple in structure. He had spots for three morning classes, lunch, and then three evening classes every day. Each class was about an hour and a half long. Some of the spots were occupied by free periods, and there was a special schedule for Astronomy, which was at midnight on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The Slytherins were also given double-blocks each week of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and, regrettably History of Magic.

Albus’s Monday schedule was completely unimpeded by double-blocking, consisting of one period of each ‘core class,’ as Neville had dubbed them. Though the lack of free periods on Mondays was unfortunate, he was thankful that he shared the same classes as the other Slytherins. Finn made their group of four a group of five, and they had explored the castle together on Sunday.

Rose and Talia had become fast friends. It comforted Albus to know that his cousin had someone reliable to talk to, given that he wasn’t linguistically proficient when it came to emotional talks. He had sat down with Rose in that manner Sunday night, trying to gauge how she felt about her Sorting relative to the day before.

“I feel better, I guess,” she had said. Her voice held a twinge of lingering gloom, but she did look better compared to the day before. “I’m going to write to mum and dad tomorrow morning before classes. D’you want to come with and write to you parents, as well?” she asked.

Albus politely declined. He had written to his parents (about his weekend) and to George (about the app) the previous night, and he had no desire to visit the Owlery again. Its floor creaked ominously, and it stank of bird droppings. Beethoven seemed to like it, nonetheless; he’d found her socializing with a couple school owls when he went to deliver his letter.

Before long, it was Monday morning and Finn was shaking Albus awake, thankfully clothed. “You didn’t wake up,” he explained as Albus rubbed his eyes groggily.

“What time is it?” Albus mumbled, yawning loudly.

“Seven-thirty,” said Finn casually, pulling his socks on.

Albus shot out of bed like a rocket. “Seven-thirty?! Classes start in half an hour!”

Finn eyed him curiously as he began shuffling around the room hastily. “Mate, just change and slap on some deodorant.”

“I’d like to eat, thank you very much,” Albus said bitterly. He had been craving a croissant since the previous morning.

“Croissant?” questioned Scorpius, entering through the doorway. “I figured you two would still be getting ready.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Finn, accepting a pastry from his roommate.

Albus held his hand out, not bothering to speak as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Scorpius rolled his eyes and handed him the pastry. “Here you are, master.”

Finn studied the bottom of the pastry, which Scorpius had neatly tucked into a napkin. “How did you wrap it like this, Scorpius? You’re like a barista.”

“Or a mum,” said Albus from around a mouthful of croissant.

“Buzz off,” muttered Scorpius, knocking Albus on the back of the head. “I’m heading back down. I’ll meet you two in a bit.”

Albus fumbled around for a few more minutes while eating his breakfast as Finn sat on Scorpius’s bed, flipping through one of the many fiction books Albus had packed in his trunk. “How many of these did you bring?” Finn asked, staring at the cover art.

“I dunno, thirty or so?” Albus replied.

Finn looked at Albus’s closed trunk warily, as though it might explode any second. “How? I thought you weren’t allowed magically expanded trunks.”

Albus stood up and jumped, forcing the heels of his feet into his shoes. He turned around rapidly, grabbing his wand and phone off his bedside table and stuffing them into his robe pockets. “My aunt is the Minister for Magic. I have my resources.”

 

*    *    *

 

A loudspeaker crackled to life as Albus and Finn made their way through the winding dungeon corridors.

“Hello? Is this thing working?”

There were a few dense hits over the speaker, as though someone were tapping a microphone.

Finn stopped for a moment. “What’s that?”

“A PA system,” said Albus as the announcer, presumably Professor Helios, fumbled with the microphone. “It’s used in Muggle schools for announcements. I guess Helios had one installed over the summer.”

Finn looked up at the speaker, which was mounted high on the stone wall. “Sounds like shit.”

“I’m just going to assume this is working. Good morning students, this is Professor Helios—oh, I’ve just been informed that the speaker is, indeed, working. Well, this is Professor Helios wishing a fantastic first day to all of our students. I hope you’ve all had a pleasant sleep and feel ready to tackle the world! Now, just to get you all inspired, I have a famous quote from the esteemed wizard, Merlin.”

“Oh, god,” Albus muttered.

“‘A good student follows the expectations of their master to the letter. A great student, however, makes something greater of themselves.’ Now, get to class! I wish you all a fantastic school year.”

There was a great bit of shuffling, a loud crash, and a panicked whispering before the microphone disconnected.

The two boys arrived at Potions a few minutes early, much to their and Rose’s bewilderment. “Surprised you actually showed up,” she said, watching Albus fruitlessly try and fix a wad of hair on the side of his head that refused to stay down.

“I’m not skiving off classes just yet, dear cousin,” he said, licking his hand to get more moisture.

Talia frowned in disgust. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to fix my hair.”

“And failing,” Scorpius commented as it stuck back up again.

“Screw this,” Albus muttered, giving up on his hair as more students began filling the hallway. The Potions classroom was in the dungeons, the main reason that Albus and Finn had managed to arrive early. They shared the class with the Ravenclaws, who Albus hoped would be less hostile towards them than the Gryffindors, who frequently cast jeers their way in the halls. His wish was granted, and the Ravenclaws introduced themselves amicably.

Albus figured the two houses were similar in the same way that Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were, since Ravenclaw and Slytherin tended to lead in the House Cup due to their, for lack of a better word, intelligence. One Ravenclaw was especially enthusiastic, shaking hands with Albus as soon as he laid eyes on him.

“Felix Fawcett,” he gushed. “My mother went to Hogwarts with your father. I’ve always looked up to him,” he said, smiling widely.

Albus found Felix’s expression rather unnerving. “Erm... thanks?”

The boy let out what sounded like a squeak and returned to chatter at a very bored looking girl.

Albus instinctively looked over to Talia, thinking about what Felix had mentioned about his father. It was a breath of fresh air, he resolved, to have a friend that didn’t care who his father was; it meant he could tell Talia all about his father’s adventures at Hogwarts.

Scorpius didn’t care, sure, but Scorpius’s own parentage was complicated in the same way his and Rose’s was. Finn didn’t question Albus about his dad, but then again, Finn was very abnormal in general.

The first time that the five of them had encountered the cackling Peeves returning from lunch the previous day, Finn had charged the ghost like a bull. Peeves was baffled by the response and decided to flee, likely thinking Finn was mentally insane. When Albus questioned him why, Finn had simply shrugged. “Haven’t you ever wanted to know what the inside of a ghost feels like? It’s cold, by the way.”

The creaking of the door shook Albus from his thoughts. A hand protruding from the darkness beckoned them inside. Finn marched into the dimly lit room like a soldier, completely unaffected by its eerie aura. Albus and Scorpius followed hesitantly, Talia and Rose using their backs as a shield.

The room was larger than Albus had expected, made of the same stone as the rest of the dungeons. Finn had taken a seat directly in the middle at the front of the room, and Albus and Scorpius sat to either side. The desks were all behind an archway that divided the room in half. The walls were adorned with shelves of potion ingredients and textbooks, and a chalkboard and a larger, industrial-sized desk sat in a far corner.

The door closed with a heavy slam once all of the students had filed in. Their professor finally stepped into the light of the lanterns illuminating the open area at the front of the class.

She was tall, with flowy robes colored a deep purple. Her hair was done up in a bun, and she had a pale complexion accented by her thin veil of makeup. She withdrew her wand and made a swishing motion, causing the lanterns at the back of the room to light and brighten up the atmosphere.

Their professor cleared her throat. “Sorry about that. These lanterns don’t like to stay on.”

She walked over to the chalkboard and tapped it twice. Writing began to appear as she walked back towards the center of the room, examining the students’ faces.

“Hello and welcome to your first class at Hogwarts. My name is Professor Nyx, and I am the Head of Slytherin House. I will also be your Potions teacher for the duration of your Hogwarts education, though I hope you figured as much already.” She paused as if waiting for a response and was met with palpable silence. “You’re allowed to speak, you know.”

A mild chorus of hi’s and hello’s was directed towards the front, as if forced.

Professor Nyx shook her head. “Mornings, I get it.” She headed back to the chalkboard, whose real estate was now covered in stark white writing. “Let’s get the boring talk over with. Nearly all of your finals at Hogwarts will consist of a theoretical and practical exam. Your professors will inform you if the format is different for their subject. The theoretical exam is what you’d traditionally think of: there’s some kind of written portion and, possibly, a multiple choice. The practical is, well… practical. Hands on. I’ll admit that I consider this portion significantly more important; you learn the theory via the practical, after all. I don’t have many standards for this class. I assign homework on an optional basis, though I highly recommend you do it to achieve adequate marks on your final,” she said, moving the board in front of the desks with a flick of her wand.

Finn glanced between Albus and Scorpius skeptically, analyzing the words that Professor Nyx had just uttered.

“No, your ears aren’t deceiving you,” she added, picking up on the glances and whispers. “None of the homework I assign in this class is mandatory, in that it will not count toward your marks during the term. However, I daresay that you will find the class exponentially more difficult if you decide to let the opportunity pass you.”

The whispers died.

“That’s better. Now then,” she continued, tapping the top line of text on the board, “please open your books and flip to page eight.”

The class filled with a ruffling of fabric and papers as people drew their textbooks from their bags. Finn was looking wide eyed at Albus. “No homework? I heard that Potions was the hardest class at Hogwarts!”

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” Albus whispered.

Professor Nyx migrated around the classroom as people flipped through their textbooks. She returned to the front of the classroom once everyone had settled.

“Good,” she said. “Now then, I want you to pinch together pages nine through two hundred and forty-three.”

Albus twisted his right hand awkwardly to keep track of the pages. He caught Talia’s eye. What the hell is this? he mouthed, gesturing to his hands using his head. She shrugged, looking equally baffled.

“Make sure you have just these pages, yes? I don’t want any of you doing this with the wrong material,” said Professor Nyx. “Does everyone have pages nine through two hundred and forty-three? Come on now, speak!” she added after meeting silence once more.

The students raised an unenthusiastic-sounding murmur of assent.

“Good. Now rip those pages out.”

Finn did so immediately, while the rest of the class hesitated. Rose raised her hand politely. “Sorry Professor, could you repeat that?”

“Of course,” Professor Nyx said, smiling. “I want you to rip out pages nine through two hundred and forty-three.”

Rose raised her hand again, shakily. “Professor? Surely these pages have some value to them—”

“Nope,” said Nyx. “None at all. I suppose, if you really want to, you could go ahead and keep them.”

People slowly began to follow Finn’s example. Rose whipped her head around to Albus and emitted a little yelp after finding him doing the same. The look on her face was as though someone had taken a part of her soul.

The look on Scorpius’s face was more one of a gassy hippogriff. “This feels odd,” he said, flipping through the torn pages in his hand.

“I don’t see what you mean,” drawled Finn, who had his legs up and was fanning himself with his bounty. “I’m loving this.”

Nyx stared at Finn oddly. “Please take your feet off the table, young man.”

Finn did so. “Sorry, Professor.” Albus blinked, not sure if he’d ever seen Finn abashed before.

“All of you, please come up here and place your papers in a pile on the red cross,” Nyx instructed.

“What cross?” asked a girl from the back of the classroom.

“This one,” said Professor Nyx, pointing at a comical red X on the floor that was most definitely not present two seconds earlier. “Come on now, we don’t have all day!” she exclaimed when people began getting up sluggishly. “First years,” she muttered, moving herself and the chalkboard back to create empty space at the front of the room.

Once everyone had deposited their pages in the pile on the floor, some with less reluctance than others, the professor ordered everyone to back up. They did so, pressing against the front desks.

Professor Nyx drew her wand. “I want you to watch carefully.” She raised her wand, poised elegantly. Incendio!

The papers went up in a jet of flame, crumpling and swaying as they deflated and burned. Their light danced off the walls, orange and fierce.

Nyx turned around as the fire raged behind her. “Now then, if you’d all return to your seats.”

Albus glanced over to Rose, who was looking positively shaken. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth seemed unable to form words, instead producing incoherent whimpers.

An excerpt from The Essential Book of Spells came back to Albus, its irony ever present. From lighting a warm hearth to igniting a Christmas pudding, the Fire-Making Spell is always useful around the wizarding household. However, the ability to produce fire with the flick of a wand can be dangerous to your fellow students (and worse, your books).

Nyx cleared her throat again. “You will not be learning how to brew beginners’ potions, for their purpose is to introduce you to concepts that you will encounter in classical potion-making. I find that students learn better through practical application than theoretical drivel. You can put your books away now,” she said. “I will bring up lecture topics when necessary.”

Albus did so, glancing back at Rose. Her mouth had decided to clamp closed, though her eyes still wavered. Albus waved at Talia to get her attention and bent down under the pretense of stowing away his textbook.

“What?” Talia whispered.

“Make sure Rose doesn’t have a heart attack,” Albus said.

“I’ll try.”

Albus righted himself and returned his attention to Professor Nyx, who was stamping on the pile of papers, now a pile of ashes. She moved the chalkboard around them, making it visible to the entire class once more.

“This board details instructions for a mild Incendiary Cure. Ingredients are around the class. Get brewing!” she exclaimed, waving her wand and causing the burners underneath the cauldrons to come ablaze.

The potion was designed to emit a gentle heat akin to that of a heat lamp for keeping a room warm, but the process itself involved the usage of fire seed, which burst into flame when added directly into a fire. A Ravenclaw in the back ended up tipping one into the burner under his cauldron, singeing his eyebrows off and sending him to the Hospital Wing.

“Professor?” Scorpius asked from one of the cupboards. “I’ve been searching for ash, and I don’t see any wood up here.”

Nyx chuckled. “I imagine you wouldn’t. The recipe calls for ash as in the powder, not the wood.”

“Where are we meant to find…” Scorpius looked back at the heap of black powder on the floor. “Oh.”

Nyx cleared her throat, and the motion stopped. “Class, I suggest you all find a way to cooperate given the limited amount of resources.” She Conjured a broom and dustpan and handed it to Scorpius. “Have fun.”

What ensued was a frantic scuffle near the front of the class as students struggled to wrangle the pile of uncooperative ashes on the floor. Scorpius returned with a jar of enough ash for the three boys and some more smeared on his face.

As expected, Rose and Scorpius performed the best, producing near-perfect potions and earning five points each for Slytherin. Albus’s resembled more of a thick paste than a potion.

“What you’ve done there is actually created an Incendiary Putty,” Nyx commented during her round at the end of class. “Can you explain what you did?”

“I added a bit too much Flobberworm mucus,” Albus guessed.

“Indeed. Too much will increase the viscosity and decrease the intensity. You can use this as a long burning substance for torches.” Nyx demonstrated by levitating a small chunk and lighting it aflame. The flame burned bright and held steadily. “Though not the given assignment,” said Nyx, looking directly at Albus, “good job.”

The praise itself was enough to make Albus smile.

Chapter 4: More Peculiar Professors

Chapter Text

The Transfiguration classroom was on the first floor, requiring the five first years to walk up two flights of stairs. "I think that the Transfiguration professor is Head of Ravenclaw," Rose whispered as they entered the classroom.

The windows were high and large, allowing sunlight to stream in unimpeded, much like the Great Hall. The Transfiguration classroom was significantly taller than the Potions room, extending a full seven meters above their heads. The classroom was entirely devoid of desks. There was instead a set of large steps to the right of the door they entered through.

Waiting in the middle of the floor space was a man who looked very young for a professor. He had mousy brown hair and was clean shaven, with robes that were close fitted for ease of movement. He was athletic looking and, sure enough, had a raven pin attached to his lapel. Both the classroom and the professor's dress were polar opposites of Professor Nyx's.

"Hello, hello, come on in," the professor greeted, pointing to the stairs.

They took the cue and sat. The steps were designed for sitting more than climbing, as each step was almost half a meter high. Finn bounded up to the top level. Albus and Scorpius followed, while the girls opted to stay on the first step.

The man looked positively tiny compared to the amount of space in the room. "Hello!" he boomed in a loud voice. Albus figured he had applied a charm to make himself louder. "My name is Marcus Merriweather. You can call me Professor M."

"Good morning, Professor M," chorused a canned voice from the corner.

Some students snickered as Professor M took a small bow. "Thank you, thank you. Nothing like setting the tone on a bright day, hmm?"

"Sure not, Professor M," said the voice, sounding extremely bored. It raised another round of chuckles that he waved off.

"Alright, that's enough of that." He spread his arms. "You're probably wondering why there aren't any chairs, or books, or desks, or really any traditional classroom ornaments. You see," he explained, walking towards the steps, "Transfiguration is a complicated art form. My predecessor, the esteemed Minerva McGonagall, believed that it was the most complex and essential branch of magic. I, of course, am inclined to agree. I made a career out of it, after all." He looked up. "I'm spotting some very nervous faces. Including one in particular..." His face broke into a smile. "Ah, Albus Potter! Could you please make your way down?"

Albus raised a curious eyebrow, shrugging off the strap of his knapsack and bounding down the steps.

Finn began clapping. "Yeah, Albus!"

The students laughed and Professor M joined in. "Yes, go on! Make some noise! Let's get a bit looser, don't be shy!"

The class clapped modestly as Albus stood next to the professor. He was taller than Albus thought, maybe even as tall as Uncle Ron.

"Now," said Professor M, "I'm going to embarrass you a bit, Albus."

Albus laughed nervously. "Do I have a choice?"

"Nope!" he said cheerily. He moved around Albus, examining the back of his head. "I attended Hogwarts about four years after Harry Potter left. He was a bit of a legend, you know," Professor M said, pushing hair out of his face. "In fact, I wanted to be an Auror when I grew up, just like him. Then, one fateful day, I got into a duel with a rival student. It ended up very bloody. I lost three of my fingers," he said, holding up his left hand. It appeared to be perfectly normal.

"It looks fine to me," hollered Minghao, one of the first year Slytherins.

"Of course, it looks fine. I'm a bloody Transfiguration professor, aren't I?"

Albus would have grinned along with the rest had he not been incredibly uncomfortable.

"Anyways, the point of this story is that Harry Potter was a bad student, any questions?" Albus actually did laugh now. Professor M turned to face him. "What is it?"

"You're one of the only people who've actually admitted that he wasn't a good student," said Albus, smiling.

"Well he wasn't, no? I've heard the stories, like that time he flunked Divination, or the other when he got a T on a Potions exam."

"Professor," said a Ravenclaw boy, raising his hand, "I don't think a mark called 'T' exists."

"It stands for Troll. Do well enough and you won't ever need to know it exists," M said, tapping the side of his forehead.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Albus?" the man questioned, turning towards him.

"I still don't understand why you've called me up here."

"Ah yes, here." Professor M swiveled to face the class once more. "In The Boy Who Lived's—Lived's? Is that right? Oh, it doesn't matter—in Harry Potter's second year at Hogwarts, he was the victim of a Bone-Mending Charm gone awry. I'm going to replicate these effects on Albus using the power of Transfiguration. I say replicate the effects and not the actual thing, for vanishing the bones in someone's arm leads to a rather painful night of Skele-Gro that I don't think Albus wants to experience anytime soon." He brandished his wand dramatically. "Are you ready, Mister Potter?"

There was a beat of silence. "Oh, erm, sure," he stuttered, realizing that the professor was waiting for a response.

Professor M stared at his arm intently before swishing his wand down with force. Albus's arm, which was before crossed along his chest, dropped like a wet sack and pulled him to the ground. Albus went wide eyed as he was sent toppling over, spilling out onto the floor.

"You see," said Professor M matter-of-fact, "It's as though I've liquified the bones in his arm."

Albus looked up at the stairs. Scorpius, Talia and Finn were laughing hysterically, while Rose appeared mildly amused.

"Why don't you tell us how that feels, Albus?" Professor M asked.

Albus turned his gaze to his limp arm and attempted to move it. It flopped like a fish, heavy and immobile. "Well professor, it feels as though someone's liquified the bones in my arm."

"Ah, how acute of an observation!" Professor M cast the counter-spell and Albus's arm snapped back into position. It was mildly uncomfortable but not painful. "Good show, Albus. Ten points to Slytherin for your assistance. Everybody, give Albus another round of applause!" he exclaimed as Albus bounded back up the stairs.

Scorpius clapped him on the back. "Good job, Albus."

Finn copied his motion. "Oh, the life of a Potter. The special treatment bruises my soul. How I wish I could have importance!" He placed the back of his hand on his head and stared at the ceiling dramatically.

Albus smacked him on the back of the head, and Finn lost his balance and toppled onto the next step, unprepared for the sudden assault. Scorpius burst into laughter, and Albus scrambled to help Finn up.

"Everything alright up there?" called M.

"Fine!" said the three boys simultaneously.

"Right, then."

M stared at them for a moment before continuing.

"Though Transfiguration can be used for storytelling purposes," Professor M continued, "It's generally not. Have any of you heard of Ilvermorny, in America?"

A few hands rose here and there, including Rose's and Scorpius's.

"Yes. It's the American school for magic, just like Hogwarts. They have this theory of fundamental elements of magic, with runes that describe them."

M drew the symbols in the air with his wand as he spoke.

"First: entropy. The manifestation of magical energy into a traditional form. Charms, Defense, the typical kinds of wand-waving magic that Muggles think about. Second, Arithmancy. Magical theory, the study of how magic can be predicted and manipulated. And last," with an extra flourish at the end, "Transfiguration. The way a living thing interacts with magic."

"You can make incantations with these runes, but that's a whole other thing," said M. "Once you get to a high level, you can cast intensely powerful Transfiguration spells without even needing an incantation. Ah, yes, a question. Name, please?"

"Talia," said Talia. "Atherton, Talia Atherton."

"Go on."

"I didn't know that Transfiguration used incantations, Professor."

"It does, indeed!" M waved his finger in the air. "Yes, Transfiguration is interesting in that sense. Your normal spells are single words, amalgamations of Latin and Greek. Transfiguration is a command in specific, formed more like a sentence. You can't use a general word to turn a button into a needle. It takes specifics, intent. That technique I used on Albus is called Human Transfiguration. You can use it to replicate the abilities of an Metamorphmagus. Does anyone know what a Metamorphmagus is?"

Rose raised her hand anxiously, beating Albus to it.

"Yes Miss...?"

"Rose Granger-Weasley," she said, standing up slightly taller.

"Ah, more famous parents! Well, go ahead Miss Granger-Weasley."

"A Metamorphmagus is an individual with the ability to alter different parts of their body to replicate the features of other people or animals."

"Good definition. Take a point for Slytherin. The thing about Human Transfiguration is that one isn't limited to animals. You could disguise yourself as nearly anything, from a half-man-half-shark to a comfortable reclining chair. Granted, there are certain physical limits. Anybody know what they are? A Ravenclaw, perhaps, to even out the point tally."

The class continued this way until its end. Albus was immensely satisfied with the way the day was shaping up, even after Professor M assigned them eight inches of parchment on the different branches of Transfiguration. Rose was positively ecstatic, having recovered from her shell-shocked state during Potions. She and Talia ran off ahead while the three boys stayed behind for a moment, allowing Albus to get his things together.

Finn and Scorpius, ever impatient, left a moment later, with Albus assuring them that he would catch up. He actually wanted to ask Professor M a question. His opportunity arose when he was the final student left in the room. Professor M was cleaning up the few ornaments of the room he had conjured during the practical lesson.

"Professor?" Albus asked, stepping down and landing on his toes. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"Well, of course not, Albus," he said, walking over and crossing his arms. "Just be efficient about it. Don't want you being late for class on the first day."

"No sir. I was wondering how you got the canned noise effect to work?"

"Ah, that little thing!" He smiled. "I employed some use of Muggle technology."

"I figured as much," said Albus. "I was wondering if you could maybe elaborate? I'm trying to work around the new parameters that Headmaster Helios set up to get my phone to play music properly." He figured using a half-lie would qualify his reasoning convincingly.

Professor M looked impressed. "Albus Potter, son of one of the greatest wizards to ever live, has a Muggle phone? I'd be delighted to show you!" he exclaimed, beaming. "Helios seems to be the only person in this blasted castle who shares my interest in these kinds of Muggle devices and their integration. Save for Mister Greywater, the Activities director," he added as an afterthought. "He lived in Muggle London for about a decade."

"You should meet my grandfather," Albus said, smiling. "I think you would get along smashingly."

Professor M chuckled. "Perhaps. Well, off you go. Meet me after classes end, say Thursday? You can bring up some dinner to eat here, if you wish," he said, walking Albus to the door.

"Thank you, Professor."

Professor M nodded, looking pleased with himself. "See you around, Albus."

Albus coursed down the hallways with a new pep in his step. If he couldn't get a direct answer about the castle's magic, perhaps he could work around it using Professor M's methods. While turning the corner just outside the classroom, he ran smack into another person.

"Oh, shit, sorry," they said apologetically, stepping back. "You okay—Albus!"

"Hey, Vic," Albus muttered, rubbing his nose and looking up. "Why d'you have to be so tall?"

His cousin shrugged. "Genes?"

Victoire was in her sixth year of Hogwarts education, and the Veela characteristics she'd inherited from her mother Fleur had given her the same silver blonde hair and mesmerizing eyes. Victoire's relationship status was a subject of much debate among the Gryffindor boys, but, as James had discovered on the platform, she had been seeing his and Albus's godbrother, Teddy. Her and Albus always had a rather amicable relationship, with Victoire having been the person who taught Albus to fly a broom.

"How's your day been so far?" she asked, placing her hands on Albus's shoulders.

Albus shrugged them off, ignoring Victoire's sly smile. "Fine, I guess. The Slytherins are a lot more pleasant than you'd think."

"That's good," Victoire said. "I was afraid they'd be elitist arseholes, but it seems my fears are assuaged."

"A lot of them just get a bad rep," Albus responded. "It's nice and quiet in the common room, and most everyone's very respectful."

Well, there were of course the few who weren't. Albus received the occasional malicious stare from older students who, behind his back, claimed he was a traitor to his name and a disgrace to Slytherin house. The Slytherins who were bold enough to insult him to his face were the nastiest, of course, but they were so nonthreatening and few and far in between that Albus simply grew to ignore them. Perhaps the abuses hurled at him from the pompous Gryffindor first years had dulled their impact? Whatever the case, it was nothing Victoire needed to know.

"How about the other Gryffindors?" Albus asked.

"Worse than you'd think," Victoire muttered, unaware of what Albus really thought. "Some of the damned first years just don't know how to shut up." She patted Albus on the back. "Listen, let's catch up later. I've got to get to class."

"Same," Albus said, shouldering his rucksack. "See you."

"Don't be an idiot," Victoire said, continuing down the hallway.

"I'm not James!" he called after her.

"I know!"

Albus managed to make it to the back entrance without encountering any staircase complications. As soon as he was out of the building he broke into a run, dashing towards Greenhouse One where he could see the silhouettes of his fellow first years against the frosted glass.

He panted as he opened the door, only to find a group of four Gryffindors huddling near the doorway. Albus's mood soured upon realizing that he had to share classes with the Gryffindors. The four before him had adopted ugly looks on their faces after eyeing the House badge pinned to his chest. Albus shot them an equally ugly glare before skirting around the long work table to the back of the greenhouse, where his friends stood waving him over.

Scorpius had tucked his hands into his armpits. "It's only the first week of September and it's already colder outside than in the dungeons," he complained, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"Why don't you bundle for warmth with Rose?" suggested Finn, noticing that Albus's cousin was in a similar predicament.

Scorpius smacked Finn on the back of the head. "Maybe I'll warm up if I hit you enough."

"Mate, I've been hit enough today."

"Doesn't seem like it yet."

"What did you need to ask Professor M?" Talia asked.

"Oh!" Albus's excitement returned. "I've got another lead."

"Really?" asked Rose, perking up.

"Yeah. I asked him about how he did that dry applause effect and he told me that he used Muggle technology. He hasn't told me, and I don't want to pry, but I think he may be Muggle-born. He also told me that only he and the Headmaster seem to be interested in systematic integration," Albus added. "I dunno if that's important."

"That's bloody brilliant!" said Scorpius. "You can just ask him some pointed questions and we won't even need to do research!"

Talia pursed her lips. "Why are you going through all this effort, anyways? What exactly do you plan on doing once you get your answer?"

"Well," Albus started, "I've—"

"He wants to be able to listen to his music," answered Rose, cutting him off. "I haven't known a single day before school that Albus has gone without it."

Albus gave Rose an odd look. Go with it, she mouthed.

"That sounds like an addiction," said Finn.

"Oh, it most definitely is," said Rose. "Tell them, Albus."

"I dunno if addiction is the right word," Albus said self-consciously, still feeling odd about covering up his motives. "James told me that he found me singing in my sleep one night over the summer when my parents confiscated my phone."

"Wait," frowned Scorpius. "Was that you in the shower yesterday?"

Albus's cheeks grew red as he momentarily forgot about the topic he was trying to avoid. "I dunno what you mean."

Scorpius was trying to hold back peals of laughter. "I thought it was coming from the girls' dormitory, it was so high pitched."

Albus pointed his wand at Scorpius threateningly. "Don't you dare insult my vocal range."

Talia was staring at something over Finn's shoulder. "Guys?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"Yeah?" said Albus, following her gaze. His eyes widened when he saw what Talia was staring at.

Neville was stumbling through the doorway looking thoroughly disheveled. There were holes in his robes and the sweater underneath, some large enough to reveal shallow, red cuts and scratches along his arms and legs. He had a crazed look in his eye that was unsettling, to say the least.

"Hello class," he said, sounding rather frantic. "Sorry about all this mess," he said, gesturing to the perfectly clean greenhouse. "I'm Professor Longbottom, welcome to Herbology. Unfortunately, I have some business to attend to with the Headmaster. You're all dismissed."

He jumbled his words together so quickly that even Finn was confused. Neville nodded briskly and turned on his heel, nearly sprinting out the door. Students began whispering to one another and filing out slowly.

Scorpius turned to Albus. "That doesn't seem normal."

"Trust me, it's not," Albus muttered, shouldering his bag. "I'll meet you all in the common room. I'm going to see what's going on."

"Albus, wait!" shouted Rose, too late as he shoved past the same annoyed Gryffindor students.

Albus had athleticism on his side, and he managed to catch up to Neville as the professor ran inside. He decided to trail him at a safe distance for fear of getting reprimanded or sent back if caught. Albus followed him up two flights of stairs to the second floor.

"Stupid second floor," Albus muttered. He'd not once navigated the floor without getting lost; for some reason, its layout was intensely vexing to him. While lost in his thoughts, Albus tripped on the hem of his robes coming out of the stairwell. Cursing, he rounded the corner to find Neville gone.

Albus scouted the corridor for five minutes yet saw no sign of the professor. He grunted in frustration and headed back downstairs, ignoring a large statue of a gargoyle recessed into a wall. He made his way back down to the dungeons with a feeling much unlike the one he'd felt only fifteen minutes before. He had failed. Again.

Rose was waiting for him inside the common room, sitting in the same chair Albus had waited for her in Saturday morning. She beckoned him over. He skirted around a couch occupying an older student ripping up a piece of paper and sat next to her.

"What the hell was that earlier?" he said abruptly as Rose began to open her mouth.

She sighed. "Listen, I don't know if following through with what Uncle George asked you is a good idea."

Albus rolled his eyes. "We're not having this conversation again. Why didn't you want anyone else to know?"

Rose bit her lip. "You know full well that all Weasley products have been banned at Hogwarts ever since they left—"

"What did I literally just say, Rosie!" Albus said, getting agitated. "I'm not even selling anything. I'm testing out an application for him, simple. Plus, I'm sure I can pass it off to James if it works."

"You know better than anyone that your brother is unreliable and likely to get in trouble," said Rose.

"Yes, I do know. That's why I'm perfectly fine doing this. If he gets caught, no one will think of looking to me."

"You don't even know what it does!" Rose hissed. "Or how he made it!"

"He doesn't know, either," Albus admitted. "He just kind of… willed it into existence."

Rose blanched. "What? How?"

"I literally just said I don't know. It's over my head, but you might understand. But even otherwise, why would Uncle George have any reason to hurt me?"

Rose sighed and looked at his expression for a moment before shaking her head in defeat. "I can't convince you, hmm?"

Albus placed a hand on her shoulder. "I won't be stupid. I just want to help Uncle George."

"I know, I know," she said, shrugging off his hand. "I just don't think this is the best way to do it."

Albus looked down, feeling guilty. "Fine."

"Fine, what?"

"If it makes you feel better, I won't tell anyone else," he relented. "I'll keep it to myself and we'll just pretend I have an unhealthy music addiction.

Rose smiled softly. "At least we're not completely lying."

Albus copied her smile, then processed what his cousin had just said. "Hey! I'm not addicted to my music!"

"Addiction, obsession, what does it matter what we call it?"

"I would hit you right now if you weren't a girl."

As if the day wasn't already busy enough, that evening marked the beginning of optional flying lessons. The course had been changed to an afterschool optional class after a series of injury complaints from parents, but the change did little to impact the amount of students who actually attended. Albus was among those who did, along with all of his friends except Rose, who'd stayed behind in favor of reading, something "more her speed."

Unlike his cousin, Albus was a fan of unnecessary, blistering speed, particularly the kind gained on the broom. His irritation at not having received a broom from his parents to use for flying lessons was generally mitigated by the fact that he couldn't try out, anyways; following another bout of regulatory changes, Helios had determined that first years were simply exempt from Quidditch tryouts. The policy was a hit to both him and James's ego, for the rule was put in place only a year before James was set to leave for Hogwarts, but Albus was nonetheless glad for the opportunity to hop on a broom without breaking school rules.

Talia shared his enthusiasm, even though she'd never even been on a broom. Quidditch was one of the first things she'd learned about after her acceptance to Hogwarts, and as Albus had found out on the day he met her, Talia had more knowledge of his mother Ginny, former Captain of the professional Hollyhead Harpies, than she did his father. His other friends were a different story: Finn's interest was more drawn from his like of dangerous and preposterously stupid things rather than his like of Quidditch, and Albus had practically needed to drag Scorpius along with them.

Unfortunately, Albus's eagerness swirled down the drain when he reached the Quidditch pitch to find James floating a couple meters in the air on his broom, overseeing the few students that had already arrived. Beside him was a sixth year girl who looked oddly familiar, and who was presumably the captain based on the embossed 'C' on her Gryffindor jersey.

James spotted Albus quickly and drifted over to him with a smug look on his face. "Would you look who it is," James said.

"Shut up," Albus muttered, folding his arms.

James gestured to his friends. "You going to introduce me?"

"Guys, James. James, my friends."

"Very eloquent." James cocked an eyebrow. "I expect a lot from you, little brother."

"Whatever," said Albus. "Why are you here?"

"Well, Mister Greywater had a bit of a problem with some plants at the edge of the forest. Neville's helping him reign them in."

"That's odd."

"I know." James did actually appear vaguely concerned. "It's not like the forest to act up."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Scorpius reasoned. "Magical plants do weird things all the time. That's why there's a class for them, no?"

"He's a smart cookie," said James, pointing at Scorpius.

"He's right here," Scorpius commented drily.

"I'm interested to see how Lilith takes this," James continued. "Her little brother's in your year."

"Yeah, Barry," said Talia.

"I hope he does well." James's face went dark. "Our dear captain cares a lot about her reputation."

"Oi, James!" His captain was yelling for him. "Let's start!"

"Speak of the devil." James mussed Albus's hair. "Have fun."

Albus stared angrily into his brother's back as he flew away. James twirled around and came to a swift stop, looking over the thirty or so first years with a superior look on his face.

"First years!" James yelled. "Fall in!"

Nobody moved.

"That means come here!"

The Gryffindor captain spoke as everyone settled. "Evening. I'm Gryffindor Quidditch captain Lilith Erickson. Beside me is one of our Chasers, James Potter."

James waved sardonically.

"Before you ask," Lilith continued, "Mister Greywater is otherwise preoccupied and cannot join us today. That means don't ask!" she snapped as a Hufflepuff student slowly raised their hand. They put their arm back down sheepishly. "This is a flying lesson, and what that means is no wand waving or textbook magic. Flying takes conviction, people. It means you need to want to be here. If you have a fear of heights or of intense bodily harm, please leave now."

Scorpius made to leave, but Albus grabbed his arm and rooted him in place. "You're not going anywhere," Albus said.

"Mate, why?" Scorpius hissed.

"Just trust me."

"There's a reason I never tried riding a broom at home," Scorpius responded. "It's not my thing!"

"Just try it! If you don't like it, you can leave."

"Fine."

"You all need to gather up in lines," said James, "but I'm going to make this easier. Gryffindors, here to my left. Hufflepuffs to my right. Ravenclaws and Slytherins, same thing but guide to Lilith. Well, get a move on!" James added, prompting everyone to shuffle around.

"Why are they so intense?" Talia whispered as they moved. "They seemed fine before."

"I think it's part of the vibe," said Finn.

"The what?"

"The vibe. The Quidditch vibe." Finn narrowed his eyes. "Everything is intense."

When everyone was in place, Lilith waved her wand. Out of a shed near their side of the pitch flew tens of brooms that landed next to each first year. "Everyone have a broom? Good. Now, this first part is simple. With confidence, hold your hand out over your broom and shout, 'up.' WHEN I SAY!" she yelled as some students immediately tried. "Good lord. Alright, ready? Three, two, one, UP!"

"UP!" Albus shouted. The broom flew into his hand immediately.

The same happened for the rest of his friends, including Scorpius, who was so surprised that he dropped the broom.

"What?" Scorpius whispered, looking at his hand.

"It's in your blood," Albus insisted. "Don't you know that your dad holds the Slytherin record for fastest catch of the Snitch?"

"Really?"

"Yeah," Albus insisted. "You didn't know?"

"My dad doesn't like talking about Hogwarts much." Scorpius shrugged. "I don't really know why."

"Beats me."

"Everyone got it? Good." Lilith crossed her arms. "Now mount your broom. THE STRAW END GOES BEHIND YOU, BARRY!" she roared. "You know better!"

Barry's face was an intense red after receiving a verbal lashing from his sister, but he corrected his mistake quickly.

"This part is extremely important. You need to kick off the ground. Hard. Don't be afraid, the ground won't hurt you. Envision what you want to happen. Your goal is to float just a meter in the air and stay there. Just a meter. If you fall, you'll barely get a scratch. We'll go from there. Ready? Go!"

Albus was one of the first few up, along with Talia, Felix's friend, Minnie, and a couple others. Much to his pleasure, the four Gryffindors from Herbology looked to be struggling. In fact, so many students were struggling that James flew over to Albus and asked him to help quality control, a duty Albus accepted with great satisfaction.

Scorpius was keen on staying put and Finn was keen on annoying him, so Albus brought Talia along with him. Albus never approached the Gryffindors to avoid the insults that he knew would come, instead flying past them just to really rub it in their faces without instigating confrontation. Soon enough, James and Lilith were helping out the final few, and Albus and Talia were hovering over near the opposite goalposts as Albus taught her to accelerate.

"That's it!" he encouraged as Talia zipped around the lowest hoop. "Just don't lean too fall forward and risk falling off."

"You're a good teacher," said Talia, winded. She pushed hair out of her face and smiled. "This is fun!"

"I know. Hey," Albus said, an idea forming, "what if I try to get us some extra time on the pitch? Like, after lessons?"

"How?"

"I'm sure I can convince James."

Indeed, James reluctantly agreed to let Albus and his friends stay out, but warned them that he wouldn't vouch for them if they were caught. Albus relayed the news back to his friends and received an enthusiastic hug from Talia, followed by a sharply raised eyebrow from Scorpius. Albus was just glad that neither of them could see the rosy tips of his ears under his windswept hair.

Chapter 5: The Hallowe'en Feast

Notes:

Sorry folks, I lost track of time over the weekend :P

Chapter Text

 

There was a sense of normalcy that followed Albus for the next month as classes began picking up in pace. The Charms professor, Brian McCaffrey, was a middle-aged man who moved through their curriculum at a blazing speed. He set them to practicing their Levitating Charms within the first week itself, and many following weeknights were dedicated to Rose and Scorpius helping their friends practice in empty classrooms.

Defense Against the Dark Arts somehow proved to be the most mundane of his core classes (save for History of Magic, of course). The professor was an aging, eighty-something-year-old man named Thomas Ivcoch who practiced a method of textbook curriculum. It wasn’t boring, necessarily, it was simply... underwhelming. Albus’s father told stories of his time at Hogwarts, where every Defense professor offered their own distinctive style of class that was (almost) never disinteresting.

It wasn’t to say that Professor Ivcoch was a boring person, for Albus actually found him quite nice to converse with on the off occasion. In fact, Albus had established a surprising rapport with most of his professors, matched only by Rose and her tenacity.

He discovered small things about all of them: Professor Nyx had played professional Quidditch for the Hollyhead Harpies a few years after Ginny left; Neville helped cultivate nearly half of the school’s food supply in the Forbidden Forest; and Professor M spent the first twelve years of his life in America, with his first two years of formal education having been at Ilvermorny.

“I was a Thunderbird,” M had said when the topic arose in conversation. “Interesting, considering that the house’s characteristics align most with those of Gryffindor.”

Unfortunately, Albus’s lead a few weeks prior had failed to bear fruit. Professor M was a collector of older Muggle technology, meaning he used VHS tapes as his source to broadcast the sound from the walls through wired speakers that he had installed with Professor Helios’s assistance.

“So everything is based through a wired connection?” asked Albus that Thursday evening. He had gone alone at the behest of his friends, who suggested that a more intimate session might uncover more results than if he had dragged them along.

“I suppose so,” said Professor M, looking at the ceiling inquisitively. “Why do you ask?”

Albus brought out his phone. “My phone uses a wireless connection to transfer music from an external server.”

“But you have the songs downloaded, no?”

“Well, I do, but for some reason it doesn’t work. Maybe it’s because the VHS has a physical connection to the speakers? But then it should work with my wired earbuds…”

Professor M let out a noise that sounded halfway between a hum and a grunt. “Quite the conundrum. Sorry Albus, I’m afraid I can’t help you much more.”

That resigned feeling of helplessness followed Albus for a few days like a shadow. Thrice he had uncovered something abnormal, and thrice he had failed to see it to its conclusion. But soon, the hustle of schoolwork ramped up sharply, and Albus found himself lost to the throes of homework and essays, all but forgetting about his personal project and occupying himself with trying to scrape marks in class.

Albus wasn’t a dull student by any means, but he struggled from an innate inability to sit still. It caused problems during any form of lecture, especially in Defense and History of Magic, where lecture occupied a majority of the class time. He appreciated the abundance of applied magic in Potions, Transfiguration, and Charms, all of which he tended to excel at. There was no chance of him out-scoring Rose, but Albus was largely satisfied with his performance relative to James’s.

James, to put it plainly, was a slacker. He didn’t dare stoop to the level of a cheat for fear of a lashing from their mother, but he hardly tried to apply himself in class and, often times, suffered because of it.

The disparity between the brothers was most evident in Herbology, where Neville was wont to comment on Albus’s near prodigal work compared to his brother. “The last time your brother tried to unroot a plant he nearly caused the greenhouse to implode,” Neville had said the previous week.

“It’s better than setting it on fire,” Albus pointed out.

“I can put out a fire,” Neville grumbled. “If only I could put out James, too.”

Albus dreaded the first game of the Quidditch Cup in early October, as the Slytherin-Gryffindor matchup had been placed at the top of the games schedule. His trepidation was vindicated as the match began, proving it would be painful to watch.

Though the Slytherin team prided themselves on cohesion, they had no strategy to mitigate James’s agility. James was a kind of enigma on the Gryffindor team, as he switched between playing Seeker and Chaser nearly every game. The Gryffindor team’s strategy had James playing Chaser that week, and the results were horrifying. Albus’s brother, supplemented by his Nimbus 3000, moved through the air with astounding speed, scoring seven individual goals. The Slytherin team suffered a heavy loss with a final score of 40 to 250, and Gryffindor similarly annihilated the Hufflepuffs two weeks later.

Permission slips for Dueling Exhibition were handed out during the second week of October. Albus and his friends sent them out together the day they received them; none of them planned on missing it. From what Ethan Healey had told Albus, the D.E. was the most popular thing at the school aside from Quidditch. It was managed by Professors M and McCaffrey, the former of whom had been a reputable duelist in the professional circuits.

A few days later, Albus received his signed form, alongside a short letter from his dad.

 

A piece of advice,

For sleepless nights:

Avoid the vanishing steps,

They’re not very nice.

 

Albus got a chuckle out of his dad’s little poem, and he made a mental note to watch out for “vanishing steps”—whatever that meant.

It wasn’t until the final week of October that something truly interesting occurred. It was a Monday, the Monday before Hallowe’en, and the class was writing an essay in Potions.

Professor Nyx seemed to hate the tedious task as much as her students did, but she confessed that essays were a fairly good way to judge progress. Albus would allay his boredom by treating each essay like a game to find the most eloquent phrasing possible and make a simple topic sound like a philosophical wonder.

Halfway through a sentence about how dittany “abated the excruciating agony of flesh-based wounds,” the PA system emitted a piercing shriek that caused multiple students to tip their inkwells over.

“Oh dear, I hope that hasn’t adversely effected some of you,” said Helios over the intercom. “I just have a bit of an announcement to make before the end of class.”

“It’s alright,” Professor Nyx said. “We’ll finish this during tomorrow’s double block. Just listen.”

Albus set his quill down, admiring his work as Helios continued. “As many of you are aware, we throw an annual Hallowe’en feast to celebrate the season. This feast is still scheduled for tomorrow as planned, just with a few changes to the normal proceedings.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scorpius questioned from beside Albus.

Albus shrugged, glancing to the girls at the adjacent table. They appeared equally as confused.

“The house tables are—normally—usual placement.” Helios’s voice sputtered in and out. “However, we will—implementing a new seating system—promotes—more involved conversation. The house tables—be replaced by round tables of ten. This feast—not be our usual buffet style affair—instead—hired professional chefs—craft a menu—please inform Mister Greywater if you have any dietary restrictions.” The problem fixed itself, and Helios continued unimpeded. “Sign-up sheets for preferred seating placements will be posted on the door of the Activities office on the ground floor, just outside the Transfiguration courtyard. Please be civil.”

The microphone cut off abruptly.

There was a moment of tense silence, as though everyone were waiting for Helios to sign off, before a great scraping of chairs filled the room. Students hurriedly grabbed their supplies and made a mad dash for the door, presumably to secure spots at tables with their friends.

“Class dismissed!” Professor Nyx called weakly as the commotion around her began funneling out of the classroom and into the hallway. Albus fumbled with his rucksack, which was being inconveniently difficult to open.

“What’s taking you guys so long?” Finn asked from near the door.

Albus whipped his head around. Finn was sitting on a desk near the back of the room, peering out the door like a lazy cat. His rucksack was fully packed, and he was watching students dash by without a care in the world.

“What the hell are you doing?” Albus hollered. “Go sign us up!”

“Okay, okay,” Finn grumbled, hopping off the desk and shrugging his bag over his shoulder. “Anyone have a pen—” One came flying towards his face. Finn dodged it quickly and it struck the back wall. “Thanks!” he said, picking it up off the floor and walking out the door with only a mild sense of urgency.

“This is madness,” Rose muttered, having given up on rushing. She was putting her things away at a normal speed. “It’s a sign up sheet!”

“This is a castle full of literal children,” Nyx said bitterly, levitating a smashed vial near her feet. “Honestly, I don’t know what Professor Helios expected.” She repaired the vial in midair and placed it into a wooden rack on her desk.

Albus and Scorpius finished packing around the same time. “We’ll go catch up with Finn,” said Albus to Talia and Rose. “Take your time.” The two boys rushed out of the room without waiting for a response.

The dungeon corridors were deserted, save for a few stragglers heading back to the common room. Noises of commotion drifted down the stairwell as the boys ascended, taking the stairs two at a time. The voices crescendoed into a dull roar, a foreboding sign of what was ahead.

Albus emerged on the ground floor to find about seventy students crowding around a single door in the middle of the corridor. The chaos was comparable to a mosh pit at a concert, where the sheer density of people in the space seemed a physically impossible phenomenon. Some of the crowd spilled around the side of the corridor and into the Transfiguration courtyard, trampling some of the small, decorative shrubs placed around the path. Finn was nowhere to be seen.

“Blimey,” said Scorpius, taking in the sight. “That’s a lot of people.”

“Help me find Finn,” said Albus.

“In that?” asked Scorpius meekly. “Are we sure he isn’t dead?”

“He’ll be fine,” Albus responded, treading near the back wall to avoid the crowd. “He wouldn’t die that easy.”

A hand rose from somewhere in the middle of the crowd. “Albus! Scorpius!” Finn called, having spotted them on his tiptoes. His voice was nearly indistinguishable from the others. “I’m almost there!”

“Keep it up!” Albus yelled. “We believe in you!”

“Be careful!” Scorpius added.

“Thanks, mum!” Finn exclaimed. His hand disappeared back into the shifting mob of students.

Finn returned five minutes later. The crowd seemed large and unruly as ever, but he appeared unscathed. Albus and Scorpius had ended up sitting on a large windowsill, watching the sight in front of them with fascinated horror.

“I did it,” Finn said. He clambered onto the wall beside them and placed his hands on his head, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. “That was hell.”

Scorpius patted him on the back. “You’re a brave soldier, Finley.”

“Not my name.”

 

*    *    *

 

As the day wore on, the pandemonium in front of the Activities office had already begun morphing into something of legend. Students were calling it “The Massacre on the Ground Floor,” recounting embellished tales of broken bones and bloody noses. Albus overheard a Gryffindor third year telling a group of nervous second years about how he nearly lost an eye.

Albus saw upon entering Greenhouse One that Minghao, a fellow Slytherin first year, was sullenly nursing a split lip. Minghao later approached Albus and his friends near the end of class, his lip now swollen but no longer bloody.

“I hope you know that I filled three of the empty spots at your table,” Minghao said. His hair was jet black and messy, like James’s but thicker. In fact, Minghao seemed to be the first year equivalent of James; he slacked off in class and often hurled thinly veiled insults at the Gryffindors. “Us three didn’t know where else to sit,” Minghao said, gesturing to his station a ways down the table.

“Of course,” said Scorpius. “Honestly, I think we’d all prefer being around people we know.”

Minghao nodded and returned back to his station with nervous Barry and another Slytherin first year. Albus had yet to find out his remaining roommate’s name, as he had been rather distracted during the Sorting by an overwhelming feeling of impending doom.
Mr. Unknown was massive, with a physique akin to that of a burly fifth year. Albus figured he’d make a great Keeper with some basic training.

“Do you know that other kid’s name?” Finn asked, reading Albus’s mind.

“Not yet,” said Scorpius.

“That’s quite rude,” Rose said. “You’ve lived with him for a month!”

“D’you know his name, then?” Scorpius questioned.

Rose narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

The palpable restlessness only increased the following day. Classes were a dull affair, given that almost every student was looking forward to that night’s feast. Albus had trouble sitting still during his double block of Potions that afternoon. He finished his essay within ten minutes and spent the rest of the class mindlessly watching the clock.

Albus returned to the dormitory with Scorpius and Finn after the girls disappeared to do whatever it was girls did. Astronomy had been cancelled, meaning Albus could put off his homework for another two days. The boys played a few games of Wizard’s Chess, which was just like normal chess discounting the pieces that violently exploded whenever they were removed from play. Scorpius was far out of their league, for he soundly beat his opponents in ten moves or less every game.

Dinner was normally served from six to ten on a first come basis, but Helios had shortened the hours from seven to nine. The boys left the dormitory five minutes after seven, running late after Finn, who had gotten particularly irritated after his seventh loss, blew up one of Albus’s fans and scattered ash and dust everywhere.

Some of the upper years with dates had dressed up, but the majority of students simply wore their school robes. Most everyone was still getting seated, allowing for the boys to sneak to their table without drawing attention.

Albus groaned as he noticed that Felix Fawcett and his perpetually annoyed friend Minnie had filled the two empty spots. Minnie was quiet and pleasant enough, but Felix was another story entirely. He would try to engage in conversation with Albus at the worst times, including in the washroom, and their short lived chats always revolved around Albus’s father and his success as an Auror.

Talia had saved three seats between herself and Felix. Albus gladly took the seat to her immediate right, wanting to stay as far away from Felix as possible.

“Why is he here?” Albus hissed, smiling uncomfortably as Felix waved at him.

“I dunno, he must have just signed up,” Talia said, understanding who Albus was referring to.

“Good insight there,” Albus muttered. He averted his eyes from Felix’s piercing stare and pretended to become suddenly interested in the table setting. “This is fancy.”

“I know,” said Talia. “They have salad forks and everything.”

Albus looked at her oddly. “You’re telling me that a fork designed solely to eat salad exists?”

“It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

As Rose began projecting into the void about class work, Albus subtly watched Felix as he tried to strike up a conversation with Minghao, who was having none of it.

“I never caught your name,” said Felix.

“Minghao,” he said brusquely. “That’s Barry.”

Barry ignored Minghao’s attempt to pass off Felix’s attention, and Felix smiled timidly. “What’s his name, then?”

“Who, him?” Minghao questioned, gesturing to Mr. Unknown. “That’s Gore.”

“Gore?” Minnie interjected. “That’s it?”

 “He’s a man of few words.”

Gore stared Felix down, his eyes narrowing.

“Well, how are we all doing?” Felix squeaked, turning rapidly away from Gore and raising his voice to inquire the whole table.

“Fine, I guess,” Rose responded curtly. “This is all quite… different.”

“I think it’s exciting,” Felix said. “They even changed the ceiling enchantment!”

The traditional view of the starry sky had been changed to an orange nebula, casting warm light over the Great Hall. The floating candles were instead surrounding the head table and podium, dramatically illuminating it from the base. The professors were in various degrees of dress; Professor McCaffrey was wearing a full suit with coattails while Professor M was wearing checkered grey and blue sweats.

Helios was sitting at the center of the table, watching the students settling down. The man’s dress was disturbingly eccentric. Jack o’ Lanterns softly faded in and out of the fabric of his black robes, creating the effect that Helios had surrounded himself with phasing spotlights. His hat was almost half a meter tall, a matching black velvet with two small bat wings protruding from the sides. After Professor Nyx whispered something into his ear, Helios stood, straightened his sleeves, and approached the podium.

The conversation quieted as Helios cleared his throat. Even Felix stopped rattling on about Herbology to pay attention. Helios placed his hands on the podium and smiled. “Welcome, welcome. How are you all doing on this All Hallows’ Eve?”

“Great!” someone, presumably James, yelled from the back of the room.

“Fantastic,” said Helios. “Before we start, I’d like to give acknowledgement to Professor Longbottom, who has grown most of the seasonal vegetables used to create this menu.”

Neville nodded and raised his glass of pumpkin juice in recognition.

“Well, I imagine you’re hungry, so…” Helios drew his wand and swirled it around in the air. Floating gold text materialized above each plate, as though projected from the bottom up. “Select your preferred options and enjoy!”

Albus frowned. “What the hell is a croquette?”

“It’s a cutlet-looking thing,” said Scorpius. “They’re usually made with potatoes.”

“You need to be my guide,” Finn said, staring at the bottom of the menu. “The desserts are the only thing I understand, and even then… a torte?”

“Fancy man,” Minghao called, “what’s a pâté?”

Felix piped up. “It’s a paste made of—"

“Er, I meant Scorpius.”

Felix silently sat back.

Gore grunted in mild amusement, and Albus almost choked on the water he was drinking.

“Liver paste,” Scorpius responded. “It’s quite good.”

“I’ll pass,” Minnie muttered. “How do we order, then?”

“LAMB CHOPS!” yelled James from the back of the hall, startling multiple students. There was a whoosh sound that Albus assumed signified the arrival of food.

Finn shrugged. “BEEF STEW!” he shouted.

Rose nearly jumped a mile out of her chair. “Bloody hell! Is that necessary?”

Finn was already digging through his stew. “I dunno. It’s fun, though.” He took a bite and immediately opened his mouth to fan its contents. “Ow, hot, hot!”

The whooshing filled the room as more students placed orders, some at the top of their lungs. Albus scanned the middle of the page and ordered a butternut ravioli, figuring it couldn’t be bad. He cut one in half and took a bite. “Ooh!”

“Good?” Talia asked, cutting into her own lamb chops.

“Bloody fantastic,” Albus mumbled, spearing a whole ravioli onto his fork.

Talia examined his place setting. “You’re using the salad fork.”

“To hell with the salad fork,” Albus said thickly. “Who eats a salad at a feast, anyways?”

Rose side-eyed Albus while chewing on a mouthful of leafy greens.

“What the hell is that?” Finn demanded, pointing at Scorpius’s dish with his spoon.

“Escargot,” Scorpius answered warily. “With thyme and garlic butter.”

“Translation?” Finn persisted.

“Snails.”

Finn leaned his head down to inspect the plate. “Why, though?”

“I thought you’d jump on the opportunity to try them,” said Scorpius.

“I’m weird, not stupid.”

Albus looked over. He couldn’t see the actual snails that clearly; they were sitting in small pools of the garlic butter. “How are they?” he asked, intrigued.

“I mean, they’re good,” Scorpius said. “Want to try?”

“Mmm…” Albus pursed his lips. “I dunno, mate.”

“You never know unless you try,” said Finn.

“You have no place to speak,” said Scorpius, pointing an accusatory fork. “Pipe down.”

“You wound me,” said Finn emotionlessly.

“Eh, sod it,” Albus said, picking up his spoon. “I’m taking plenty of that butter with me, though.”

“Be my guest.” Scorpius leaned back to allow Albus easy access to the plate.

Albus fished one of the snails out and brought it up to his face to examine it. It was curled up into a black spiral, and the outside was glossy, either from the snail itself or the butter.

“I wouldn’t stare at it too much,” Scorpius said.

“Now you tell me,” Albus muttered. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Alright.” He put the snail in his mouth and chewed.

“How is it?” Finn questioned.

“It’s… it’s chewy,” Albus said thickly. He swallowed. “But it’s really not bad, if I’m honest.”

“I’m still not touching that,” said Finn, putting up his hands.

Once the food in front of most people disappeared, dessert menus began popping up in the same golden font. Albus was halfway through a treacle tart when Helios approached the stand once more. The jack o’ lanterns on his robes were swimming around lazily; some had even fallen asleep.

Helios cleared his throat. “Well, I see that most of us have finished eating.”

Finn looked up slowly from his second dessert, eyes wide with a spoon dangling from his mouth, and Albus clamped his mouth shut, trying not to laugh.

“Regardless, we’ve all devised a little… treat for you. Given that the school’s performance this year has been rather exceptional, Professor McCaffrey and Mister Greywater have assisted me in preparing a wide assortment of…” Helios glanced down at his notes. “…carnival attractions. They are all set up and currently available for recreational use out on the Quidditch pitch.”

Helios abruptly stopped speaking and looked over the crowd expectantly. A few students staggered awkwardly off their stools, and others soon followed.

Mercifully, Felix had left their table first, dragging Minnie along with him to catch up with another group of first years. Minghao and Barry purposefully waited for Felix to leave the Hall before hopping off their chairs and exiting. Gore simply picked up his plate and carried it off with him, lumbering after the other two.

“I think we’re heading off,” Talia said, gesturing to herself and Rose, who was already halfway to the door. “You guys coming?”

“Yeah, in a bit,” Albus responded. “I’ll wait for him,” he said, indicating Scorpius, who was just starting on his dessert.

Scorpius smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I’m a slow eater.”

“We can tell,” Albus muttered. “We’ll find you out on the pitch,” he said to Talia.

Talia nodded and pushed her chair in carefully before making after Rose.

Albus tapped his foot impatiently as the Hall emptied. “You want to hurry up, mate?”

“Feel free to leave,” said Scorpius.

“I’m good over here,” said Finn from the other side of Scorpius. “I’m going to order another dessert.”

“Have fun,” said Albus halfheartedly, focusing his gaze past his friends and onto the Head Table. Most of the professors were finishing up their meals or chatting amongst one another, but Neville and Professor M were standing off in the back corner, discussing something quietly.

Albus narrowed his eyes and tried honing in on the two’s conversation, picking up “roots” from Neville and “not here” from M before the two began to whisper significantly quieter. Albus frowned, wishing he knew a spell to listen in on their conversation, and instead tried to focus on their body language.

Neville made an angry kind of gesture, jabbing his finger towards the ground, but M grabbed his wrist and whispered something that must have been harsh. Neville gave M one last knowing look before making a beeline for the door. He exited and turned right, presumably to the greenhouses.

Albus absentmindedly tugged on Scorpius’s sleeve, still staring at the doors. “Hey, something odd is going on.”

Scorpius shook off Albus’s hand. “Something’s always odd here,” he said, wiping his face with a napkin. “It’s Hogwarts.”

“Neville’s doing something, and I want to figure out what.”

“Mate, relax,” Scorpius said, placing a hand on Albus’s shoulder. “Let’s just have a normal, stress-free evening for once.”

Albus sat in silence for a moment. “Let him decide,” he suggested, tilting his head at Finn, who was swiping chocolate sauce off his plate with his index finger.

“Hmm?” Finn asked, looking up. “What?”

“Goose chase or carnival?” Scorpius asked him.

“I dunno about that interpretation,” said Albus.

Finn thought for a moment. “You know, I do like gooses.”

Scorpius placed his head in his hands.

“It’s geese,” Albus responded, standing up. “Let’s go.”

Albus and Finn left quickly, looking extremely suspicious. Scorpius reluctantly trailed after them, sighing heavily. “Why the hell did I get Sorted in the same house as these gits?”

 

Chapter 6: Greenhouses After Dark

Notes:

Maybe I should just start posting on Sundays huh

Sorry for the late update y'all

Chapter Text

 

The pitch was alive with music, color-changing lights, and noises of excitement, and Scorpius made his dissatisfaction with Albus and Finn’s current fixation vocal. Albus ducked and pulled Finn down with him as a couple students milling in one of the courtyards cast a look their way, but Scorpius didn’t bother.

“Must we do this?” Scorpius asked, ignoring Albus’s stare of derision.

“What if Neville isn’t being suspicious later?” said Albus.

“Professor Longbottom is always suspicious! It’s, like, ingrained in his DNA!”

“We’ll be quick!” said Albus. “Promise!”

Scorpius’s face indicated that he didn’t believe Albus a single bit, but he regardless followed Albus and Finn down the hall, occasionally muttering about how much fun the girls were likely having.

The corridor leading to the North exit was cut off to funnel the students towards the Quidditch pitch, meaning the boys needed to exit to the west and trek back around the outside of the castle. “This shouldn’t be too difficult,” said Albus, peeking around the corner of the back entrance.

Professors McCaffrey and Ivcoch were standing a ways down the path to keep an eye on students entering and leaving the castle, but their position put the path to the greenhouses directly within their line of sight.

“It’s going to be hard to sneak off without them noticing us,” Albus said. “We just need to wait for a big group of people.”

“Who?” Scorpius asked, leaning against the inside archway with crossed arms. “Everyone’s down at the pitch.”

“Not everyone,” Finn whispered, tapping on Albus’s shoulder.

Albus turned to find a group of four Gryffindors coming their way, the same Gryffindors who hurled passive aggressive insults their way every class. Albus had learned that the gang leader’s name was Dylan Abbott. The boy had dirty blonde hair and an aura of pompousness about him, one that reflected through his casual attire comprised entirely of designer sweaters.

“What is it that you’re suggesting?” Albus asked, whispering to his friends as the other four came closer.

“Don’t worry,” Finn answered, nodding and giving his friends two thumbs up. “I’ve got this.”

“That’s not encouraging!” Scorpius hissed.

Finn turned and noticeably straightened his posture before walking towards the raucous Gryffindors.

“We’re going to die,” said Albus drily.

Finn stopped short in front of the Gryffindors, crossing his arms like a bouncer at the entrance to a club.

Abbott arched an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing?”

Albus couldn’t see the expression Finn was making, but he pictured it as a knowing smirk. Albus couldn’t see Finn open his mouth either, but a sense of foreboding suddenly filled his chest as Finn leaned in and mumbled something.

Whatever Finn said had a profound effect on the Gryffindors, whose faces contorted in pure fear. Abbott backed away and slowly skirted around Finn, the rest of his cronies following.

“Y-you…” Abbott’s voice was shaky. “Something’s s-seriously wrong with you.”

His eyes wavered between Finn and the door, and as soon as he’d made it around, he bolted. Abbott’s friends were right behind him, though one of them seemed unfazed and shot Finn a nasty look before exiting.

As soon as the last Gryffindor turned out the door, Finn ran back to his friends. “Quickly!” he whispered. “Now’s our chance!”

Albus and Scorpius followed him, rather impressed with the diversion’s results. While McCaffrey and Ivcoch were busy watching the terrified Gryffindors run down to the pitch, the three Slytherins skirted around the outer castle wall, jumping a row of hedges and using them as cover to make a beeline to the other side of a small hill. They made it just in time, peeking back over the apex to watch the Gryffindors stop before the edge of the pitch and frenziedly ensure that Finn hadn’t followed them.

Scorpius, who had been trying to contain his laughter the entire time, nearly fell onto the grass. “Did you see their faces? Priceless, mate! What did you even say to them?”

“Not telling,” said Finn, deadly serious.

Scorpius shook his head. “I should have never doubted you, Finnegan.”

“Not my name.”

“I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Guys, we’ve got no time to sit and make jokes,” said Albus. “We have a mission.”

“Okay, relax,” Finn said, putting his hands up. “I thought we were supposed to be having a fun goose chase, not a serious one.”

“Just come on,” said Albus.

Scorpius looked back at the Quidditch pitch. “But that looks like so much fun,” he griped, trying again to change Albus’s mind.

It almost worked. Helios had gotten his hands on an impressive assortment of both magical and Muggle carnival games, including a bona fide Ferris wheel that stood ten meters high.

“The quicker we figure out what Neville’s up to, the quicker we can return,” Albus assured. “Just follow me.”

“Last time I followed you, we stared at a statue for half hour!” Scorpius hissed. Albus ignored him and began half-running half-stumbling down the hill.

Their progress was slow but deliberate, as they had to round the entire North Tower and enter through the side gate separating the greenhouses from the rest of the grounds. They formed a train of sorts, with Scorpius sandwiched between Albus and Finn so he couldn’t run off. As the two boys scouted, Scorpius instead took the time to stare up at the castle, whose spires towered tens of meters into the air. The frosted windows glowed golden from the lamps, candles, and torches within, making the massive form of the castle stand out slightly from the darkness of the night.

“I don’t think there’s any place like this,” said Scorpius. Albus could tell from his tone of voice that he was smiling.

“It really is magnificent,” said Finn. He sounded different, more… wistful? “I’d always imagined what Hogwarts would look like, but seeing it so close is… something else.”

“Which of your parents went to Hogwarts?” Scorpius asked. Finn had briefly mentioned that he was a half-blood, but hadn’t elaborated.

“My dad,” Finn responded. “He… doesn’t talk about it much.” Finn’s mood seemed to deflate. He wasn’t paying attention as Albus came to a sudden stop, and he distractedly slammed straight into his back. “Ow!” said Finn loudly, his exclamation echoing across the grounds.

Scorpius and Albus both instinctively cringed. “Sorry,” Albus whispered, “but we need to stay quiet.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Finn patted Albus on the back awkwardly. “Sorry.”

The boys soon arrived at the path leading up to the side exit. The greenhouses were on a raised hill, and the premises was surrounded by a meter-high wall. The gate leading out towards the forest was normally open, but it was now closed and locked.

Albus drew his wand and pointed it at the iron lock. “Alohomora!” he whispered. The chains on the lock didn’t move. “Sorry, Scorp,” Albus said, turning to face his friends. “You aren’t going to like this.”

Scorpius took a moment to realize what Albus was suggesting. “Come on.”

Albus pointed his wand at the wall. “We can’t get in any other way. You guys can go first, I’ll give you a boost.”

“How will you get over?” Finn asked.

“I’ll figure it out—”

“Let me do it,” Scorpius interrupted. “I’ll cast a temporary Levitation Charm on your robes. It should be enough of a boost to get you over. I can get myself over.”

“You sure?” Albus asked.

Scorpius sighed. “You were the one who wanted to snoop in the first place. Don’t make any noise and it won’t be an issue. Who’s going first?”

Albus stepped back at the same time as Finn raised his hand. “I’ll do it,” said Finn.

“Did I even need to ask?” Scorpius muttered.

Finn stood with his chest against the wall, his hands reaching up to the edge. He jumped once. “Beam me up, Scotty!”

Scorpius paused right before swishing his wand. “What?”

Finn waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.”

“Alright.” Scorpius prepared his stance again. “Jump on three. One, two, three!”

As Scorpius said “three,” Finn crouched and jumped remarkably high into the air. At the same time, Scorpius followed the time-tested swish and flick, muttering the Levitation Charm and boosting Finn. The extra upwards force proved to be a little too much, and Finn cleared the wall entirely, hitting the ground on the other side with a painful sounding thump.

“Shit!” Scorpius cursed. “Are you okay?” he whisper-shouted.

“Yeah,” Finn responded weakly. “Come on over.”

Scorpius put a little less force into Albus’s boost, hitting the sweet spot that allowed Albus to grasp the edge and climb over normally.

Albus landed on both feet and dusted off his hands. He moved out of the way just as Scorpius bounded over the wall in its entirety, landing on the ground softly.

Finn stared at Scorpius, who was casually examining his robes. “Are you part cat?”

“I used Ascendio,” said Scorpius. “It’s not usually taught until third year charms, but I do a lot of reading at home.”

Albus smiled softly. “You know, if you weren’t so quiet in class, you could be earning Slytherin more points than even Rose.”

The tips of Scorpius’s ears turned red. “I dunno about that, but thanks.”

The boys hung against the back wall for a moment to study the greenhouses. Some lights were on to simulate sunlight for certain plants, and that combined with the glazed windows made determining the greenhouse Neville was in difficult. They could only see four of the seven greenhouses clearly, so they formed up in the same line and continued around the wall, avoiding the small patches of light that eked out from the occasional half-open window.

“What if he isn’t even here?” Scorpius asked.

“He must be,” Albus responded. “If not, I’ll buy you sweets on the train home.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Scorpius said.

Albus abruptly stopped and held up his fist. “Someone’s up ahead.”

The lights in Greenhouse Two were off, but Albus could hear some shuffling and see a trail of smoke drifting into the air. His suspicions were confirmed when a silhouette stood and lit a small flame, examining something in their hand before waving the fire out.

Albus motioned for the other two to follow his lead. He snuck up to the side of the greenhouse and crouched beneath the window, peering in through the glass.

Inside, he noticed not one figure, but three. One person was splayed out on the bench, the back of their hand resting on their forehead. The other two were sitting on the floor, and one of them was bending down to tamper with some device between them.

“Pass it over,” said of the people on the floor.

Albus frowned; he recognized that voice. He noticed a head of orange hair as they reached out for the device, orange hair that was characteristic of one specific family…

The pieces clicked together and Albus suddenly stood, peeking into through the window. “Molly?”

Albus’s elder cousin jumped slightly, causing the device, a plastic beaker of some sort emitting that trail of smoke, to clatter on the floor.

“Shit!” she whispered, instinctively reaching out to steady the object. “What d’you think you’re doing here, Albus?”

“Albus?” one of the people on the floor said. They swiveled their head. “Go away!” It was Dominique, Victoire’s sister. Her silver hair that normally glowed in the sunlight looked greyer in the dark.

“Dominique? What are you two—” Albus stared at the beaker, which was now giving off a more profuse smell. “Are you guys smoking?”

“Who’s this kid?” the person on the bench asked lazily.

“Shut up, Dorian,” Molly muttered. “Albus, you should be down at the Quidditch pitch. What are you doing here alone?”

“He’s not alone,” Finn said, popping his head up. “Hi, I’m Finn.” He extended his hand down towards Dominique.

Dominique swatted his hand away. “Terrible time for introductions, mate.” Dominique had always been icier than her sister, and her sour attitude was amplified. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.”

“Why would we tell anyone?” Scorpius asked, standing up as well.

“Exactly,” Dominique said pointedly. “Now, you little arseholes, leave before I shove my fist right up your—”

“Dom!” Molly hissed. “They’re kids!” She looked at Albus apologetically. “Listen, please don’t tell anyone. You shouldn’t be out here either, anyways.” Her unspoken threat didn’t take a genius to decipher.

Albus sighed. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Woah there, Albus,” Scorpius said, turning his head. “Are we sure we’re going to make a decision that quickly?”

“You’d better be sure,” Dominique said, her voice laced with venom.

Scorpius gulped. “Okay, yeah, no problem.”

Dorian pointed up at Finn from his position on the bench. “You’ve got good skin.”

Finn scowled, looking at his arms. “Is that meant to be racist or something?”

“Jeez, no,” Dorian mumbled. “I just like the color.”

“You are kind of starting to sound racist,” Molly admitted.

“I’m not a racist, bruv!”

“Shut up, Dorian!” Dominique hissed. She turned back to Albus and narrowed her eyes. “Leave. Now. And don’t you dare think about telling anyone.”

“But we need to check on something else—”

“No ifs, no buts,” Dominique said, cutting Albus off. “Go.”

Albus tried giving Dominique a similarly icy look but likely ended up seeming mildly constipated. He backed away from the window and turned to his friends. “I guess we’re done, then.”

“That really was a goose chase,” Scorpius muttered, returning back the way they’d come. “I bet Neville isn’t even here.”

“Whatever,” said Albus, feeling dejected. “Let’s just get back.”

“Don’t put as much force as last time,” Finn instructed Scorpius. “My bum stings.”

 

*    *    *

 

The boys eventually met up with Rose and Talia, who had evidently been enjoying the attractions. The Ferris wheel was likely a violation of every Muggle safety protocol, given that it had been enchanted to work without supports, but it was nonetheless an amusing experience. Scorpius proved to have a mild fear of heights, one that Finn teased him about during the entirety of their compartment’s circumvolution.

Albus spent an unhealthy amount of his time playing a modified version of cup pong where the cups rotated in random directions around the player. Of course, the water inside each cup was enchanted to refrain from splashing out, but the challenge proved to be extremely difficult considering that only Quidditch players had won any prizes from it.

After over a combined hour of waiting in line and over fifteen attempts before a success, Albus won a ball that came back to the owner like a boomerang whenever they threw it. It acted like a Snitch, sometimes exploring other areas before whizzing back to Albus.

As a test, Albus tried throwing the thing as hard as he could. The ball cleared the boundary of the pitch and went coursing past the one of the Ravenclaw stands. The toy came back with a vengeance, ripping through the checkered blue cover over the scaffolding and nearly taking off a sixth year’s head.

The five retired to their dormitories around midnight. Minghao, Barry, and Gore’s beds were noticeably empty.

“What d’you think they’re doing?” Finn asked.

“I dunno,” Albus said. “Maybe going around the Ferris wheel like a normal person.”

“Nice one,” said Scorpius drily.

“Oh, no, that was for him,” said Albus, pointing at Finn.

Finn pursed his lips and nodded, the sarcasm evident in his eyes. “What a useful insight, Albus. Ten points to Slytherin.”

“I’m going to bed,” Albus muttered. “G’night, you lot.”

Albus closed his eyes and listened to the other two settle in. He had had trouble sleeping for the first month at Hogwarts, but had finally developed something that resembled a normal sleep schedule. Albus had to force himself to move after waking up in the mornings, but actually getting to sleep in the first place was a whole other ordeal.

He often let his mind wander and drifted off, but the slightest noise could rouse him from the edge of sleep. This happened half an hour later, when the three other boys returned to the dormitory. The noise eventually died down and Albus crept closer and closer to sleep…

Until his phone started blaring.

The noise was so sudden, so loud that Albus found himself standing on his bed and holding his wand, which had inexplicably appeared in his hand. Scorpius fell out of his bed and onto the floor, and hit his head on his bedframe while trying to scramble back to his feet. Even Finn woke up, sitting straight up in bed like a possessed victim in a horror movie.

Albus smashed the heels of his hands to his ears as the noise droned on, drilling its horrid whine into his skull.

Scorpius was hanging onto his desk for dear life. “Turn it off!” he shouted, breathing heavily.

Albus staggered off the bed and towards his nightstand. He tapped the screen to wake the device, but paused and stared at the volume slider. He blinked, making sure sleep deprivation wasn’t getting to him. The volume was apparently all the way down, and his phone was on mute.

Albus grabbed the phone harshly and ran over to his trunk, trying to cover his ears with his shoulders. It wasn’t working at all.

Albus threw open his trunk and shoved his hand down to the bottom, past the Invisibility Cloak and the untidy stacks of books and clothes. The sheer amount of items mercifully appeared to be enough to stifle the noise to a deep, barely audible sub-tone. Albus withdrew his hand and slammed the trunk closed, and the sound completely disappeared.

Scorpius collapsed against the side of his bedframe, placing the back of his hand on his forehead. “You need to burn that.”

“We’ll see,” said Albus.

“We’ll see?”

Albus’s head pulsed, screaming at him to lay down. “Sleep, first.”

Scorpius turned to Finn, but he had somehow already gone back to sleep, his snores muffled by his pillow. “Something is seriously wrong with him.”

“Yeah,” said Albus, entirely unaware of what Scorpius was saying. Albus turned the intensity of his fan up to full blast before collapsing onto the bed.

“Are you two okay?” Minghao asked groggily, stumbling over from the other side of the room.

Albus sighed heavily and heaved himself up into a sitting position. “Yeah. Sorry about that siren. I’ve been trying to fix my phone, but it’s being a right prick about it.”

Minghao frowned. “What siren?”

Albus straightened sharply. “You mean… you didn’t hear that demon alarm?” he asked, making sure he’d heard Minghao correctly.

Minghao shook his head slowly. “Erm, no. I woke because Scorpius was screaming his bloody head off.”

Albus laughed incredulously. “Oh, okay then.”

Minghao backed away with a worried look on his face as Albus kept chuckling to himself. “Get some rest, mate. You’re loopy as hell.”

“I’m loopy?” Albus muttered, turning his gaze up to the ceiling. “Yeah, I’m the loopy one.”

Scorpius dragged himself up onto his bed, his panting slowing. “I should have known that consorting with a Potter with get me into some absolute bull shite mess.”

“Shut up,” Albus mumbled. “We’ll talk about… talk in the morning.” He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, trying to bring his heart rate back down.

Scorpius watched Albus for a moment, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his back. He turned his attention to Albus’s fan on the other side of his bed, debating whether the shame was worth it.

As another drop of sweat rolled down his face, Scorpius snapped. “Bring that damned fan to this side of your bed, right now.”

Albus grinned, though the effort to raise the corners of his mouth was considerable. “I told you so.”

Chapter 7: The Shield Charm

Chapter Text

 

Albus had barely managed to get any sleep. He dragged himself out of bed around seven and washed up, emerging to find Finn sitting up on his bed and rubbing his eyes.

Finn looked at Albus and grimaced. “You look like shit.”

“That bloody siren did me in,” Albus muttered. “I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“So I wasn’t just imagining things,” said Finn. “I thought it was some weird dream.”

“At least you didn’t jump out of bed naked again,” Albus said, remembering the scarring events of his first afternoon in the castle.

“What the hell was that, then?” Finn asked.

“My phone,” said Albus, tapping his trunk with his foot. “You know how I told you about the audio thing?”

Finn nodded. “Yeah, that it couldn’t play anything. I thought you had the volume turned down, though.”

“I did,” Albus grumbled. “Seemed like it wasn’t enough.”

“D’you think you should check—”

“No,” Albus interrupted. “It’s too early; if that blasted thing is still going, I want nothing to do with it.”

“None of the others are here,” Finn said, looking around.

“I never said anything about the others,” said Albus. “But now that you mention it…” He hesitated. “Us two and Scorpius were the only ones who heard it.”

“Well, the other guys are on the other side of the room, no?”

“Yeah, but there’s no feasible way they wouldn’t have woken up unless…” Albus stopped. “Unless there’s something magical about it.”

Finn hopped out of bed. “You said it’s in your trunk?”

“Yeah,” Albus said. “Why?”

Finn moved quicker than Albus could react, throwing the lid of the trunk open and tossing aside his books and clothes. The noise from the phone grew louder and louder, eventually plateauing at full volume. The siren wasn’t nearly as intense as last time, but it was still loud enough to be mildly uncomfortable.

Finn fished the phone out from the bottom of Albus’s trunk, nearly falling in due to its enhanced depth, and bolted out of the room.

The noise didn’t reduce as Finn ran down the stairs; in fact, it got louder. Albus could barely detect it, but the volume certainly wasn’t decreasing.

Albus shook himself out of his stupor. Finn had thankfully failed to notice the Invisibility Cloak, and stuffed it underneath his bedsheets. He ran out the open door and stumbled down the stairs, his feet bare and his steps unsteady.

Finn was standing in the middle of the common room, his fist clenched around the phone into the air, looking like some kind of lame superhero in his neon pyjamas. People were staring at him oddly, and some even moved out of their seats and farther away.

“Erm… you good?” Ethan asked, looking at Finn oddly from near the fireplace.

“Can you hear anything?” Finn asked, shouting a little. “Because I can, and my friend and I were trying to find out if anyone else could.”

Ethan stood and slowly made his way over. “Are you hearing things? That’s generally not a good sign.” He noticed Albus at the foot of the stairs. “Oh, Albus, I actually wanted to talk to you. Is your friend okay?”

“Yeah, he’s harmless,” Albus said hurriedly, moving and grabbing Finn’s raised arm sharply. He tried speaking at what he thought to be a normal volume. “He’s not a morning person.”

“Right,” said Ethan, his tone doubtful. Albus squirmed in place and tried to focus on Ethan’s words over the unrelenting noise. “Look, I wanted to remind you that the D.E. is today. You said you were interested, at the beginning of term.”

“You remembered?” Albus asked.

Ethan smiled and tapped his head. “I’ve got a good memory. It’s at five-thirty. Try to get there early, it usually fills up quick.”

“Yeah, of course,” Albus said, smiling awkwardly. “Enjoying that book?”

“Yeah, the first one’s good. You mind if I read the second when I’m finished?”

“Sure.” Albus nodded and started pushing Finn back up the stairs. “Well, good morning.”

Albus snatched his phone from Finn’s grasp when they returned to their dormitory. He threw it back into his trunk, stuffed the Cloak and his books on top, and sat down on the lid, sighing in relief when the noise stopped.

Albus mustered the iratest expression he could and aimed it at his friend, who had sat down on Scorpius’s bed.

Finn was picking at dirt under his nails. “The D.E. is today? That should be fun.”

“Don’t,” Albus warned.

Finn held his hands up defensively. “You wanted solid answers, there you go. We’re both completely lucid, and now we’ve determined that not everyone hears the thing.”

“Was that really the best way to go about it, though?”

Finn shrugged in response. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Albus admitted. “But now Ethan’s probably on our backs.”

“Oh, we’ll be fine. If we need to do any snooping, we’ve got that handy dandy Invisibility Cloak of yours.”

Albus laughed anxiously. “I dunno what you mean.”

Finn pointed. “That one you’re sitting on right now? I noticed it while digging through your trunk.”

“Bloody fantastic,” Albus grumbled. “This has been a mare.”

Scorpius burst through the door, throwing it open it such force that it hit the stone wall and emitted an ominous thud. Scorpius looked back at the door handle, which had broken into two pieces against the stone wall.

“I’ll fix that later,” he said. “There’s something more important.”

“I spoke too soon,” Albus muttered. “What is it?” he asked, noticing that Scorpius’s hands were suspiciously devoid of croissants.

“Did you just take the phone out?” Scorpius asked.

“Yeah,” Albus said. “Why, were you in the common room?”

Scorpius’s eyes widened. “I was in the Great Hall.”

“Did anyone there hear it?” Albus questioned, sharply standing up.

“We did,” Rose called from the doorway. She was standing there with Talia. “It’s seven-forty, we need to get to class.”

“Something shady as hell is going on here and you’re worried about class?” Albus scoffed. “This is some deep gravy, Rosie!”

“I don’t need you telling me that,” said Rose. “Why d’you think we heard that bloody phone from the Great Hall but it goes completely silent in a trunk?”

“I told them about everything,” Scorpius said. “Even about last night.”

“We woke up, but it’s not like we knew what was going on,” Talia muttered. Her eyes were puffy and ringed with shadow, and it was evident that the lack of sleep had taken a toll on her. “I thought I was going looney.”

Finn tsked at Scorpius. “And here you wanted a normal school year.”

“As long as I’m not in immediate danger of expulsion, I can handle it,” Scorpius said, a faint kind of bewildered smile on his face.

 

*    *    *

 

Albus and his four friends booked it to the Great Hall right after classes, figuring that they’d be early enough to score spots right near the dueling circle, but were instead relegated to the back of a line that wrapped around the corner.

Rose stared at her wrist disbelievingly. “It’s only a quarter past five! Classes just ended!”

“The D.E. is s’posed to be the best thing aside from Quidditch,” said Minghao, cutting into line with Barry and Gore in tow. No one raised concerns, likely put off by the hulking boy who looked like he could snap any of them in half.

“I heard that the best part is watching the seventh years,” said Talia, who looked as if she could levitate off the floor any second. “They do the coolest stuff.”

“Most of seventh year Defense is making your own spells,” said Rose. “I bet they practice them here.”

“I’d make a line shortening spell,” Scorpius muttered. “I hate waiting in line.”

“My sister’s been practicing hers at home,” said Barry. “Nearly blew up the house once, but it’s been getting more consistent.”

“She can do magic at home?” Albus questioned.

“She turned seventeen halfway through the summer.”

“Ah.”

They rounded the corner ten minutes later. Two prefects were collecting permission forms at the entrance to the Hall, and Finn blanched as the others withdrew their slips from their robes. “Were we meant to get those?”

“Go!” Albus urged, now glad they were at the back of the line.

Finn returned five minutes later, out of breath but just in time. He cut to the front of the line just as the others were cleared, earning a slew of angry glares from those in line behind them as he apologetically handed his crumpled slip to one of the prefects.

The prefect stared at Finn hard for a moment before tapping the paper with his wand. It disappeared in midair, and Albus spotted a name in loopy writing appear at the bottom of the prefect’s clipboard before Finn was waved inside.

The room itself was packed so full that Albus and his friends could hardly push halfway through the crowd. From the snippets of conversation that floated Albus’s way, it appeared that most everyone was excited to see the older students duke it out with their own spells.

The Slytherin first years did their best to peer over their older peers, but their best wasn’t much, and they were instead forced to gauge what was happening based on the myriad of mingling sounds in the air; or, at least, they might have been, if Gore weren’t there. He aided their efforts to push through the mass of bodies, and Albus was granted an uninhibited view of the circular dueling platform, so large it spanned the width of the hall.

Professor M, standing in the very center of the circle, raised his arms up in the air, and an anticipatory blanket of silence fell over the Hall.

M had cast a Magnifying Charm on his voice, but there was no need, for the quiet was so dense that they’d have been able to hear a pin drop. “Normally, we’d provide some basic information and begin straightaway, but because of the extensive size of our group today, Professor McCaffrey and I have decided to do things differently.”

M glanced at Professor McCaffrey, who stood on the outer edge of the platform.

“You’re all going to get a chance to learn some magic today, don’t worry,” said McCaffrey. His voice wasn’t magically amplified, but his words echoed across the Hall, regardless. “But we’re going to divide into sections based on skill level—let me finish!” said McCaffrey as scattered groans of disappointment broke the silence. “We’re going to divide into sections based on skill level after introductions and a… special demonstration.”

“Dueling is an ancient is well-practiced art,” said M. “But it evolves just as magic does. New spells create new effects and new strategies, and in return produce new ideas for even more spells. The rules of dueling are simple, and in their simplicity we find freedom to interpret the rules as we may.”

“All dueling occurs within a circle, like this,” said McCaffrey, indicating the platform. “That is the number one rule. If you step out of the circle, you lose.”

“If you are incapacitated, you also lose,” M added. “That means you can’t just get back up and fire more spells after being Stunned. Of course, we’re not going to be Stunning anyone full force, here, but in professional dueling, most matches end that way.”

“What if you die?” came a voice from the back of the room, inspiring a number of chuckles.

“Then you’d die, wouldn’t you?” M responded, drawing enough laughs to break the tense atmosphere.

“No one has died in a professional duel since the seventeenth century,” McCaffrey assured. “And that’s because of the second rule.”

“No spells above class V,” said M. “Here, we lower that to class III. I understand you first years haven’t quite gone over the modern classification system, but it means nothing stronger than a hex. No curses.”

“You don’t want to know what happens if you break that second rule,” said McCaffrey, silencing a few resultant murmurs. “It’s not fun for anyone.”

“Especially Professor Helios,” said M, shaking his head. “Lots of paperwork.”

“I think it’s best for us to just show them, Professor,” said McCaffrey slyly.

“I’d have to agree,” said M. “We’re going to demonstrate some dueling basics for you all.”

A rumble of intrigue returned in full force as the two professors began casting protective barriers around the circle. Talia squealed and grasped Albus’s arm. “Didn’t M duel professionally?!”

“He did,” said Albus, feeling uncomfortably warm.

M drew his wand and held it at his side. “If everyone could back away from the circle slightly, please. I want a nice hard place of ground for Professor McCaffrey to land on.”

McCaffrey chuckled as the others backed up. “Don’t get too comfortable, Marcus.”

“I’m not.”

“We’re using spells up to class V, like a normal duel, with a twist,” McCaffrey prefaced, still grinning. “We have to say our incantations aloud. You all aren’t limited to this rule if you can do nonverbal spells, but it doesn’t make for much of a demonstration if you have no idea what spells we’re casting.”

“But first, rule three. The formalities. Stand at either end of the circle,” said M, bringing his wand to his chest. McCaffrey did the same. “Think of your first spell, but not too hard, you don’t want to blast yourself in the face. Then, bow…”

Both professors tilted their heads up as they bowed, keeping their eyes on one another. M’s unfinished sentence hung in the air.

“And duel!” M exclaimed. He darted forwards from the edge of the circle and jabbed his wand out. “Rictusempra!

Protego!” came a shout from McCaffrey, and the jet of light from M’s wand bounced harmlessly off an invisible shield. “Expelliarmus!

The spell went rocketing back at M. M didn’t bring up a shield, instead seeming to watch the spell coast towards his face.

“He’s going to lose!” Rose screamed.

He wasn’t going to lose. Professor M turned his wand up to the jet of light, and with the most precision Albus had ever seen in his life, caught the disarming spell. M coiled his arm back like a spring and fired the spell right back at McCaffrey with two times the velocity. The Charms professor darted out of the way just in time.

Cheers erupted around the Hall as the dueling became more furious. Crackling, shattering sounds like glass breaking filled the air as spells collided. It seemed like the professors were going all out, especially as M started pushing area effects to force them onto quite literally uneven footing.

Glacius Regio!” yelled M, jumping into the air like a cartoon character and pointing his wand at the ground.

A massive block of ice spread from beneath his feet, building up and outwards and sloping at a severe degree. It grew five, then ten meters into the air, so high that it caught light from the top of the windows and cast a looming shadow over the entire Hall.

Albus craned his head upwards as the professors ascended. M landed catlike on a flat part of the glacier, but McCaffrey was forced into a tough position. He managed a quick Ascendio and vaulted over the razor sharp crest, but hit the ice on the other side hard and began sliding down the extreme grade on his back.

McCaffrey pointed his wand at the ground as he slid closer to M, but Albus didn’t catch the first part of his incantation. “...Maxima!

Bombarda!” M exclaimed, pointing at the same spot. A large hole started boring into the ice in front of McCaffrey, but it soon became the least of the Charms professor’s problems.

The glacier fissured with a great crunching sound and, as two large sections broke off and crumbled to either side, the middle exploded into a thousand pieces. Shards of ice ranging from the size of house flies to human beings coursed downwards with terrifying speed, and the two halves of the glacier fell like a giant pair of wings beating at the ground.

Albus shrieked and covered his head like the many others who did the same, but the ice fragments melted in midair and instead sent a thin wave of snow over the crowd.

The bigger chunks of ice seemed to move in slow motion as they fell. McCaffrey was sent flying backwards by the force of it all. He managed a weak “Arresto Momentum!” as he tumbled down the side of the glacier. The thing sunk into the ground itself, and as the chunk of ice fully disappeared, McCaffrey landed unceremoniously in the exact spot M had indicated before.

Albus and his friends roared in approval as M skated with ease down his half of the ice. He hopped off as the tip of the glacier disappeared into the floor and, twirling his hand, gave the crowd an exaggerated bow.

McCaffrey stumbled to his feet and smiled sheepishly, waving at the few students who offered him encouragement. M strode over and shook his hand, smiling and saying something Albus couldn’t hear.

“What was that last incantation?” Albus asked, turning to Rose and shouting over the noise.

“Which one?” Rose questioned.

“The one that started making the hole!”

“I couldn’t tell!”

“Bravo, yes, yes,” said M, his voice amplified again. “It’s obvious that I am the superior duelist, but I must confess that Professor McCaffrey put me on unsteady ground.”

“Now that you’ve all had your fun,” said McCaffrey, wanting to change the subject, “we’re going to break out into our groups.”

Almost instantly, the mood soured.

“The two of us will be going around and monitoring,” McCaffrey continued, “but each group will be led by two volunteers. Your leaders are already waiting in classrooms we’ve set aside for today, simply go ahead when you hear your year. Sixth and seventh years, Ethan Healy and Christopher Marley will be leading your practice on the Sound-Splitting Charm in room 1-E. Third, fourth, and fifth years will be led by Athena Hayes and Jay Wallace in learning the Freezing Charm, which Professor M used a variation of, in room 1-B. First and second years, you’ll be learning the Shield Charm—which both Professor M and I used repeatedly in our duel—from Walt Stephens and Victoire Weasley in room 1-C.”

Albus grinned and sprinted out of the Hall like a speed demon, leaving his friends to call his name helplessly. Victoire was probably the coolest person Albus knew aside from Teddy, and now that her and Teddy were dating, they were both worthy of the esteemed and exclusive title, “super cool.”

Victoire was busy chatting, presumably with Walt Stephens, but she turned her head to the door as Albus burst into the classroom. Her face broke into a grin. “What’s going on, Al?”

“You’re teaching us?” asked Albus excitedly, darting over and clasping his fists at his chest.

“Yeah, we are,” said Victoire, clapping her hand on his shoulder. “I have high expectations, kid.”

Albus straightened like a board and saluted. “Aye, aye.” He sunk a little after putting his hand down, feeling stupid. Aye, aye?

Walt Stephens looked at him oddly. “You’re Albus Potter, right?”

Albus felt like he was being scrutinized by a professor. “Er, yeah.”

“He’s brilliant,” said Victoire. “Smartest in the family besides Rose.”

Albus couldn’t help but grin. “Well, maybe.”

“Albus!” It was Scorpius, followed by the others. “Hold on!”

“Hey, Rosie,” said Victoire, waving lightly at Rose.

Rose returned the wave, grinning. “Hey.”

“Your friends?” Victoire asked, looking to Albus.

“Er, yeah. Scorpius, Talia, Finn,” said Albus, pointing each of them out. “Guys, this is Victoire, my cousin.”

“One of four thousand,” said Scorpius drily.

“Hi!” said Finn loudly. “I’m Finn!”

Victoire nodded awkwardly. “Well, hi.”

Footsteps and chatter began filling the room, and Stephens turned to Victoire as if Albus wasn’t there. He whispered something to her, but not quietly enough that Albus couldn’t hear. “He should be in Gryffindor. He’s a Potter.”

Victoire’s smile disappeared, and her eyes blazed with a sudden fury, as if she were prepared to slap Stephens across the face. “I dare you to say that again.”

“I’m gonna go,” said Albus, trying to pretend like he hadn’t overheard Stephens’s remark. None of his friends seemed to have noticed, and they looked at Albus with puzzled expressions. A lump had formed in his throat, strange and unwelcome, and it moved heavily as he spoke. “Come on, guys.”

“But aren’t—” Rose saw the look on Albus’s face and stopped. “Oh. Okay.”

Victoire could tell Albus had heard. “Albus, just wait a moment…”

Albus didn’t hear the end of her sentence as he and his friends made their way to the side of the classroom.

“Albus, why didn’t you tell me your cousin was that hot?” Finn was saying. “Come on!” he said as Rose and Talia both glared at him. He turned to Scorpius. “Mate, surely you agree with me.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess,” said Scorpius, looking suddenly alarmed.

“You guess? Well, there’s no need to guess, my friend.”

“First and second years, please settle down!” Victoire shouted, her tone a little more harsh than normal. Victoire cast Albus a little reassuring grin as the students settled, but Albus turned away as Victoire continued speaking. “We’re going to be working on the Shield Charm, today. Stephens and I are going to demonstrate, and then the rest of you are going to split off into groups to practice. At the end of time, we’ll call a few people up to show off what they’ve learned. Everybody ready? Good. Pay close attention.”

“The Shield Charm,” said Stephens, his voice high and reedy, “is perhaps the most important spell in a wizard’s arsenal. It is very simple to cast, yet incredibly effective.”

“He sounds like a rip-off Professor M,” said Talia quietly.

“The incantation is, Protego. Observe. I will cast a simple Stunner at Miss Weasley—”

Victoire prickled at Miss Weasley, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

“—and she will block it using the Shield Charm.” He tilted his chin up and smirked smugly. Albus felt a sudden urge to hit him in the nose, extremely hard. “One, two, three.”

On three, Stephens twirled his wand, and a red jet of light moved through the air towards Victoire.

Protego!” said Victoire, swishing her wand downwards in a straight line. When the red jet arrived within a meter of her person, a translucent blue shield appeared. The spell harmlessly bounced off and dissipated against the ground.

“Like so,” said Stephens. “Did you all see her form? Straight down. The straighter the line, the more effective the spell.”

“But obviously,” said Victoire quickly, “the intent is the most important thing. Intent will, at an extreme level, literally allow a witch or wizard to produce magic from their fingertips. As long as you clearly picture the effect in your head, you should succeed. The wand motions and the incantation are designed to make the whole thing easier, that’s all.”

“You all don’t know how to cast Stunners yet, so Tickling Charms will do,” said Stephens. “Go ahead and begin practicing. We’ll be walking around the room as monitors.”

But as the five Slytherins split off into a circle and sent Tickling Charms at one another, casting the shield proved to be more difficult than Victoire made it out to be. Students burst into raucous fits of laughter in regular intervals, and often times people would need to sit out to catch their breath.

Rose and Scorpius had picked it up within mere minutes, but the other three were suffering. Albus had managed to produce three satisfactory shields, but most of the spells seemed to only be weakened by the blue barrier. Talia seemed to be faring a little better than him, but she, too, wasn’t having much luck.

Finn, on the other hand, had exhausted so much of his reserves that his face had lit up red like a stoplight. Literally. Finn’s face was emitting an unsettling red glow that lit his movements like a torch, and it finally subsided after he sat out for a bit.

About fifteen minutes in, Victoire walked over to check on their progress. “How’s everything going here?”

Rose started. “Well, it could be—"

“Oh, fine,” said Finn, grinning stupidly.

Victoire raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Finn’s face suddenly glowed red again, and he quickly spun around. “Totally!” he squeaked, his voice muffled.

“We’re having a little trouble,” Albus confessed, gesturing to himself and Talia. “It keeps going through the shield.”

“Mmm.” Victoire nodded. “That’s a common problem.” She ducked, and a jet of green light cut through the space her head had just occupied. Victoire stood and resumed talking like nothing had happened. “I find that the best fix is to try and sync the timing of your shield with the offensive spell. Here, someone cast a Rictusempra at me.”

Rose did the honors. In almost a split second, the spell had reached Victoire. But unlike what she’d done before, her wand was incredibly close to the jet of green light before it bounced off. Unfortunately, the spell hit Finn in the back, and the poor boy was sent tumbling to the ground in a fit of giggles.

“Sorry!” said Victoire, rushing to Finn’s side and helping him up. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” said Finn, still giggling, though Albus suspected it might not entirely have been because of the spell.

Albus tried Victoire’s technique, and it seemed to work. In fact, he succeeded in blocking his friends’ spells more than half the time. Albus felt himself getting into the groove, and after another fifteen minutes, he’d finally gotten good enough to consistently block the spell each time.

“Alright, everyone!” called Victoire from the front of the class. “We’ve got a few minutes left, enough time for some demonstrations! Any volunteers?”

A couple hands went up here and there, but Stephens picked one out immediately. “You!”

Albus bristled as Dylan Abbott strode to the front of the class, looking all smug and pompous.

“Another volunteer for this first matchup!” said Victoire.

Almost immediately, Albus’s, Scorpius’s, Finn’s, and Talia’s hands shot up into the air. Before Stephens could speak, Victoire twirled her finger and pointed in their direction. “One of you, come on up here.”

Albus made to step forward, but Finn placed his arm out. “Don’t,” said Finn, grinning evilly. “I got this.”

“But you haven’t blocked a single one!” said Talia.

“He’s got this,” said Albus. He could see the look in Finn’s eyes. “I trust him.”

“Don’t fail miserably,” Scorpius said warmly.

Finn strode to the front, trying to match Abbott’s demeanor but looking more like a peacock doing a mating dance display. Abbott visibly shrunk away from Finn, but Finn just kept smiling like an insane person.

“Which one of you wants to shield first?” Victoire asked.

“Me,” said Finn confidently.

Albus whooped in approval, and the other Slytherins shouted their own words of support as Stephens instructed Finn and Abbott on where to stand.

“Come on, Dylan!” one of his cronies cried.

“You’ve got this, Finbar!” Scorpius shouted.

“Not my name!” Finn hollered. “Ignore it,” he said, taking evident pleasure in Abbott’s bewildered face. “Inside joke.”

Abbott snarled. “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you, freak.”

“Relax,” said Victoire. “This is supposed to be friendly.”

“Oh, yeah,” Finn nodded. “I’m very friendly. Dylan and I are best friends.”

“Wands at the ready!” Stephens commanded.

Finn clamped his mouth shut and held his wand out, looking more determined than Albus had ever seen him.

Stephens waited until the room had gone silent. “Abbott, you can cast your spell whenever you please.”

Almost immediately, Abbott sprang out of his dueling stance and wrenched his mouth open. “Rictusempra!

The green light crackled and rocketed through the air, but Finn appeared unconcerned. Albus curled his hands into fists as the jet of light sailed close to Finn—far too close. He wouldn’t have enough time to put up the shield, even using Victoire’s technique.

But Finn was still smiling. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as Finn brought his wand down through the air with intense precision. “Protego!” he yelled, finishing the incantation at the exact point where the tip of his wand touched the jet of light.

Albus’s mouth fell open as Finn brought his arm backwards like a cannon, still moving with the flow of the spell, before firing Abbott’s Rictusempra right back at him, just like how M had done before.

The green jet of light grew twice as large and twice as fast, and it zipped and zigzagged around in the air before speeding at Abbott. The Gryffindor barely had time to squeal before his own spell rocketed into his stomach, sending him flying meters and crashing to the floor, laughing hysterically.

A valiant screech tore itself from Albus’s open mouth, and the whole room lit aflame with roars as Finn bowed, copying M’s extravagant hand movements. Victoire was laughing as though she’d been hit by a Rictusempra herself, and Albus sorely wished he could take a picture of Stephens’s befuddled face.

 

*     *     *

 

With all the excitement of the D.E., Albus had forgotten to pick Rose’s brain about the siren. He ambushed her after dinner, plopping down next to her as she furiously scribbled an essay for Transfiguration.

“Can we talk now?” Albus asked, trying to sound casual.

“It had better not interrupt my schedule,” Rose muttered, keeping her focus on her parchment.

“I haven’t heard your perspective yet.”

“My perspective?”

“What d’you think it is?” Albus asked, knowing Rose would figure out what he was referring to.

Rose placed her quill down neatly next to her parchment. “Listen. I think that you brought some kind of Muggle technology into Hogwarts, the most magical location in Britain, and that it malfunctioned. You’re overthinking this.”

“What was that about the trunk this morning, then?” Albus pressured.

“Speculation.”

“Speculate this.” Albus looked around furtively, making sure not to be overt. “If you heard the siren all the way from the Great Hall, and that too at the same volume as me, then surely you heard it increase slightly.”

Rose’s eyes wavered slightly. “Perhaps I did.”

“Then you’re thinking what I’m thinking.”

“I don’t want to think anything else about it,” said Rose, making to stand up. “We’re done here—”

“It’s a homing beacon,” Albus said hastily.

Rose sat back down, almost knocking over the inkpot. “That’s a bit of a jump,” she said shakily.

“But you’re thinking it too. That’s why you sat down.”

“Don’t you go all psychoanalysis on me, Potter.”

“Joke’s on you.” Albus smirked. “I dunno what that means.”

“What are you going to do about it, then?” Rose demanded. “You can’t go out after ten, there’s curfew. You can’t go out during the day either, obviously. People are going to see you wandering around with that thing like a madman.”

“You should’ve seen Finn this morning,” said Albus. “That is a real madman.”

“I don’t want to know, nor do I think pursuing this is smart,” Rose whispered. “My suggestion? Leave the ruddy phone in the bottom of your trunk, and don’t pull it out until the end of term.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Albus said.

“You’d better.”

“Rosie, if there’s something going on, I need—”

“No, you don’t,” she interrupted. “You don’t. You have zero obligation, Albus, zero. Sometimes I start to think that you just want to be like your father.”

Albus sat up and narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rose grimaced. “Look, that came out wrong.”

“Yes,” Albus said bitterly. “I think it did.” He stood and shook his head. “Cast some kind of silencing spell tonight. I’m taking the phone out.”

“But Albus—”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “No wonder my dad wasn’t friends with your mum for most of his first year.” He turned and left without waiting for Rose’s reaction. Even still, he could feel her sad stare as boring a hole into the back of his skull.

Chapter 8: The Archway

Chapter Text

 

Albus knew he couldn’t take the phone out of his trunk without waking Finn or Scorpius. Conceding that it was better to have help, he informed the two of his plan after dinner, before Minghao, Barry, or Gore returned to the dormitory.

“I think we can all fit under the Cloak,” Albus said. “We’re going to take the phone out and find the source of this signal.”

“Won’t that take a while?” Scorpius protested. “The castle has almost seven floors!”

“But we know the general direction,” Albus insisted. “It’s likely somewhere on the west side of the castle. We just need to do some detective work.”

“And what about the girls?” Finn asked. “They’ll hear it, too.”

“Rose isn’t coming,” said Albus. “I think she’ll tell Talia the same.”

“Albus,” said Scorpius hesitantly. “Is this really that important?”

“Yes,” said Albus immediately. “I was thinking about what Rose said, that the phone went silent in the trunk, and I have a theory.”

“Not another one,” Scorpius muttered.

“It’s easy enough to test,” Albus said, “but if it works, it’ll mean that the girls can sleep in peace.”

“When are we waking up?” Finn asked.

“One-thirty. I’ll wake you guys. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep, anyways.”

“I suggest you strongly consider letting me sleep,” Scorpius proposed.

“Sorry, mate,” said Albus. “I need one person smarter than me to make sure I don’t do anything stupid.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Finn mumbled, climbing into his own bed.

“Why can’t it be Rose?” Scorpius asked.

Albus grimaced. “We aren’t… aren’t on the best of terms right now.”

Scorpius looked at Albus worriedly but said nothing. “We’ll talk later.”

“Later,” Albus agreed. “For now, sleep.”

Albus, as expected, was entirely unable to sleep. Whenever he tried, his mind circled back to his and Rose’s talk. He wished he could go back and time and retract what he said, as the thought of his cousin crying herself to sleep caused a heavy lump of guilt to settle at the bottom of his stomach.

The minutes passed by at the speed of dripping molasses as Albus repeatedly rolled over to check the time. He watched the clock tick past midnight… one o’clock… one-fifteen… one-twenty… one-twenty-five… one-twenty-nine… and, finally, one-thirty.

Albus nearly knocked over the whirring box fan in his haste. He watched apprehensively as it wavered back and forth unsteadily before deciding to settle. Albus gingerly stepped around the fan and tapped Scorpius’s shoulder.

Scorpius stirred gently, rubbing his eyes. “Is it time, already?”

Albus nodded. “I was in half a mind to wake you up early.”

“Thank god you didn’t do that,” Scorpius sighed, sitting up and stretching like a Cheshire cat. “How are we meant to wake Finn without disturbing the girls?”

Albus dismissed the unwanted thoughts of his cousin that wandered into his head. “Actually, this presents quite a good opportunity to test my theory.”

“Don’t blow anything up,” Scorpius said mindlessly. He wrinkled his nose. “I’m going to brush my teeth.”

“Don’t blow anything up,” said Albus, walking over to his trunk.

Albus had given the siren’s mechanics a good thought. Initially, he had assumed that the noise was inexplicably fickle. But after a great deal of thinking, Albus had realized that whenever the phone had gone silent, it had been sitting underneath the Invisibility Cloak.

Albus gently grasped the Cloak, which had been stuffed into the back corner. He took care to spread the fabric over the entirety of the trunk’s opening before pushing his hand inwards, using the Cloak as a kind of glove. He fumbled past multiple items of relative unimportance before landing on the phone.

Albus closed his Cloaked fist around the phone and began easing it past the other items in the trunk. His arm caught the corner of a hardcover book that left a stinging scratch, but Albus bore the fleeting pain and continued. He used his free hand to quickly close the corners of the Cloak shut around his closed fist. To his delight, the phone stayed silent.

“I did it!” Albus whisper-shouted as Scorpius emerged from the washroom.

Scorpius’s pointed to his arm. “You’re bleeding.”

Albus looked back down at the forgotten scrape to find that it had bloomed into a red line of blood. He fumbled for some tissues from Scorpius’s bedside while keeping the bottom of the bundle tight against his chest.

As Albus dabbed his cut, Scorpius fetched him a bandage. Albus gestured to the bundled Cloak with his chin. “The phone’s in here,” he whispered. “Be careful. Make sure there’s no leaks in the fabric.”

Scorpius accepted the Cloak and cradled it as though it could explode at any moment. Albus took a moment to stop the bleeding before applying the plaster tight, a little too tight, on his arm.

“What now?” Scorpius asked, watching Albus warily.

Albus carefully took the Cloak back. “We wake Finn.” He moved around the foot of Scorpius’s bed and stopped short of Finn’s. “I need your help here.”

“Why?” Scorpius asked, scrambling over to Albus’s side.

“I dunno if you’ve ever noticed,” said Albus, “but Finn sleeps and wakes like a lion. Grab his arm—yeah, that one. Alright, I’m going to put the Cloak near his ear. Make sure you’re holding tight. If this thing goes off, the girls wake up. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Albus pressed the Cloak up to Finn’s ear and made the smallest opening. Finn’s arm broke free of Scorpius’s grip, swinging wildly as he shot up out of bed. Albus darted back and narrowly avoided getting brained.

“What part of ‘grab his arm’ do you not understand?” Albus demanded, glaring at Scorpius.

“I didn’t expect that kind of reaction!” Scorpius hissed. His knuckles had smashed into the metal bedframe, and he rubbed them furiously. “I swear my hand’s almost broken.”

Finn was on the other side of his bed, winded. “We… need to… come up with a better… better system.” He shakily pointed at the Cloak. “That devil device is in there, huh.”

“Unfortunately,” said Albus, his expression turning grim.

Scorpius stopped nursing his fist, turning his attention to Albus. “What d’you mean?”

Albus looked down miserably at the Cloak’s multicolored print. “We need to be inside with it.”

 

*    *    *

 

The boys pilfered a woolen cap from Barry’s night stand and mashed it, with the phone inside, onto Finn’s head. The top of the hat made direct contact with the Cloak, which, as Scorpius confirmed, was enough to prevent the siren’s escape. It was a rather hollow victory, however, as the aural suffering was entirely directed at the boys.

Finn was sandwiched in the middle of the formation as the three shuffled through the halls. Albus and Scorpius stood to either side, tasked with making sure wayward flaps of the Cloak didn’t swirl off into the darkness of the corridors, thus rendering their feet visible and the sound audible. They moved with relative success, though their pace slowed as the beacon grew gradually louder.

The noise started out uncomfortable enough, but it had since grown as the trio moved west. As a test of insurance, the three had started moving towards the middle courtyard. The intensity dropped sharply, their best indicator yet that Albus’s prediction was right. Indeed, as the boys returned to the main hallway, the beacon’s volume augmented like a tuning sine wave.

The noise was uncomfortable, as with volume came an increase in pitch that slowly seeped deeper into the sides of Albus’s head. “How much longer d’you think it can go?” he asked, wincing as the noise jumped another few decibels. His whispers were inching closer to the threshold of completely imperceptible.

“I dunno,” Finn said with difficulty. “I’m just glad that this thing doesn’t obey the laws of sound. My head might’ve been blown off at this point.”

The three stopped in front of the Great Hall. Scorpius looked to his right. “Could it be in there?”

“Maybe,” said Albus. “But I’d save that as our backup option. It’s been only half hour, and the Great Hall is going to take a good deal of effort to break into unnoticed.”

“Keep going, then?” Finn asked.

“Yeah.” Albus sighed, wishing he had some kind of magical map. “We’ve got to start being more discreet, though. Remember, we can still be heard from the outside.”

“About that,” said Finn. “Why aren’t our voices blocked by the Cloak? Is it picky or something?”

“These Cloaks are mass produced,” Scorpius suggested. “Perhaps they’re weird like that.”

“This isn’t a mass production,” Albus said. “My dad inherited this Cloak. I think it was made by hand, but I don’t know who made it or when it was made.”

“But that’s impossible,” Scorpius argued. “Invisibility Cloaks are backed by an enchantment, and those don’t last forever.”

“Maybe you have to recast it every few years?” Albus offered weakly. “I really have no idea.”

“I’m not complaining much,” Finn said. “As long as we’re obscured, I’m good.”

The three approached the end of the corridor. The left side led off towards the Transfiguration hallway, and the right stopped short of the front doors.

Albus looked both ways like he was crossing a street. “Which way?” He turned to Scorpius, who had inexplicably gone wide eyed. “Scorpius?”

Scorpius was staring at the double doors. The locks were massive, horizontal bars of stone that spanned the width of the doorway, arranged in seven rows. “You ever think…” Scorpius spoke slowly. “That the source of this… thing… is outside?”

Albus’s heartbeat accelerated. “No, no, no. That’s not… surely not. Let’s get closer to the doors.”

 The trio walked towards the doors, and as though the beacon had overheard their conversation, the sound exploded past the point Albus thought was sonically possible. The sheer force of the noise was so powerful that Finn crumpled to the ground. The unobstructed weight of the Cloak brought Albus and Scorpius down with him, and the shroud settled on top of them, unaffected by the overwhelming din.

Albus’s back collided with a wall of stone extending from the wall. He wheezed as the impact knocked the wind out of his body. Albus feebly brought his hands up to his ears, but it didn’t help. The sound transcended auditory response itself, implanting itself directly into his brain like a hellish leech.

Albus laid wheezing and confounded against the wall for at least thirty seconds before grasping that he had vague control over his motor functions. He stumbled into a position resembling a crouch, tugging on Finn’s sleeve.

“Get up!” Albus tried to whisper, but his voice was swept from his own mouth amidst the torrent of sound.

Albus clenched his teeth and dragged Finn to his feet. Scorpius had regained his senses, and he moved to help.

Finn’s lolling head suddenly jerked back to life, and he blinked rapidly. His mouth moved frantically, but Albus couldn’t hear anything other than the horrid, unimpeded screeching.

Albus turned around to scrutinize the source of the throbbing pain in his spine. His irritation immediately vanished as Albus realized what he was looking at. I was right, he thought to himself, staring up at the golden statue of the Architect of Hogwarts.

Albus turned back to his friends and brought his index finger up to his lips.

Finn clamped his mouth shut. What? he mouthed, exaggerating his movements.

Albus pointed to the statue. I think it has to do with that!

What? Scorpius mouthed, squinting.

The statue! Albus flapped his hands like an inexperienced mime.

Scorpius’s face showed recognition. What do we do?

Albus waved his hand, the universal sign for come.

Scorpius and Finn flanked him on either side, giving Albus enough clearance to reach the top of the Architect’s foot. He gestured to the hat on Finn’s head, and Scorpius shook his head wildly.

No! Scorpius mouthed. We’ll get caught!

Albus grunted in frustration and lunged at Finn, snatching the wool-encased phone off of his head. He glanced around quickly before grabbing the Cloak above his head and pulling downwards.

The Cloak slipped off of their shoulders. Albus quickly bundled up the phone before the sound could eke out.

“What the hell?” Scorpius whispered. “We’re going to get caught!”

“If you want to get back under there, be my guest!” Albus hissed.

“No thanks. I’ll keep lookout,” said Finn, already facing down the corridor.

“It’s settled, then,” said Albus, narrowing his eyes at Scorpius. “Come help me with this.”

“What are you doing?” Scorpius demanded.

Albus placed the bundle at the base of the pedestal, placed his hands face down on the stone base, and heaved himself up. He clambered to his feet and just missed hitting his head on the statue.

He crouched and looked out across the hallway. They had a good vantage point. The hallway dead ended at the door, which no one could go out of, and the other way was clear for miles, all the way into the Transfiguration corridor. Finn was positioned next to the wall in shadow, ensuring that he’d catch anyone coming before they saw anything.

“Hand me the Cloak,” Albus whispered, looking back down at Scorpius.

“This is a bad idea,” Scorpius said, passing it up.

“Probably.”

The Architect looked like how a Muggle might picture the quintessential wizard. He had thick, flowing robes with an ornate pleated ribbon down the front, decorated with geometric linework. His beard was curled and twisted into rivulets that came down to his chest, done in a style that Albus could imagine Helios wearing. The Architect stared down at the model of Hogwarts in his right hand. His expression was a mix of forlorn and prideful.

Albus sighed, unsure of what to do. He tried pressing the Cloak to the statue and waited in anticipation for something to happen.

Scorpius cleared his throat quietly. “Erm, nothing’s happening.”

Albus felt stupid. “Yeah. I dunno what I was expecting.” He examined the Cloak. “What now?”

“Is the thing still playing?” Scorpius asked.

“Hold on.”

Albus turned the bundle upside down so the folded corners of the Cloak faced upwards. Albus brought his head down to the fabric and, fearing for his sense of hearing, opened and shut the fabric maw as quickly as possible. The beacon was definitely still blaring, as the blast of noise frightened Albus even though he was bracing for it.

“It’s still going,” said Albus.

 “Well, let’s go back then,” said Scorpius. “If the source of the beacon isn’t this, it’s outside. We’re not going outside,” he added after reading the look on Albus’s face.

Albus pouted. “Fine. But can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Go back around the statue with this.”

Scorpius scoffed. “Hell no. I bruised up my abdomen last time. You’re up there already. Just go around yourself.”

“Thanks,” said Albus drily, already stepping over the golden statue of the Hufflepuff badger.

There wasn’t much foot real-estate on the sides of the pedestal, which were thinner than the front. Albus managed to step over the raven on the back corner by clinging onto the Architect’s left arm for support. He balanced the Cloak between his arms, unsure that he or Scorpius would have a steady enough hand to levitate it behind the statue.

The corner of the wall arced inwards to accommodate the golden monument, but Albus nonetheless had to scrape his back along the wall’s edge to protect the phone. The ache in his spine flared up again, and Albus resolved to examine himself in the mirror for bruising later.

Albus needed to face the back of the statue before dismounting, or rather, uncomfortably sliding down the back of the pedestal. He held the Cloak to the back of the pedestal. No dice.

Holding the Cloak up like an offering felt even stupider that time, and Albus was beginning to swallow the heavy indication of a fourth failure. He peeked around the side of the pedestal and drew Scorpius’s attention. “What’s that spell you cast last time?” Albus asked.

“The Revealing Spell?” Scorpius questioned.

“Yeah.”

“It’s pronounced ah-pah-race-ee-um.” Scorpius pronounced each syllable carefully. “Remember, it’s the intent that matters most.”

Albus placed the Cloak on the podium and pointed his wand at the back of the statue, thinking about text or symbols appearing on the stone. “Aparecium!” he hissed.

The beige stone before him was just as ordinary as before.

Albus resisted the urge to ball up and scream. “All this way for nothing,” Albus mumbled. He stared at the Cloak glumly.

“It was a good try, mate.” Scorpius had a sympathetic look on his face.

Albus frowned. Finn was shuffling back towards them at a heightened pace, waving his arms.

“What is it?” Scorpius asked as Finn approached.

“Abbott!” Finn hissed. “He’s coming down the hallway!”

“Abbott? Dylan Abbott?”

“Yeah!”

“Alone?” Albus asked.

“No, he’s with his three lackeys, but you know that they’d find a way to turn us in,” said Finn.

“What are we going to do?” Scorpius’s face flushed, the panic in his voice evident. “There’s nowhere to go!”

“Behind here!” said Albus. “Climb over the pedestal, it’s easier than going around.”

Scorpius and Finn hopped up onto the pedestal as Abbott’s voice drifted down the corridor. The Gryffindor was failing massively at being subtle, for Albus could hear the faint footsteps of him and his cronies as they moved down the hallway. Abbott was whispering about something that Albus couldn’t quite make out. His form came into view after Scorpius and Finn dropped down either side of Albus behind the pedestal.

Abbott’s blonde hair looked white in the moonlight that drifted through the windows, and his ever-present smirk of superiority made Albus’s blood boil. The four Gryffindors were travelling in a loose diamond formation, walking on the right side of the corridor to keep towards the shadows.

“Why do Gryffindors have so sense of subtlety?” Scorpius asked.

“It’s genetic,” Albus muttered.

Abbott stopped as he and the other Gryffindors approached the fork in the corridor. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and squinted at it before pointing to his right. The Gryffindors turned and headed down the hallway to the left, quickly disappearing around the corner.

Albus sat in anxious silence until Abbott’s hushed voice faded. “That was close,” he whispered.

“We are never doing this again!” Scorpius hissed. “Let’s get back before someone actually intelligent manages to find us!”

“Um, guys?” Finn probed.

“What, Finn?” Scorpius swiveled his head. “I swear, if it’s something about geese—”

“There’s writing on the wall,” Finn whispered.

Albus whirled around. He could barely feel his ribs scrape against the wall. There was indeed writing, writing that hadn’t been on the wall before. He couldn’t read it, for the language was in symbols that he couldn’t decipher.

“What do they mean?” Albus asked.

“You know better than me,” Scorpius mumbled, a pensive expression on his face. “It looks kind of like Norse.”

Albus chuckled drily. “D’you know how to read Norse?”

“No.”

Albus frowned. “What could it say…”

He studied the wall over like he had earlier that year. The top of the archway came to a point that Albus thought to be structurally inconceivable as a support. That meant it was either decorative or something else entirely. Something about the linework along the raised ribbon of stone seemed familiar, but Albus couldn’t quite place it… until it hit him.

“It’s not a support,” said Albus. “It’s a hidden door.”

“Excuse me?” Scorpius wore a look of serious derision. “How is it you know that?”

“I’m a wizard.” From the looks on his friends’ faces, his statement wasn’t very convincing. “Look at the arch,” Albus instructed. “It’s far too thin to support a wall like it normally would, and it looks like the Slytherin common room entrance.”

Finn seemed impressed. “When did you become an architect?”

Albus opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. “I… I dunno.”

Scorpius nodded to himself. “Well, that’s not worrying at all.”

“Look, I must have… picked it up somewhere,” Albus said, fumbling for an answer. “But that’s not important right now! There is something right there, beyond that door, and we need to figure out how to get in.”

“That does not sound smart in the slightest,” Scorpius retorted. “I’ve entertained you this far, but this is getting a little ridiculous, Albus.”

Albus laughed. “Ridiculous? Scorp, we’re—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“—right on the edge of a discovery here! Doesn’t that make you excited?”

“Not particularly,” said Scorpius. “In fact, I’d rather like to be in my bed, sleeping like a baby and unconcerned about the mysteries of a castle that, for all intents and purposes, has been fully explored.”

“What is wrong with you?” Albus demanded. “What happened to being okay with this?”

“What is wrong with you? This is bloody insane, well within grounds for expulsion, meaning I am not okay with it!”

“Any more synonyms for me?”

 “Stupid, senseless, absurd, call it what you will, it’s not normal!”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“This!” Scorpius gestured around. “You think you’re some kind of hero or, or, detective, who can solve a mystery that never existed! It’s unhealthy! You aren’t your father!”

That comment stung, and Albus hotly opened his mouth to retort. “Oh yeah? What about you, Malfoy?”

“My father is a great man!” Scorpius snapped. “I dunno what you’re trying to prove, because right now the only thing you’re proving is that you’re a right arsehole.”

“Yeah? Well why don’t you…” Albus trailed off at the sound of scraping, as quiet as a mouse clawing against a wall.

He turned his head to find that the wall was folding into itself, melting away from the center to reveal a staircase beyond. The steps and the column they spiraled around were made of a white stone marbled with ribbons of grey. Windows to the outside were placed along the outer wall at regular intervals, windows that most definitely couldn’t be seen from the outside. The staircase was massive, with each step spanning three meters horizontal.

Finn was standing before the first step, a delighted look on his face as he held the Cloak up in that same ridiculous pose Albus had twice assumed. He turned around, beaming. “Are you done?”

Albus realized his mouth was hanging open and closed it. His tongue felt like sandpaper. “What did you do?”

Finn tilted his head down at the Cloak. “Pressed it to the door.”

“Finn, I could kiss you right now.”

“Thanks?”

Albus turned to Scorpius awkwardly and offered something between a grimace and a smile.

Scorpius crossed his arms. “Don’t insult my father again.”

“I won’t,” Albus promised. His words were genuine. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” said Scorpius softly. He looked forward to the staircase again. “This is wicked.”

“Yes, cool, great job ladies, but you know what’s less wicked?” Finn prompted, having tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

Albus furrowed his eyebrows and copied him, listening closely and picking up… “Footsteps.”

“All your arguing must have gotten someone’s attention,” said Finn. “Quick, let’s go!” Finn whipped around and bounded up the staircase, fully unconcerned for his own safety.

Albus shook his head and followed Finn up the stairs.

Scorpius stood in place. “Are we really doing this?” he asked.

“Rather quick change from ‘this is wicked!’” Albus hissed, gesturing for Scorpius to follow him. “Now, come on! D’you want to do the most awesome thing you’ve ever done in your life or risk your dreaded expulsion?”

If Scorpius could’ve gotten any paler, he would have. “Alright, I’m coming.”

As soon as Scorpius crossed the entryway, the stone began folding inwards. Scorpius jumped away startled, but by the time he could regain his bearings, the wall had settled back into place without any indication it had moved at all.

 

*     *     *

 

Dylan Abbot rounded the corner from the outside, his posse trailing shortly behind. He was thoroughly confused as he furtively peeked around the corner. “I could have sworn I heard shouting…”

“Yeah?” one of his lackeys asked. “Maybe it was an echo.”

“An echo of what?” Abbott snapped.

“Us?” another one offered. “I mean, there’s just the doors down there, and it’s not like anyone can get out.”

“What if it’s that statue?” the first one asked. “The thing we need to touch, or whatever.”

“Christopher said it was a painting, idiot. Of fruits.” Abbott frowned. “I guess it was nothing…”

“What if it was one of the professors?” the second one asked, his voice quiet.

“He told us they don’t come to the first floor for… another hour,” said Abbott, checking his watch.

The third friend yawned. “Can we go now? I don’t see a painting, and it’s pretty unwise to stay in case it really was a professor.”

Abbott’s nostrils flared. “Shut up, Jason. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Maybe try not coming back at all,” Jason muttered, trailing behind the other three Gryffindor boys. “This was stupid.”

But against his own words, he looked back, not at the corridor, but at that odd golden statue near the doors to the outside. He could have sworn he had seen a head behind it a few minutes earlier…

Attributing his thoughts to a lack of sleep, Jason shook his head and followed the others. Now was no time to be solving mysteries.

Chapter 9: The Architect's Chamber

Chapter Text

 

There was a solitary window halfway up the staircase, framed by ribbons of stone that mirrored the secret entrance. The stars scattered across the night sky set a backdrop for the mountains. They loomed large and dark over the sprawling forest, blacker than the sky above, like a massive shadow that suffocated the landscape. It was mesmerizing, almost… terrifying.

Scorpius was still trying to catch his breath. “This has got to be the worst night I’ve ever had.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Albus. “Come check this out.”

Albus could see Scorpius’s eyes widen in wonder in the reflection of the glass. “Oh, my god.”

“I wonder how many people have seen the grounds like this,” Albus said.

“More than we think, I reckon,” said Scorpius. “Just think about how many hundreds of students must have snuck out after dark in the last thousand years.”

“I guess so,” said Albus.

“Lads!” Finn’s voice reverberated down the stairway. “Let’s pick up the pace!”

Albus tore himself away from the window. “Coming!”

Finn’s calls grew louder as Albus and Scorpius ran up the stairs, trying not to trip over their own feet. “Scorpius is going to have a cow!” Finn yelled.

“Should I be worried?” Scorpius muttered, panting.

Albus stopped at the top of the staircase, preparing for the sight of an old stone chamber dotted with cobwebs, but was stunned speechless. The interior was what Albus imagined a rich baron’s study would look like. The walls were crafted from a dark cherry wood, one that looked reddish under direct light. There was a second floor that framed the first, a kind of loft that housed a wide assortment of heavy bound books and scrolls. Recessed lights were embedded into the underside of the loft, illuminating the shelves on the ground floor. They held all manner of artifacts, including a crude-looking globe, a crown encrusted with red and blue jewels, and an almost-human skull with runes etched into the jaw.

Two area rugs occupied the majority of the space in the middle, patterned with swirling blue, green, and purple blooms like a peacock’s tail. The first rug was home to two cushy armchairs made of dark blue velvet—one of which Finn had deposited the Cloak onto—and an ornate wooden desk. The second held another two armchairs of the pastel pink variety, a round coffee table, and an azure loveseat with cushions that looked like puffy pinwheels. A window at the end of the room looked out onto the mountains, now illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the clouds. An intricate crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a bright, white light over the rest of the chamber.

Scorpius emitted a small squeak. “Oh my…”

Even Albus was taken. “Bloody hell.”

“Somehow, this feels nicer than my own house.” Scorpius pushed past Albus in a kind of trance and ran his fingers along the back of an armchair. “How is this… where even are we?”

“I’m never going back to the dormitory,” Finn said from the loft. He was examining the shelves. “This place is wicked.”

“How did you get up there?” Albus called.

“There’s a spiral staircase behind you.”

Albus turned to find that, indeed, there was a wrought iron spiral staircase tucked into the corner. Albus stomped up it without hesitation as Scorpius gaped at the artifacts.

At the top of the landing was an odd alcove in the wall, one that might have held a painting or a portrait. Instead, it housed a slab of stone embedded with something Albus could only describe as petrified human remains. There were fragments of skulls and bones peeking out of the stone at different angles, and the sight was frankly… unsettling.

“Albus?” came Finn’s voice.

Albus shook his head. “Yeah.”

Finn spread his arms, spinning around in place. “Is this not the coolest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“I… pretty much,” Albus admitted.

Finn pointed down at Scorpius. “What happened to him?”

Scorpius was sitting motionless on the sofa, staring straight ahead. His mouth was slightly agape, and his arms were limp at his sides.

“He’s okay,” Albus said, retrieving a book from the first shelf. The unanticipated weight nearly caused him to fall over. “Blimey, how heavy is this thing?”

“Old books are heavy,” said Finn.

“Yeah, thanks.” Albus placed the book on the floor and squatted down. The book was more like a heavy folder, showing family trees that extended across flaps and loose pages of paper. The pages were faded and yellowed, and the smell hit him almost instantly. “Oof, that’s rank!”

“Old books smell,” said Finn.

“I think I’d rather you be actively detrimental than blatantly unhelpful,” said Albus.

“I dunno what you mean by that.”

Albus unfolding pages and pockets until he reached the top of one of the trees. The heading was completely lost to time, having been faded and stained beyond comprehension.

Finn watched him with fascination. “That thing’s, like, two meters long.”

“Seems excessive,” Albus muttered. His eyes fell to the edge of the page and landed square on the name, Selwyn Slytherin. “Wait a moment…” He followed the tree back a single generation to a name that appeared to have been scratched out but rewritten. “Erm, Scorpius?” Albus called.

Albus’s voice appeared to shake Scorpius out of his semi-catatonic state. “Yeah?” Scorpius asked weakly.

“When was Hogwarts founded?”

“Sometime in the early 11th century, like 1000 A.D. Why?”

Albus stood up and moved away from the book as though it were explosive, warily eyeing the name, Salazar Slytherin. “This thing is a thousand years old. It stops at the original Heir of Slytherin.”

Scorpius yelped and fell off the sofa. “What?”

“I didn’t even know books that old existed,” Finn said.

Albus looked at him oddly. “Seriously?”

“No,” Finn muttered, rubbing the back of his head. “Stupid joke.”

Scorpius scampered up the spiral staircase with complete disregard for the noise he made. He rushed past Albus and examined the family tree. “How far does this go back?” he demanded.

Finn counted upside down. “About… forty generations.”

Scorpius blanched. “That’s… almost eight hundred years.”

Albus sucked in a breath. “What is this place?”

“Heaven,” Scorpius said softly. “Or maybe hell. I haven’t decided yet.”

Finn turned to the shelf and tried to pull out a scroll. As soon as he wrapped his hand around it, the thick paper disintegrated, collapsing into dust that stuck to his clothes and created a mess on the floor. Finn clicked his tongue. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Phineas!” Scorpius chastised.

“Not my name.”

“That could have been ancient!”

“Of course it was,” Finn said matter-of-fact. “It literally vaporized in my hands.”

Scorpius shook his head, muttering something unintelligible as he directed his wand at the pile of dust. “Reparo!” The scroll collected back together in Finn’s hands. “Bring that over here,” said Scorpius.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Surely that isn’t older?” said Albus.

“I’d bet it is,” Scorpius said with a kind of childish glee.

He accepted the roll of ancient parchment from Finn and shuffled on his knees. Scorpius spread the scroll out on the floor right next to the family tree It appeared to be a faded hand drawing of an ox ploughing a field next to a river.

“Interesting…” Scorpius flipped the scroll over gently and examined its back. “It seems like there’s an addendum written in here. I think it’s dated—” Scorpius stopped speaking abruptly.

“Spit it out,” Finn said, looking over Scorpius’s shoulder.

Scorpius audibly gulped. “It’s dated to the year 2700.”

Finn gasped. “So, like… the future?”

Albus facepalmed. “BCE.”

 “This scroll,” Scorpius said, shrinking away from it, “is almost five thousand years old.”

Even Finn stepped back for a moment. “That’s, like, three times older than Hogwarts.”

“Try four,” Albus said. “This library must be priceless.”

Scorpius shot him a scolding look. “You find a secret chamber and the first thing you think about is money? Aren’t your parents millionaires?”

Albus shrugged. “My mum actually made more with the Hollyhead Harpies than my dad ever has as an Auror.”

“Wait, really?”

“You’d be surprised how much money Quidditch players make.”

“We’ve still got one mystery to figure out first,” Finn reminded them. “Why did the phone bring us here?”

Albus looked over the railing at the seemingly-empty chair. “That’s a good question.”

“There had better not be a Dark wizard hiding somewhere in the corner,” Scorpius muttered.

Finn chuckled. “Are you scared of ghosts, Scorpius?”

Scorpius turned to the stone slab next to the overlook. “I wouldn’t necessarily  be so sure that the person who created this place was altruistic.”

Finn whistled. “Bloody hell. That’s gnarly.” Finn stepped carefully over the papers on the floor and approached the slab. “You think… he made this?”

“Who?” Albus asked.

“Who d’you reckon?” said Finn. “The Architect.”

“It was behind his statue,” Scorpius offered. “It would make the most sense.”

“But that still doesn’t tell us why the phone led us here,” Albus said. “There must be something we’re missing.”

“We could always look for clues?” Finn suggested.

“What, like an old kids’ cartoon?”

“Cartoon?” Scorpius questioned.

“Muggle thing.” Albus walked towards the stairs. “Come one, we’ll look downstairs and let Scorpius live out his librarian’s dream up here.”

“You do that,” Scorpius said, delicately picking up the scroll. “I’m going try and date some more books, maybe that might help us.”

“How?” Albus asked.

Scorpius made a shooing motion with his hand. “I dunno, just let me be. You two are the mystery solvers, anyways.”

Albus headed straight to the Cloak and picked it up off the chair. He questioned his decision as he brought the folded side up to his ear and braced for the beacon, slowly moving one of the corners to create a small opening… but nothing emerged.

Albus breathed a sigh of relief let the Cloak around the phone drop to the floor. But his relief morphed into something else as he stared at his phone. The metal carcass was charred and smoking ominously, and the screen had shattered and turned white.

Albus yelped as he pricked his thumb on the glass. “Ow!”

“What is it?” Finn asked from across the room.

Albus looked around fruitlessly for something to stave his cut before twisting his thumb into the hem of his shirt. He pinched his finger and turned around, dropping the phone on the desk. “Don’t touch that.”

“Point taken.” Finn grimaced as Albus awkwardly wiped the drops of blood off his wrist. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Albus.

When the cut finally decided to clot, Albus continued investigating. Finn hadn’t found much other than a blank book on one of the trophy shelves. The pages were worn and folded like it had been heavily used, but they bore no markings at all save for the first page, upon which was inked a list of, presumably, books.

 

  1. η μελέτη του σκοταδιού
  2. Et impressio motus animae
  3. Nágrindr
  4. ελαφριά μαγεία
  5. Les fondementaux de l’art plus noble
  6. Senem diis et fovere regnorum

 

“Maybe we can look for these?” Finn suggested.

“Maybe,” said Albus, “but I can’t read Latin, French, or Greek, and I doubt either of you can.”

“What about that one?” Finn asked, pointing to the third entry on the list.

Nágrindr.” Albus frowned. “I dunno what it is, but it doesn’t look like English. Scorpius!”

“What?” Scorpius responded, peeking over the railing.

“Be on the lookout for something called Nágrindr,” Albus instructed.

“How do you spell it?”

“N-Á—but it has the accent-thingy on it, the A—G-R-I-N-D-R.”

“Try writing in it,” Finn suggested. “The book. Maybe it’ll say something.”

“D’you have a quill?” Albus asked.

“Nope.”

“Scorpius!” Albus called.

“What?” said Scorpius, sounding irritated.

“Do you have a quill?”

“No!”

Albus handed the book back to Finn. “So this still doesn’t answer anything. Why did my phone lead us here? It and the Chamber were probably created a millennium apart.”

 “Albus makes a good point!” Scorpius admitted, stumbling to his feet. “It’s making me think that Rose was right.”

“Right about what?”

Scorpius let out a sigh. “Don’t get mad, but I might have spoken to her at dinner about what the—”

“Seriously?” Albus interrupted. “You didn’t trust me?”

“No, Rose thought you would be too damn stubborn to listen.” Scorpius raised an eyebrow. “And right now you’re only proving her point.”

Albus grumbled but motioned for Scorpius to continue speaking.

“Rose thinks that the phone was interfering with a magical signature that might have been intended for something else. The beacon can’t be intentionally pinpointing a signal as part of its design, given that Muggle devices didn’t even work at Hogwarts until Helios did… whatever he did. And even if it were Helios trying to send a message, why wouldn’t he talk to you directly? Rose told me that him and your dad worked together, so it’s not like it would be out of the blue.” Scorpius started pacing, placing his hands on his head. “Her theory makes even more sense when you consider the fact that the source of the beacon was here, a place that only revealed itself after we touched the Cloak to the wall. This chamber must date back to the origins of Hogwarts. Even skilled seers can’t predict events thousands of years into the future. It makes sense… what if the magical signature of this room is just so powerful that your phone didn’t know how to respond to it?”

Albus waited for a moment. “You finished?”

Scorpius nodded.

“You think that we’re here by mistake?” Albus clarified.

“Pretty much,” said Scorpius.

“That was a roundabout way of explaining,” Finn said, still toying around with the blank book.

“I didn’t have it fully pieced together, either,” said Scorpius.

“I’ll be the first to admit that Rose knows how to pose a succinct explanation,” said Albus. “But that raises another question.”

“Why has no one found this place until now?” Scorpius mumbled, finishing Albus’s thought.

“How do you know?” Finn questioned. “What if someone else has been here before?”

Albus and Scorpius looked at each other.

Scorpius shrugged. “He has a point.”

“But we still can’t know for sure, unless you find a book dated more recent than the… 12th century,” Finn resolved.

“See?” Albus said, knocking Finn’s shoulder. “I knew it was a good idea to bring you along. You have your moments.”

Unable to confirm Rose’s theory, the boys continued to catalog more books upstairs. Soon enough, the sunlight began creeping out from over the mountains, casting a pink and orange hue over the sky.

The oldest book they had managed to find was more of an instruction manual from the 6th Century BCE, showing pictures of a kind of ancient Greek prayer ritual involving fire and copious amounts of olive oil. Most of the texts were in foreign languages, and were helpfully compiled in an organizational structure based on region. The English section was regrettably written in Old or Middle English. It meant that the words were decipherable given the similarities in grammar and word structure, but it took much effort due to their archaic phrasing.

Aside from the Slytherin scroll, the most recent book they were able to find was a spell book written in vaguely comprehensible English. Scorpius tried casting a repairing charm outlined in the book on Albus’s phone, but all it did was crack the screen further.

As the sun itself began cresting the mountain range, Scorpius began instructing the other two on replacing the books. “They were grouped in alphabetical order by author. Yes, F comes before H, are you daft?”

“Why don’t we just do this later?” Finn asked, winded. He placed his hands on his knees. “This is more exhausting than that time I ran five kilometers in eleven minutes.”

“You what?” Albus questioned. “I think that’s close to a world record.”

“Is it?”

Scorpius looked out through the window. “It is getting close to breakfast…”

“We don’t want to cause suspicion, do we?” Albus said, urging Scorpius in the more forgiving direction. “It’s not like this place is going anywhere, either.”

Scorpius sighed heavily, standing and regarding the mess in front of him. “Fine. But we come back tonight.”

“Hypocrite.”

“We’ll see,” Finn said, stretching and yawning. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“You sleep through more than half of our classes,” Albus said.

Finn fanned himself dramatically. “How else do you think I get this pretty?”

“You might need your beauty sleep, but I need my food,” Albus said. His stomach rumbled in an affirmative response.

“Let’s go, then,” said Scorpius. “We’ve got to get out of here before people start filling the halls.”

“Yeah,” Albus agreed. “We should figure out a system.”

“For what?” Scorpius asked.

“For coming down here. It’s not like one of us can stay up every night taking in all of this information.” Albus’s statement was met with silence. “What?”

“Every night is a bit much, mate,” said Finn, rubbing the back of his head. “And I don’t think you trust us alone with that Cloak, no offense. You need to sleep.”

“Sleep is overrated,” Albus muttered. “We’ll talk later.”

The three left the room in the same condition they’d found it. Albus approached the wall and held the Cloak up to it, the same way Finn had on the outside. They waited in anticipation against the sides of the stairwell as the archway opened to reveal an empty corridor. The boys rushed out of the doorway quickly, scrambling around the pedestal as the archway closed quietly.

Scorpius led the way this time, with Albus bringing up the rear, Cloak in hand. While it wasn’t specifically disallowed for students to be in the corridors early in the morning, it was unusual, and Albus didn’t want anyone discovering and confiscating the Cloak.

They dodged a first year who was emerging from the common room with a confused look and calling out for her cat. Scorpius glanced around before speaking the password to open the hidden door. “Rastis!

The three boys scampered inside, breathing sighs of relief… only to be met by Ethan Healey, staring at the door, his eyes wide open.

The prefect was sitting in a chair facing the common room entrance, his head supported by his arm. The three boys froze in place with guilty expressions on their faces… but Ethan didn’t react. At all.

Finn, ever daring, inched forwards. He tilted his head curiously. “He’s asleep,” he whispered.

“With his eyes open?” Albus hissed, hiding the Cloak behind his back.

“Apparently.”

“That’s freaky,” Scorpius whispered.

“What are you doing up so early?” The voice came from the side of the room, to where the three boys’ heads immediately swiveled. Albus cringed as Rose furiously descended the staircase from the girls’ dormitories. “Don’t tell me you were out all night!” she said.

“Hmm, what, I’m awake!” Ethan suddenly exclaimed, his head jerking up rather violently. Finn moved back suddenly, nearly tripping over the coffee table behind him. Ethan smacked his lips. “Good morning, you lot.”

“Yes, hi, how are you?” Finn said quickly, moving to stand beside Scorpius.

Rose opened her mouth vehemently, looking as though she were about to say something that would incriminate them, but Albus quickly spoke before she got the chance.

“I think there’s a first year trying to find her cat out there,” he said. “She was rushing out of the common room looking worried.”

“D’you know who?” Ethan asked immediately. He stood and patted down his robes, searching for his wand. “The dungeons are big, I don’t want her getting lost. It took the last first year two hours to find his way out.”

Albus remembered something he had overheard from Barry, about getting lost in the dungeons the first week of school. “Sorry, no,” he said.

“Rose?” Ethan asked. “Do you know anyone in your dormitory who has a cat?”

“Yeah,” Rose answered, sending Albus a sharp glare. “Tabby, Tabby Simmons. She’s got a tabby cat.”

“Thanks,” Ethan said, rushing out the door with an air of urgency.

Finn snickered. “Tabby has a tabby cat.”

“I’m fairly sure that’s why she got one,” Rose muttered, still staring daggers at her cousin.

Albus held his hands up, placing the Cloak on the now-vacant chair. “Don’t look at me like that! We both said stupid things yesterday.”

“I’m not mad about that,” Rose said. A massive weight suddenly lifted off of Albus’s chest. “I haven’t taken anything you’ve said while angry seriously since that time you renounced James as your brother for accidentally stepping on your foot.”

“Hey!” Albus protested.

“But that’s not the point!” Rose’s voice rose in pitch with the intensity of her voice. “You three went out against the rules. You could have been caught! You don’t even have a disguise!” she squeaked, sounding so outraged that Albus was afraid she’d start shaking. “What if there was something dangerous? You could’ve been killed, or worse, expelled!”

“We’ve got an Invisibility Cloak,” Finn said, gesturing to the chair.

“That doesn’t—wait, how do you have an Invisibility Cloak?” Rose demanded.

“I’ll explain later,” said Albus, grimacing. He hadn’t ever kept a secret from Rose—until now, he supposed.

“Oh, you’d better,” Rose said. “I bet you didn’t even find anything.”

“We found a secret chamber that’s been hidden for a thousand years,” Scorpius offered. “If that counts as something.”

Rose turned to him, her icy stare even icier. “I didn’t expect you of all people to entertain their fancy!”

“What if I told you your theory may be correct?” Scorpius asked.

Rose sniffed. “Then perhaps I’d hear you out. But that doesn’t excuse what you did!” she added, seeing the self-satisfied look on Albus’s face.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Albus said.

Talia emerged from the girls’ dormitories, yawning and stretching her arms, but stopped upon seeing Albus and Rose’s stand-off. “I feel like I’ve missed something important,” she said.

“We’ll explain later!” the cousins said simultaneously.

Talia blinked, moving back slightly. “Apologies, I didn’t know asking reasonable questions wasn’t allowed,” she muttered.

“Technically, that wasn’t a question,” Finn said.

“Finn, I will hurt you if you correct me again.” Talia frowned. “Why are you wearing Barry’s hat, though?”

Chapter 10: Back to the Burrow

Chapter Text

 

Winter was fast approaching, and with it came the never-ending English chill brought on by the biting wind. It made going outside largely hazardous to one’s health, save for those glorious days when the bright sun would peek out from the blanket of grey clouds and allow eager students their opportunity to build snowmen and have snowball fights. Rose would often stay inside given her unfortunate propensity to attract winter sickness, but Albus, Scorpius, Finn, and Talia took full advantage of those days—whenever they had the time, of course.

Rose remained stagnantly disillusioned with Albus’s actions for the rest of term. Her comments were cold and indifferent, and she refused to accompany Albus to the Chamber (“you could be expelled!”).

On the other hand, Talia took to the Chamber with a surprising fondness. She was the one who would accompany Albus on those nights when the other boys were too exhausted to join him.

Albus functioned on a minimal amount of sleep, instead spending an unhealthy amount of time in the Chamber studying the assorted books. He had finished cataloging almost half of the Chamber’s texts by the time winter holiday came around.

The midterm exams were more complicated than how Harry had described them, and Albus assumed it was because of the advances in magical theory over the years since his father attended Hogwarts. Albus remembered the surprise expressed in his father’s letters about the difficulty of Albus’s coursework, though Albus himself found it rather simple. Unfortunately, simplicity did not translate to time consumption, as theory-based work required hours of independent research and painful nights in the library.

Albus had attempted to source helpful textbooks from the Architect’s Chamber, but he could barely understand them, let alone derive useable material from them. But two nights before the train’s departure from Hogwarts, he came across a French book that had the word ‘fondamentaux’ in the title, just like the list in the blank journal.

It was bound in rough leather and incredibly heavy, and the interior was filled with text denser than his History of Magic textbook. Albus couldn’t understand French, but something about the words just felt… off. An idea blossomed, and Albus removed said book from the shelf and packed it in his trunk. He’d enact his plan upon arriving back home.

There was a weeklong grace period after exams. Most professors simply allowed their students the class off, including Professor M and Neville. In fact, Albus didn’t spot the two professors at all for the rest of term. He went into Defense on the final day of term with high hopes for another free period, but Professor Ivcoch bade for them to sit.

 “Defense Against the Dark Arts is a foundational course here at Hogwarts,” he began. Albus immediately zoned out, and he could feel a spot on the floor pulling his attention away. “But we must make a distinction. Defense against the Dark Arts, some say, is not enough to combat them. They say that a mastery of the Dark Arts is where proficiency in defense originates from.”

Albus perked up. This wasn’t a normal kind of lecture. The professor’s tone was cautious, almost grim.

“The greatest proponent of this perspective is likely Durmstrang School, over in Bulgaria. They have a course called Dark Arts there, simply Dark Arts. But I promise you, it is not what you think. The Dark Arts are called so not because they are inherently evil, but because they defy order. Many a scholar views them as such: order and disorder. A Muggle author, Mark Frost, said that ‘there is no light without darkness,’ which is to say, without one we would be unable to differentiate the other. This clarity between the perceptions of light and dark is naïve, there’s no one line. But there is… conscience.”

Ivcoch cleared his throat, a hacking, grating sound, before resuming. “I knew a man once who repeated a certain phrase: ‘constant vigilance.’ He believed that we must approach the Dark Arts with this constant vigilance to refrain from falling into its blackest depths. Lift the veil on the darkness, and you discover man’s greatest strength: knowledge. I will not elaborate much further, you will talk more about these concepts in your fourth year. But I hope this leaves you thinking. Whether you are staying here at the castle or leaving for home tomorrow, I want you to think about how the most mundane forms of magic can be applied in the most extraordinary of circumstances. It is a sobering thought, yes, but I hope it makes you value some of the things you take for granted.”

Ivcoch nodded once, and then promptly sat in his chair and opened a book.

The students almost immediately resumed talking about banal things with insignificant implications, and Rose began not-so-subtly hinting at the kinds of presents she might have liked for Christmas (“I’ve been looking at this book about Arithmancy—yes, I know we don’t take it until our third year!—and I’m hoping that someone remembers…”), but a thin curtain of foreboding settled onto Albus’s conscience, as if nothing was right with the world. He could feel the weight of the book sitting in his trunk halfway across the castle grow just a little heavier.

 

*     *     *

 

The journey back to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was welcomingly devoid of the nausea-inducing anxiety Albus had experienced the opposite way. Of course, James popped into their compartment and tried to tease Albus, but left after Rose threatened to tell her mother about James’s abysmal performance that term. Aunt Hermione was wont to give lectures to those who didn’t apply themselves well at Hogwarts, and James had already suffered more of those lectures than the rest of Albus’s entire extended family combined.

Victoire stopped by to speak with Albus about his midterms, and Albus briefly introduced her to his friends. His cousin seemed to be particularly fond of Talia for some reason, but she too left at the insistence of her own friends.

Sooner than Albus expected, the train’s brakes kicked in as it pulled into the station, emitting a blaring whistle. He and Rose waited in the compartment for a moment as students began funneling off the train, and the cousins said their goodbyes once the flow of bodies became less hazardous to one’s physical well-being.

The apprehension that Albus thought he’d left behind at Hogwarts bubbled back to the surface as he stepped off the train to find his Uncle Ron standing near a pillar, his thinning but vividly red hair just visible amongst the sea of faces.

Albus ducked down. “I’ve got bad news,” he said, turning to Rose.

“What?” Rose asked, hopping off the train. “Don’t tell me it’s about James.”

“Don’t speak his name,” Albus warned. “He might manifest.”

“You called?” James asked, sidling up next to Rose and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. “How’s it going, first-years?”

“I told you,” Albus muttered.

Rose shook James’s hand off, choosing to try and ignore his presence. “What is it then, Albus?”

“Your dad’s one of our drivers back home,” Albus whispered.

Rose gently pushed Albus aside to move them out of the flow of students. “You know,” she said, shivering, “I overheard him telling your dad he Confounded his instructor to get his license.”

“That’s a worrying sign,” said James, having followed them. “At least he’s not the only one. We can rush to get into the second car.”

Ron’s face lit up into a smile as the three approached, though it fell slightly as his eyes landed on the Slytherin pin affixed to Rose’s robes. “How are you all?” His tone was a little brusque, like he was put off by something.

“Splendid,” James said with a lack of enthusiasm. “Where’s everyone else?” He sat down on his trunk and wrung his hands together, not waiting for an answer.

“You three are the first ones,” Ron said. “I’ve been looking. Ah, speak of the devil.”

Dominique and Molly approached, the former occupied with fixing her hair. “Hi, Uncle Ron,” Molly said, lightly tapping Dominique.

“Hmm? Hi,” she said absentmindedly. “When are we going?”

“Someone’s in a rush,” Ron chuckled. “Give us a moment. We’re still waiting the rest of you lot.”

“How many cars are we taking?” Albus asked, wanting to secure a seat in a different car before the others realized the severity of their predicament.

“Just the one. Ministry’s busy today, and the adults are all at home. Oh, don’t worry, there’ll be enough room for you all,” Ron added upon seeing the terrified expression on Albus’s face. “We can talk after I can wrangle up the others,” he said, turning his head back up to look over the crowd. “Oi, Roxanne! I see you trying to hide! Get over here!”

 “Rose, Rose,” Albus squeaked, tapping on his cousin’s shoulder. “It’s your dad.”

“Yeah?” Rose questioned, glancing between Ron and Albus. “I know, Albus.”

“No. It’s just him. One car.”

Rose’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. No, no, no.”

“What?” James asked, looking up from his hands.

“We’re all going to die,” Albus whispered.

Fitting ten Potter-Weasley children into a single vehicle was a squeeze even in a magically extended Ministry car, and the anxiety factor was multiplied when Ron was at the wheel. Ron had a frightening tendency to whip around corners and into lanes without use of turn signals; in fact, Albus wasn’t even sure that his uncle knew turn signals existed.

Ron’s propensity for road rage was mercifully incomparable to that of Hermione’s, for he was rather oblivious of other drivers’ reactions to his maneuvers on the road. Hermione had only driven them once, two years ago when Albus had come to see James off for his first year at Hogwarts. Hermione’s cursing had gotten so heated that Harry had, unbeknownst to her, cast a Muffliato to obscure her colorful language past the passenger seat.

Albus removed himself from the vehicle as soon as the car stopped on the dirt path leading up to the Burrow. He placed his hands on his knees and cracked his neck, glad he wasn’t a victim of whiplash. Albus accepted his trunk from Victoire and was the first person up the path to the large house.

The Architect likely would have had a heart attack upon seeing the Weasley home, for the already-wonky house had been added to and expanded to the point where it looked entirely structurally unsound. It towered more than four stories into the air, a mishmash of individual rooms and windows that looked garish and defied all natural taste. Albus loved it.

A flash of red hair assaulted Albus’s vision as he opened the door. Someone wrapped their arms tightly around his torso.

Albus patted his sister’s back lightly. “Hello, Lily.”

Lily stepped back and smiled. “I did something today.”

“And what would that be?”

She glanced around and looked at Albus with a wicked glimmer in her eye. “I borrowed Uncle Ron’s wand while he was getting ready and cast a spell in James’s room.”

Albus’s grin wavered. “That’s also mine and Hugo’s room.”

“I know. Whatever you do, just let James go in first.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Albus looked about the kitchen. “Where is Hugo, anyways?”

“Last I checked, he was upstairs somewhere,” said Lily. “Don’t worry, I warned him not to go in your room, too.”

“Lily?” their grandmother called from the sitting room. “Is that the door?”

“Yeah!” Lily shouted back. “Albus and the rest are here!”

“Oh, dear,” she muttered. Albus heard a shuffling of papers and some movement before Grandma Weasley came hurrying into the kitchen. “Hello, Albus dear, how are you?”

“I’m alright, Grandma Weasley,” he said as she pulled him into an embrace. “The others should be up shortly,” he wheezed as his grandmother’s hug tightened around him like a vice.

Grandma Weasley let go and admired his face. “Look at you, you must have grown half a foot!”

“I dunno,” said Albus, entirely confident that he hadn’t grown at all.

She grinned and pinched his cheeks. “Your mother’s outside, she asked me to let you know when you all arrived. Could you go tell her?”

“Sure,” said Albus. He ignored Lily, who was puffing her cheeks out and pretending to vomit.

“Good. Run along now,” Grandma Weasley said, stepping over to the stovetop and Summoning a pan. “I’ll make some food for you all. You’re getting quite thin, Albus.”

“I’ll show you where mum is,” Lily said, taking his hand. “Come on.”

“But my trunk—”

“We’ll get it later,” Lily insisted, already dragging him towards the sitting room.

Lily led him out the backdoor. The damp ground beyond the porch evidenced the remains of snow. The landing wasn’t too wet, thanks to the overhang from the building extension two stories above their heads, but it was slick enough to warrant a cleaning. Albus’s mother was doing just that, casting water and mud off the wood and back onto the grass.

Ginny glanced at the door and smiled. “Albus!” She stood up and scoured the mud off her clothes. “How are you?” She held out her arms and made a come gesture.

“I’m fine,” Albus said, knowing he couldn’t avoid his mum’s hugs, either.

Ginny wrapped her arms around him. “Look at you, already done with half of your first year.”

“It’s not that big of an achievement,” Albus muttered, blushing.

“It was for me.” His mother smiled softly. “I was the only girl in the family, and I was determined to do well.” She brought Albus away and placed her hands on his shoulders. “At least I don’t have to worry about you doing worse than your brother.”

“Now you’ve got me,” Lily called from over Albus’s shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be better than both of them.”

“Yes, I don’t doubt that,” Ginny agreed, chuckling.

Albus turned and stuck his tongue out at his sister. “Okay, show-off.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “The fact that you’re not doubting it tells me a lot.”

“Be good, you two,” Ginny said, letting go of Albus. She moved towards the door. “I’m going to go help cook. Oh, Albus, I brought an extra fan up for you. Don’t blow anything up,” Ginny said, directing the warning to Lily.

Lily pouted. “That was only a couple times.”

“Stop taking wands and we won’t have that kind of problem.” Ginny gave Lily one last look before heading inside.

Lily’s face immediately brightened. “Come on, let’s go! I don’t want to miss James’s reaction.”

Albus thought about his mother’s warning. “If something blows up—"

“Oh, nothing’s going to happen.” She waved off his concern. “I knew what I was doing.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Lily dragged him back into the house, but Albus made her stop so he could retrieve his trunk. The Burrow was already ten times fuller than before. Albus thought about looking for Rose, but Lily likely wouldn’t have afforded him the time to. He instead weaved through the few standing people whilst trying to maneuver his trunk to the foot of the stairs.

He stopped there and sighed heavily, placing his hands on his knees. “Why are these things so damn heavy?”

Lily was perched on the end of the bannister, watching Albus curiously. “I dunno.”

Albus shot her a look. “D’you want to help, or are you just going to sit there?”

“No, I’m fine here, thank you.”

Albus, hearing footsteps, looked to the top of the staircase. He exhaled in relief as Lucy made her way down the stairs, treading lightly. She was the nicer of his cousins.

“Lucy, could you help me?” Albus asked, still trying to catch his breath.

“Huh?” Lucy glanced down at his trunk. “Oh, sure.” She pulled her wand from her robes and flicked it lazily.

While students weren’t supposed to do magic outside of Hogwarts, the Trace didn’t distinguish who cast the spell in a given area. Given the Burrow’s status as a Ministry safehouse, it was safe to assume that Ministry officials wrote off any magic detected there around an underage witch or wizard as legal usage.

Albus’s trunk floated lightly into the air. “You staying with James like usual?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah. But you can just leave the trunk on the third floor,” he quickly rectified as Lily sent him a wide-eyed look.

“Sure.” Lucy headed up the stairs slowly, glancing back every now and then to make sure the trunk wasn’t hitting anything. Albus and Lily followed her up to the third landing, where Lucy stopped and placed the trunk down. “Good?”

“Perfect,” said Albus. “Thanks.”

“Sure, Albus. Lily,” she said, nodding at her and heading back down.

Lily crossed her arms. “See? You didn’t need my help.”

“Shut up.” Albus said, heaving his trunk upright again.

The Weasleys had added another corridor off to the side of the house, supported by massive struts. It led to a second building of its own, one that simultaneously functioned as an overhang for the back porch that Grandpa Weasley had installed. The wing held two bedrooms, the farthest of which James, Albus, and Hugo occupied. Louis and Fred shared the front most room, and the girls slept further upstairs, in the second major extension of the house.

Albus supposed things just ended up that way. The boys tended to be raucous and unruly come nighttime, and he figured the girls wanted to be as far away from that as possible.

Albus continued dragging his trunk down the corridor, stopping when he approached the door to his shared room. He looked back to where Lily was earlier to find her staring down the staircase.

She turned back to Albus, her eyes glittering in the sunlight. “He’s coming. Act natural.”

Albus nodded and cleared his throat, deciding to head down the corridor and look outside.

The end of the hall was capped by a massive floor to ceiling window, literally a giant piece of glass instead of a wall. It showcased the picturesque rolling fields and the Muggle village far in the distance. The sun was already dipping to the horizon.

Soon, James’s footfalls began resounding down the corridor. “Hello, dear sister,” Albus heard him say. Lily made a grunt of disapproval, likely because James tried ruffling her hair; she hated that with a passion. “What are you doing, Albus?” James asked.

“Just staring,” Albus said, turning around.

Lily, who was a couple steps behind James, sent Albus another scolding look. Act normal! she mouthed.

This is normal! Albus mouthed back as James made his way to the door, his trunk Levitating behind him.

James swept some hair out of his face as he twisted the door handle open. James stepped inside and flicked on the light. As James moved further into the room, Albus and Lily cautiously peered in.

The three beds were arranged like normal, two on one side and one on the other. James had annoyed his way into earning the solitary bed on the right, and he placed his trunk at its foot. There was a small desk beneath a window on the back wall, upon which an open book, likely Hugo’s, laid, but nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

 “It was supposed to happen by now,” Lily said.

 “What was?” James asked.

“Erm—umm—the… Hugo needed to clean his bed,” Lily stammered, pointing to Hugo’s messy sheets.

James looked at her oddly. “Okay?” He went back to his trunk, flipping the metal clasps open and pulling out his casual clothes. “I’m going to change, if you two don’t mind.”

“Yeah, of course,” said Lily quickly, grabbing Albus’s arm and dragging him aside. “Take your time, we’ll be waiting outside.” She shut the door loudly and retreated towards the staircase, taking Albus with her.

“Lily—ouch, relax!—what’s going on?” Albus rubbed his arm as Lily let go of him.

“I forgot it was on a delay,” Lily whispered. “It’s going to take two minutes.”

“What d’you mean?”

Lily stayed suspiciously silent.

“Lily… what did you do?”

She offered a nervous smile. “I… cast an itty bitty spell to… Conjure something. Uncle George was telling me about it the other day.”

“Of course he was,” Albus muttered. “That doesn’t explain what it does.”

“Don’t bother,” Hugo said from a landing above. “I can’t wean it out of her, either.” His mousy brown hair shifted on his head as he came down the stairs. Hugo was small and skinny, and his abundance of curly hair and big, brown eyes made him look like a cute cartoon character. “Is it not working?” he asked.

“No,” said Albus, answering for his sister. “Should we go check?”

As if it had been waiting for a cue, a violent bang resonated from inside the room. James shrieked and thrust the door open. He’d put on trousers, thankfully, but his upper body was devoid of any clothing and instead covered in a thick, green, sap-like substance.

“What the hell!” James shrieked. “What happened?!”

Lily’s face changed from nervous to mischievously giddy. She raced past James and looked into the bedroom. “Yes! It worked!”

James’s bed was partially consumed by what could only be described as a miniature swamp. A thick sludge coated the walls on James’s side of the room, and a thin layer of vibrant scum adorned the surface of the muddy water. The edges of the swamp were contained for the time being, but the water trickled dangerously close to the edges of the desk and further towards Albus’s bed. Unfortunately, the fan Ginny had brought up for Albus hadn’t escaped the splash zone.

“My fan!” Albus complained. “Really Lily?”

“Sorry,” said Lily. She didn’t sound very sorry.

“How did you do this?” Hugo gasped.

“I told you, Uncle George told me,” Lily said, examining James. “Good luck washing that off.”

“What made you think this was a good idea?” James exclaimed, gesturing to the sludge on his person.

Lily pouted. “It’s not like you’re the only one allowed to play pranks.”

James pointed a finger at her. “I would be livid if I wasn’t kind of impressed.”

Hugo was looking in from beside Albus, but shrieked seeing the edges of the swap draw closer to the desk. “My stuff!” He hurried into the room, collected a few books off the bed, scrambled outside, and placed them securely on Albus’s trunk. “You could have given me a warning, Lily!” Hugo said.

“I did,” Lily said, trying to dodge James’s attempts at depositing slimy residue onto her shoulder.

“Lily! Albus! James!” Their mother’s voice resonated up the stairwell. “Are you okay?”

“We’re fine, mum!” Lily yelled. The giddiness in her voice had been replaced by panic. “No need to come up here, everything’s okay!”

“I’m coming up there!” Ginny called.

“Shit!” Lily whispered.

“Language,” said James halfheartedly.

“What’s going—oh, damn it.” Ginny stopped on the landing and stared at her eldest son. “Someone explain. Now.”

“It’s fine,” Albus said, inconspicuously blocking his mum’s view to the inside. “He’s good. Right, James?”

James shrugged. “It’s honestly not terrible. I’ve had worse substances on me before.”

“I really don’t want to know,” Hugo muttered, stepping aside as Ginny crossed her arms.

“Lily?” Ginny asked. “What do you have to say about this?”

“Why do you immediately think it was me?” Lily protested. “I’m your favorite child.”

“Mum!” James said, looking scandalized. “Did you really say that?”

“I said nothing of the sort,” said Ginny, casting her daughter an irate glare. “Let me see your room, Albus.”

“Mum—”

“Albus, don’t test me,” she warned. “Step aside.”

Albus reluctantly did so, making room for his mother to witness the scene. Her eyes, at first blazing and narrowed, instead widened. Ginny turned to Lily and stared at her quizzically. “When did you learn this?”

Lily offered a smile. “I dunno?”

Ginny wasn’t convinced. In fact, Albus was sure she already knew who taught Lily. But, to his surprise, rather than sending Lily to her room or scolding either of them, Ginny smiled softly. “Have Uncle George help you clean this up later.” She wrinkled her nose. “And James, do something to mask that. You smell.”

“I don’t normally have swamp gunk on me,” he murmured as Ginny headed back down the stairs. “Any idea how to get this off, Lils?”

“Why would I tell you?” Lily asked. “That’s the point. To prank you.”

“But if your prank ended up backfiring…”

“James. No.”

James held his sludge-covered hands out. “Come here, Lily.” He darted forwards.

Lily barely avoided him. “James! Stop it!” She ran to the landing, following her mother down the stairs. “Mum, help!”

“You got yourself into this mess!” said Ginny from some ways down. “Now get yourself out!”

Lily’s and James’s shrieks and yells echoed up the stairs. Albus turned to Hugo. “I dunno know about you, Hugo, but I’m going to take my stuff upstairs.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Hugo grabbed his books off Albus’s trunk and pointed to it. “Need some help?”

“Someone gets it,” Albus said under his breath, nodding as Hugo grabbed the other side of the trunk. “Let’s head up to Victoire’s room. She’ll let us keep this there for now.”

They counted to three and heaved the trunk into the air. Albus led Hugo along the corridor, being careful to avoid the puddles of gunk James had dispersed whilst trying to catch Lily. “I need… a drink,” Albus panted.

“You’re eleven,” said Hugo.

“It’s just an expression.”

 

Chapter 11: Dark Magic

Chapter Text

 

 

It took two full days before Albus could set his plan into motion. The first day back was hectic as everyone moved into their rooms and George tried with little success to erase the magical swamp. The best he could do was cast a gradual Remedy Charm that would take anywhere from a day to a week. Albus and Hugo’s beds remained untouched, but the smell of the scum was so pervasive that Hermione had to cast multiple odor containing charms just to allow Louis and Fred to sleep next door.

James, Albus, and Hugo were relegated to sleeping in the sitting room with blankets and quilts. The other boys, including Teddy, who slept at his flat rather than the Burrow ever since Fleur had caught him and Victoire heatedly snogging at three in the morning last winter, tended to join them downstairs. Consequently, their loud and unruly games got so rowdy on the first night that Teddy had to set up a soundproof barrier after multiple complaints from the adults on the lower floors trying to sleep.

The Ministry’s holiday lasted for only two days, those being Christmas and the day prior. As Harry, Hermione, and Ron all held important positions in government, they were relegated to a near-full workday even when the others were off. Albus cherished the time he got with his father, but couldn’t help but feel disappointed with the scarcity of Harry’s time at the Burrow.

Albus supposed the disappointment was partly mitigated by the presence of his entire extended family, not to mention the significant number of guests that drifted in and out of the house on a regular basis. Neville visited on the second day and, while he was there, gave his students their midterm exam scores early. Albus and Rose received Excellent and Outstanding marks, respectively, results that Neville appeared to be immensely satisfied to deliver. James scraped by with an Acceptable, just enough to avoid Hermione’s dreaded lecture on academics.

Friday rolled around and Albus finally got the chance to corner his person of interest: Dominique. The previous few days, she’d been holed up in hers and Molly’s shared room, but Albus caught her descending the stairs alone early in the morning. He needed to play things smart; Dominique was clever, and he couldn’t have her catching on.

Albus cut her off at the third floor landing. “Dominique.”

“What d’you want,” she sighed. “It’s early.”

“I know,” said Albus. “I need your help.”

“Ugh.” She flared her nostrils. “Can we do this later?”

This was good. If she was in a hurry to get out of the conversation, he could corner her easily. “Sure,” Albus said. “As long as you promise to remember.”

Dominique let out an amused ‘hm.’ “Promises are a bit childish, even for you.”

“Well, there are alternative options.” Albus crossed his arms. “You wouldn’t want anyone to find out about… your little secret.”

Catching her and Molly smoking on Hallowe’en turned out to be a blessing in disguise, but simply stating such was only part of the process. Albus knew that a small, eleven-year-old child wasn’t inherently intimidating.

Dominique chuckled. “You think my parents would care?”

That confirmed that they were both talking about the same thing. “No, probably not.” But of course, Albus had already thought of that excuse. “But Uncle Percy or Aunt Hermione might think differently.”

The corners of Dominique’s sly smile fell. She pursed her lips and pointed at him. “You’re a crafty little Slytherin, you know.”

“I know.”

“You’re far too good at blackmail for your age.”

“I know that, too.”

She looked at her feet, evidently exasperated. “What do you want from me?”

“Not much. Just to translate something for me.”

“Fantastic,” Dominique muttered. “Exactly what I needed on a Friday.”

“It shouldn’t take long. Like you said, we can do this later.”

She looked at him for a moment and narrowed her eyes.

Albus raised his eyebrows, silently meeting her challenge.

Dominique broke. “Fine. But don’t make me do anything else.”

“We’ll see.”

“Smartarse,” she whispered under her breath, brushing past Albus and heading down the stairs.

“I heard that,” said Albus.

“I know.”

True to her nature, Dominique put off helping Albus until the last moment. It wasn’t until he cornered her again later that night that she relented. The girls’ rooms were up above the former attic, whose occupant ghoul had mysteriously vacated before the extension was built. The top part of the house was home to four rooms, two on either side of the stairs.

Dominique and Molly’s shared room was neat and noticeably devoid of an intense swamp smell. The walls were painted with a coat of white Ever-Fresh paint like the rest of the renovated portions of the house and furnished with canvases painted by Molly’s mother, Audrey.

Molly was sitting on her bed writing in a small journal when Dominique and Albus entered. She put her quill down neatly on the nightstand and waved at Albus. “Hey, Al. What’s up?”

“He wants me to do work,” Dominique said flatly.

“Work?”

“I need her to translate this,” said Albus, showing the thick, yellowed book he’d taken from the Chamber. It was old fashioned and bound in black moleskin, the only markings on its front being the title, Les fondamentaux de l’art plus noble.

Dominique took the book with one hand and immediately brought up another to support it. “Merlin, Al. How heavy is this?”

“I dunno, four or five kilos?”

Molly sat up straighter, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. “Four or five kilos? How old is that book?”

“Erm…” Albus shrugged.

Dominique sat on her bed and placed the tome on her lap. She flipped through the first few pages, skimming each one, but frowned. “It’s old enough to be handwritten. There’s no publication date on this.”

Molly sat next to Dominique. “That’s odd. I didn’t even know Hogwarts had French books.” She looked up at Albus. “Where did you even find this?”

Albus panicked. For all his planning to convince Dominique, he hadn’t thought this far. Something flared up in his gut, an instinct to protect the secrets within the Chamber. Albus didn’t know where it came from, but he didn’t question it.

He couldn’t just insist he’d found the book in the library, that could be easily disproven. He searched for an answer, feeling a warm blush of anxiety rise to his cheeks. “I didn’t get it from the library. It was…” He winced. “In the Slytherin common room.”

“The Slytherin common room?” Molly seemed unconvinced. “That’s still odd.”

“Yeah, er…” The gears in Albus’s mind turned. “There’s a wall of… I was trying to study for an exam, and I saw ‘fundamentals’ and figured it might help… but it’s in French.”

“And you still want to find out what it means?” Molly pressed. “You did just fine on the midterms.”

“Maybe it could still help… in the future?” Albus offered, now trying to convince himself of his fabricated reason’s plausibility.

Dominique was studying the cover again. “Molly, I don’t doubt him. The title is literally ‘The Fundamentals of the Most Noble Art.’ It’s some real pretentious shit—erm, stuff,” she remedied, glancing at Albus. “Sounds very Slytherin-y.”

Molly wrinkled her nose. “I mean, it’s not like I can even check the Slytherin common room to see if he’s lying.”

“It’s Albus,” said Dominique. “D’you think he’d be trying to think up some evil scheme to take over the world?”

“No,” Molly muttered. “But I don’t trust those other Slytherins, the lot of them.”

“Ahem,” Albus piped up, feeling strangely offended. “A few of those other Slytherins are my friends.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” Molly said quickly, waving her hands. “It’s just that some of those kids are right arseholes.”

“And Gryffindor’s different?” Albus argued. “Dylan Abbott is the most arsehole-est arsehole of all time.”

“He’s got you there,” Dominique agreed. “That kid is the worst.”

Molly frowned. “Is he the one who—”

“Kept setting off Exploding Snap cards, yeah,” Dominique finished.

“You see?” Albus said.

“Yeah, okay,” Molly said.

Dominique squinted and used her finger to trance each line as she read the introduction. “This guy sounds like a pompous douche.”

“Based on that title, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Molly commented.

“What’s it talking about?” Albus asked, stepping forward and peering over the top of the book.

Dominique shook her head. “Give me a moment. It’s written in old-timey French.” She studied the page, biting her lip in concentration, but then stopped. “Albus.”

“Yeah?”

Dominique looked up. Her face had gone pale. “Do you know what this is?”

“No? Should I?”

“It’s a Dark grimoire. A book of Dark spells.” She cast a look at Molly, who took it as an indication to examine the book herself. Dominque pointed at a word halfway down the page, and Molly’s eyes widened.

“Uncle Harry should know about this,” Molly said.

“What?” Albus whined. “No!”

Dominique squirmed. “Albus, this book shouldn’t be allowed in school. It’s really dark stuff.”

“Dark?” Albus questioned. “As in Dark magic?”

Dominique nodded. “The introduction talks about… the soul.”

Albus waited for something else. “That’s it? That doesn’t sound too bad.”

“They don’t teach us this stuff until fourth year Defense,” said Molly.

“Yeah, Professor Ivcoch said that, but I don’t understand—”

“This is the Darkest kind of magic, anything having to do with the soul,” said Molly. “The only way to cast spells of that magnitude is to… take life from another living thing.”

“It could be a plant, or an animal,” Dominique clarified. “But most times, especially in the more popular cases…”

“Murder,” Albus finished.

Molly grabbed the book from Dominique and shut it closed. She placed the grimoire on the bed and put her hand on top. “Albus, I’ll make you a deal. We won’t tell your dad if you put this book right back where you found it.”

“But—”

“Albus.” She was insistent. “I don’t care what you did to convince Dominique, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t fu—mess with this kind of stuff. Hear me? And I’m sure Dom would agree with me, anyways.”

Dominique nodded. “Sorry, Al. This,” she said, gesturing to the book, “is too much. Trust me.”

“At least tell me what one thing means.” Albus scrunched up his face, trying to remember. “It was something like ‘hocus,’ I can’t recall exactly—”

“Albus!” Molly looked mortified. “We told you, enough is enough!”

Albus opened his mouth to argue, but stopped before he said anything, instead looking at his cousins’ worried faces. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Fine.”

“Good.” Molly handed him the book. “Put this back where you found it. Or I’ll tell your dad,” she reminded as extra insurance.

“Molly!”

“I mean it. Go to bed. There’s no need to worry about this stuff at your age.”

“Again, I’ve got to agree.” Dominique’s remark sealed it. “Goodnight, Al.”

“Night,” Albus muttered, taking the book and walking out the door.

Of course, he had no intention of making good on his promise, and he started formulating a plan right then and there. He had to know more.

Albus knew that translators existed online, but he couldn’t use his phone, anymore. He couldn’t well ask his parents for a new one, either, for he knew they’d question him about how his old phone had broken in the first place.

But James had a phone. He never used it, even after Harry encouraged him to, and it usually laid untouched on his bedside table.

Albus tiptoed into his shared room on the next floor. The swamp still covered the entirety of James’s bed, but it had receded from the desk and the nightstand. Right there, next to the acrid sludge, sat James’s phone.

Albus put the French book down before maneuvering his way over, mindful of his bare feet as they got closer to the slime. He pinched James’s phone, biting his tongue as he almost dropped it on his brother’s bed. Albus secured the little device in his pocket before heaving the heavy book back into his arms and continuing downstairs.

It unsettled him, of course, whatever Dominique had read, but he couldn’t help but wonder why such a tome was in the Architect’s collection. Albus chalked it up to what Ivcoch had mentioned about understanding the darkness. Constant vigilance. Yeah, that must have been it. The Architect was a great wizard, he knew about the Dark Arts so he could fight them…

Lost in his thoughts, Albus turned on the wrong floor and ended up on the wrong landing. He turned back, but stopped when he heard insistent voices coming from a closed door. Light eked out from beneath the doorframe of Ron and Hermione’s room, and it sounded like Ron was doing most of the talking.

“… no reason to be there!” said Ron. Albus only caught the tail end of the sentence.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione responded. “I’m sure nothing’s wrong—”

“They’re Slytherins, Hermione! When have you known them to be altruistic?”

“And why would they want to harm an eleven-year-old?”

Albus frowned and leaned in closer, daring not to pick up his feet for fear of making the floorboards creak.

“… who happens to be the daughter of the Minister for Magic!” said Ron.

“Don’t be daft!” Hermione hissed. “Rose is fine!”

“Sod that ruddy house, the lot of them.”

“Oh, yeah? Even your nephew? Their friends?”

“You know what I meant!”

“I did.” Hermione’s voice was icy. “I think—”

Albus’s foot came off of the floor, and the other end of the wooden board creaked ominously.

“What was that?” said Hermione.

“I’m sure it’s just…”

Albus skittered away before he could find out what Ron thought the noise was, hoping they didn’t somehow know it was him. Ron had been acting bit odd these past few days, but Albus hadn’t realized that his uncle was angry because he and Rose were in Slytherin…

The thoughts rattled back and forth in his head as he entered the sitting room, only for a wizard’s chess piece to come flying at his face accompanied by a loud “DAMMIT!” Albus went to retrieve the pawn, which was lying on its side and struggling to get up.

“Ah, sorry Al.” It was Fred, looking sheepish. His orange hair looked softer under the low light, but its intense Weasley-ness still shone through. “Got a bit carried away.”

“Oi!” Ginny called from upstairs. “Keep it down! I’m trying to sleep!”

“How can you sleep if you’re yelling?” Teddy retorted, the only one brave enough to do so.

“Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean I can’t whoop your arse!”

Albus handed the piece back to Fred silently. Fred sighed. “Thanks. This git just keeps beating me.”

“Easy when you’re opponent’s trash,” Teddy teased. He godbrother was a Metamorphmagus, and the result was that he often changed his hair color on a whim. Teddy had gone for a bright pink this time, a rather festive color. He was tall and in shape, though Albus wasn’t sure whether that was his actual physique or one that he’d exaggerated a bit.

“Shut up,” said Fred drily.

“Am I wrong?” said Teddy.

“What’s that?” Louis asked as Albus turned around to put the book back in his trunk. “Thought I saw French.” Victoire and Dominique’s brother shared their silver-blonde hair and unfairly attractive facial features, but Louis’s face was scrunched up as he tried looking over Albus’s shoulder.

“It’s a book I found,” Albus responded, going with his fabricated story as he closed his trunk. “I got Dominique to translate a bit.”

“Why not me?’ Louis probed, pretending to be hurt.

“Did you want to translate?”

“Touché.”

Albus pointed to his brother, who was despondently sitting in the corner of the room near the fireplace and throwing pieces of a newspaper into the fire. “What happened to him?”

“Your dad chewed him out earlier,” Hugo explained, shifting to allow Albus a seat on the couch.

“What? Why?” Albus asked, directing the question to his brother.

“Don’t worry about it,” James mumbled.

“Girl problems?”

James scoffed. “As if I’d have problems with that.”

“Mate, you’re thirteen,” Fred piped up. “Don’t try it.”

“I think he stole something from Uncle Harry’s desk,” Hugo said.

“Really, James?” Teddy whirled to face him. “That’s a bit pathetic, even for you.”

“What’s pathetic,” said James, “is an adult male hanging out with children.”

“I take my charity work seriously,” Teddy commented.

“Stop spouting nonsense and watch me stomp you on the pitch tomorrow,” answered James icily.

“Lads,” said Louis, spreading his hands. “Save this talk for the match. I’d better hear good things about it when I come back.”

“Don’t need talk when you’ve got skills,” James bragged.

“Skills, James?” Albus laughed. “You should be glad I couldn’t have tried out this year.”

“Oh, really?” James snorted. “With Davidson’s record, I doubt it would have helped much.”

“Davidson?” Teddy looked incredulous. “That clown is Slytherin captain?”

“Don’t bring it up,” James said, turning around. “Albus might cry.”

“He’s not worth shedding tears over,” Albus muttered.

“It can’t be worse than last year,” Teddy insisted. “He had an average shot-completion record of fifteen to two!”

“He’s twenty-three to one,” said Albus plainly.

“Jesus,” Teddy whispered. “That’s abysmal.”

Albus sighed. “Now I’m sad. You’d better have brought something, Teddy.”

 “Maybe I did,” Teddy said, pulling his rucksack from where it leaned on the couch. “I’ve got something that might cheer you all up.” He withdrew a flat and rectangular metal tin with a Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes label on the front.

Fred snatched the box from him. “‘Soundscape Sours?’ Dad hasn’t told me about these.”

“George’s new product,” Teddy explained, taking the box back. “Zonko’s used to sell these, but since they’ve been absorbed into triple-W, they sold him the production rights and he upped the intensity. I tested them for him, so he gave me an early box. Ron said he tried them in school,” Teddy added, opening the box to reveal a tame-looking packet of multicolored hard candies.

“Let me try,” James said. His look of mischief had returned.

“James, wait, I haven’t cast a—”

Before Teddy could finish, James took the box and popped three sweets directly into his mouth. What came out of it gave the phone siren a run for its money as the most horrendous thing Albus had ever heard.

An amalgamation of an amplified train whistle, a lion roar, and a high-pitched shriek erupted from James’s face. He wrenched his mouth open, widening his eyes at the sheer amount of sound that poured out. The boys all jammed their ears to their head as the noise continued for a full ten seconds.

Then, the sound abruptly cut off. James puckered his lips and made a face. “That’s sour.”

“BOYS!” Ginny yelled from upstairs. “SHUT IT DOWN, NOW!”

Teddy jumped to his feet and cast a complicated series of charms, directing his wand towards the entryway of the sitting room. He pointed his wand back at James after he finished. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

Louis roughly wrestled the tin out of James’s hands and threw it to Teddy. “Let’s take it easy tonight, please.”

“Gladly,” said Teddy, stuffing the tin deep into his bag. “I might stay away tomorrow to avoid a licking from Ginny.”

“She’ll remember,” Albus pointed out. “Why delay the inevitable?”

“I’ll delay it as long as I can,” Teddy muttered.

“When are those coming out?” James asked, a scary glint in his eye. “I’ve got a couple uses I can think of for those.”

Louis snorted. “You can take those uses and shove ‘em up your—”

“Louis!” Teddy scolded. “Watch it!”

“’Shove it up your arse,’” Albus finished. “Yeah, it’s a bit late for that.”

“I was going to say butt,” Louis said, holding up his hands.

 

*     *     *

 

Three hours later, after Hugo and James had fallen asleep, Albus lit his wand under the sheets and pulled the French book onto his lap. He had to be quiet to keep an ear out, in case someone came down for a glass of water or something.

The gold lettering on the front glimmered in the warm light, and Albus fumbled with James’s phone. Guessing the password was easy enough; it was James’s birthday. Albus opened the internet browser and looked for a translator. There was one embedded into the search results, and Albus bent over to begin typing. He managed a vaguely coherent page within a few minutes.

 

It is a possible and easy to divide Soul because the Mind is not designed to decide whether the world is good or bad. The whole world doesn't like it. Humans are good and bad. But Knowledge also is good and bad. He is Good and Evil is the same. Magic is good and bad. The world is both. It's confusing, vague and not afraid of the dark. The Spirit is still alive after Death. Life, energy and strength. Bad Magic can lead to disaster, they said. You think black Magic can change your mind, but you don't understand it. Resentment stems from outdated thoughts about the Soul and damages the art of Soul sharing. The soul can be isolated with a thing called Horcrux. Designed to live on its own and be immortal after the Death of the People. Horcrux cannot be destroyed and does not change, so it lasts forever. The Mind wants to live with both Chaos and Order. Is it possible that it exists because Nature accepts it? If a Soul does not have a Body, it cannot touch. To touch, the person must have another Body. Without a Body the Horcrux is flat. But the Horcrux can still be alive. If it can be put into a thing and the thing can speak, it lives without a human. I seek the art of how you can be alive after Death, alive with a human.

 

It didn’t seem like the translator was entirely accurate, but the way the language was phrased still peeved Albus. Designed to live on its own and be immortal after the Death of the People. So this device, this Horcrux, could make you immortal?

No, not necessarily. If a soul does not have a body, it cannot touch. Without a body the Horcrux is flat. It suggested that the body and the soul were different, that the soul was what gave the body life. Albus sat up a little taller as he thought. His father had called Voldemort soulless. Had he made a horcrux? Was that why his cousins had mentioned his father, because they knew the truth? But Voldemort was dead for sure, and his father had never mentioned anything like this before…

I seek the art of how you can be alive after Death.

Albus put the book away, feeling anxious. Something about it wasn’t right. This was more than knowing the Dark Arts, this was… venerating them.

He put the phone back on James’s bedside table and shut his eyes tight, but images of a man with pale skin and red eyes like a snake swam beneath his eyelids.

Albus didn’t open the book again.

Chapter 12: The Third Annual Potter-Weasley Quidditch Match

Chapter Text

 

 

Albus woke that morning feeling positively terrible. His back ached from the lumpy cot in the sitting room, and he had a mild headache. He sat up and stretched, looking around the room; Hugo’s and James’s beds were empty. Albus brushed quickly in the downstairs washroom, listening to people conversing in the kitchen, before heading there himself.

Harry was at the stove, flipping some bacon in a pan. He’d grown out his facial hair into a cropped beard, giving him a rugged look that both Ginny and the Witch Weekly tabloid adored. His scar had grown faint under his shaggy hair, and he’d continued to wear glasses rather than get his eyes magically fixed.

Harry turned and walked a few steps to the counter, limping a little from an injury he’d received on the job a few weeks ago. He ladled the breakfast meat onto a platter before James and Hugo, the only two at the dining table.

“About time for you to join us,” said Harry, looking up from the bacon and smiling.

“I was tired,” Albus said softly.

He stared at Harry as he poured a glass of pumpkin juice, unsure of whether he should pose the question that was lingering on the edge of his tongue. Albus decided against it, remembering that Hugo was in the room—if his cousins had been trying to keep it from him, it must have been serious. Albus put it aside. He’d ask later, when he and his father were alone.

Albus accepted the pumpkin juice from his father and heaped bacon and eggs onto his plate. Harry rarely cooked, but when he did, it was on par with even Grandma Weasley’s cooking.

“Ish fhanshasic,” said Albus, speaking through a mouthful of food.

“Compliments of the chef,” Harry responded, now putting sausage into the pan. “Are the girls up?”

“One of them,” said Lily, stomping down the stairs. “Morning, folks.”

James scarfed down his bacon and slid the plate forward, where it precariously balanced on the edge of the sink. “I’m going,” he said. “Gotta practice before the match.”

“Presents?” Harry asked.

“We’re doing them outside, no?”

“In a bit. It’s bloody freezing,” Harry muttered, looking out the window. A fine powder of snow laid over the ground, and small snowflakes drifted lazily in the air. “The yard’s unkempt,” he said. “Just be careful.”

“When am I not?” said James, hopping off his chair and briskly heading out the door.

Albus shook his head, tucking back into his eggs. “He talks big game for someone who’s about to lose.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Harry warned. “Your mum and Uncle Charlie might be playing today.”

Albus sighed. “It’s not fair. I can’t beat professional Quidditch players.”

“Al, it’s been years since they played,” Hugo reasoned. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Lily snorted into her food. “Yeah, right.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry said, his voice alluding to something. “It won’t be too unfair.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Albus questioned, only earning a sly look from Harry in response. “Dad!”

“Wait for presents,” Harry teased.

“Well, don’t do that to the poor boy,” Grandma Weasley chastised, bustling into the kitchen. “Harry, dear, are you sure you don’t need any help—”

“I’m fine, Molly,” Harry insisted, swinging back to the stove to take care of another batch of sausages. “The kids never wake up at the same time, it makes things easier.”

“Still,” she persisted, “you’ve been in here for nearly an hour.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

Grandma Weasley sighed and smiled gently. “What would we do without you, hmm?” She patted his arm and turned to the children. “You all ought to take after him.”

“No promises,” said Lily, smiling brightly.

“It’s alright,” Hugo added. “We’ve got Albus to do that for us.”

Grandma Weasley studied Albus’s face. “It really is remarkable how much you and your father look alike. Perhaps even more so than you and James, Harry, dear.”

“Maybe,” said Harry over his shoulder. “It’s like having a miniature me.”

“Hey!” Albus protested, not wanting to admit that the statement made him a little happy.

“Dear, no,” Grandma Weasley said, shaking her head. “Your father was, excuse me, rather daft when it came to dangerous situations. I don’t want another little him.”

Harry laughed. “I came out of it, didn’t I?”

“Barely!” Grandma Weasley gave Albus a stern look. “Don’t you go looking for trouble, hear me? You’re a smart young man.”

“Sure,” Albus mumbled.

Shame bubbled up in his stomach. Save for Rose, none of his family knew what he had really discovered. Albus thought he might have had trouble keeping a secret, but there was something that made it… easy. As though he were never compelled to even entertain the idea of divulging it.

“That’s a good lad,” said Molly, blissfully unaware of Albus’s thoughts. “And you,” she added, looking at Hugo. “You ought to eat more, Hugo. You’re practically skin and bones.”

“Yeah, Hugo,” Lily teased. “You’re all skin and bones.”

“You too, young lady,” Grandma Weasley said pointedly. “You could do with the same.” She patted Lily on the head and left to return outside.

Hugo waited until she was gone before speaking. “Yeah, Lily—”

“Don’t you start!” she snapped, pointing her fork at her cousin.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really!”

Albus waited, fussing silently, practically drowning in a pool of anticipation as he watched Lily and Hugo bicker. His shame evaporated as he remembered what Harry had said: It won’t be too unfair.

Harry’s words could only mean one thing: a broom. They were getting him a broom. Albus had a sneaking suspicion that that must have been it, right? Albus had only been asking for a broom for what, five years? He’d be trying out next year, too, and it would be rather hard for his parents to owl him a broom for his birthday at school…

Like Harry had said, the family moved outside to do presents. Even though the temperature was still frigid, it was much less of a hassle to conduct the process outside versus in the cramped living room. Magic made it easy enough to create a small boundary on the patio and some ways into the yard that was insulated and heated to the same temperature as the house.

Albus tuned out for the most part and helped Hugo and Lily build a snow-elf as the others opened their gifts. Rose, alongside the Arithmancy set Albus had bought her with Harry’s money, received a phone from her parents, who had reportedly been urged by both Harry and George to do so.

The first thing she did was put down Albus’s number. “Now,” she resolved, “I can keep track of your stupid.”

“Maybe your phone will start blaring when we get back, too.”

“Don’t even say it. It might happen.”

“I’m banking on it,” said Albus.

The building excitement culminated as Albus began opening his presents. Albus was one of the last few to do so, and by then everyone who’d already opened theirs had spun off into little groups to play around with their new gadgets and gizmos.

Albus received the typical gifts from some of his family: a hand-knitted sweater and mince pies from Grandma Weasley; a school planner from Hermione; a significant amount of assorted chocolates from Ron; a set of quills and ink from Percy and Audrey; a joke set from George that Ginny immediately pulled out of his hands; a small dragon skin money pouch from Charlie; and his own edition of Hogwarts, a History from Rose.

Bill and Fleur had remotely gifted him a small bracelet made of green and black beads, for the two had left early with their children to spend the next few days in France with Fleur’s extended family. Lucy, Molly, Dominique, Louis, and Roxanne had all pitched in to get him a thick book titled The Life and Legacy of Albus Dumbledore, written by the former Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry chuckled when Albus unwrapped the book, but he didn’t say why. Lily was nice enough to give him a handmade card, but James simply slipped him a small note written on a torn piece of parchment that read IOU.

Teddy’s present was where things started to get odd. Albus was gifted a shining kit that he originally thought was for his wand, but the front indicated that it was primarily for broom use. The tag simply read: For My Secret Weapon. Albus didn’t know what that meant, but his stomach started doing somersaults as Harry excused himself to retrieve Albus’s present from inside, returning with a suspiciously long and oddly wrapped package…

Albus tried not to get his hopes up too much, for he figured that it would be an outdated model that his parents had found for cheap, but he couldn’t help but contain his excitement as he turned his back to his parents and tore open the wrapping paper to find… a Beater’s bat.

Albus’s excitement deflated, and he tried to accept the present graciously. “Oh… erm, thanks…?”

“I told you you’d have an advantage,” Harry said, his face mirthful.

“What the use of a club if I’m not playing Beater?” Albus asked, swinging the thing around and nearly missing Hugo’s head.

“What? Oh, damn.” Harry chuckled. “Wrong one.”

“What d’you mean?”

“That’s Hugo’s.” Harry plucked the bat out of Albus’s hands and passed it along to his younger cousin. “Sorry, lad.”

Albus pursed his lips awkwardly. It was obvious that his dad was trying to play some kind of joke, but it was failing in a sad way.

“It’s fine,” Hugo said, examining the bat gleefully. “I can finally practice before first year!”

“You know you can’t try out until your second year?” Albus asked, still skeptical about his father’s shiftiness. He watched Harry out the corner of his eye, but his father was just looking at him and Hugo with a mischievous expression on his face.

 “Just give him the damned broom,” Ginny blurted. “The boy already knows, Harry. I don’t even know what you were trying to accomplish with all this. Surely you knew, right Albus?” she asked, turning to her son.

“Yeah,” Albus admitted sheepishly. “You’re kind of bad at hiding a secret, Dad.”

Harry sighed. “I figured I was hopeless. I’ll just have James set it up next time.”

“What?” James called from a few meters away, where he was floating on his broom. “What am I doing?”

“Please, no,” Albus said quickly. “Anything but that.”

“Fair enough,” Harry grumbled as Ginny Summoned another package from within the house.

She Levitated it over to Albus and smiled. “Happy Christmas, Albus.”

“Thanks, mum.” The excitement had returned, and this time Albus knew for certain what was in store. He removed the wrapping carefully, expecting something nice and modest, but stopped as he unwrapped the broom handle. “Wait. You… you didn’t.”

Harry winked at him. “You can’t be the only high-flying Potter.”

The words were lettered in elaborate gold handwriting on the edge of the handle: Firebolt Model III. The broom was sleek and impeccably shiny, with silver plating protecting the dark, black bristles, making the thing look like a miniature jet engine.

“Wicked,” Albus gasped.

James, having drifted over to Albus, was staring dumbstruck at the object in his hands. “You’re kidding.” He looked down at his own broom. “I get a Nimbus and this fool gets a bloody Firebolt?!”

“You could have no broom, if you prefer,” Ginny threatened.

“Play nice, James.” Harry waved his older son off. “If you’re as good a player as you say, it shouldn’t make a difference. Go on, Albus, try it out,” Harry encouraged.

Albus was way ahead of his father, as he’d already swung his foot over the side of the broom. He kicked away the snow before stomping his foot and pushing upwards.

The broom responded almost immediately, roaring upwards with a surge of power that nearly threw Albus out of the seat. He slowly ascended, ten, twenty, thirty meters into the air and looked down at his family, whose fascinated faces were now barely visible. Albus stilled himself and looked straight forward to the boundary of the forest, taking a deep breath before leaning forward to accelerate.

Blimey, did the thing accelerate. Albus rocketed forwards at a breakneck pace that was sure to induce severe whiplash if one was unprepared. He blazed forward, extending the entire length of the field in maybe five or ten seconds; nearly a quarter of a kilometer, gone in a fraction of time.

A mild panic set in as the snow-covered trees grew ever closer to painfully stopping his forwards movement, but at the slightest lean to the left Albus whipped around and raced back up the length of the yard. He ignored the tears that the biting wind weaned from the corners of his eyes and laughed incredulously, doing laps around the clearing while maintaining a speed akin to that of a Muggle supercar.

Landing proved to be more difficult than Albus had anticipated. He slowed and braced himself to brake, but the stop in momentum was so fierce that Albus was nearly catapulted facedown into the ground. He barely held on, pulling up just in time to plop down unceremoniously on the thick layer of snow.

James’s face was white as he turned back to Harry. “You think that’s not going to make a difference?”

“Pick him for your team, then!” Harry responded.

“No! He’ll try and sabotage me!”

“What fantasy world do you live in?” Harry muttered.

“Let’s get started, then,” James suggested, switching gears completely as Albus came over, having dug himself out of the snow.

Ginny glanced over at the large table, which still held a few more presents. “But Hugo hasn’t finished opening his presents—”

“Hugo can open presents on his own time!” James said quickly.

Hugo shrugged. “Alright.”

Ginny was having none of it. “Absolutely not. Hugo, go on. James can wait.”

“Fine,” James said stiffly. “We need to set up teams, first, anyway.”

Albus figured part of James’s eagerness stemmed from his brother’s desire to begin the game before Albus could grasp full control of his new broom, but he knew James would never admit such.

 “Grandad Weasley!” James called, facing the house. “D’you want to pick captains?”

“What?” their grandad shouted from the end of the patio. Albus snickered; Grandad Weasley looked like an old prospector gazing out over his land, with his wiry, gray hair and squinted eyes.

James got louder. “Do! You! Want! To—”

“Oh, picking captains! For the match?” Grandad Weasley asked, still yelling. “Is this my new responsibility every year?”

“Sure!”

“Alright! Erm…” He looked around to find most everyone preoccupied. “How about… Ted! Are you up for it?”

“Sure, Grandad!” said Teddy. He sent Albus a knowing wink, and Albus gave him a thumbs up, understanding what his cryptic card from earlier had meant.

“Well then, to join you… why not you, James?”

“It would be my honor,” James responded, grinning wickedly.

Albus scoffed. “You should be the Slytherin, not me.”

James ignored him. “Would you look at that?” he said. “Hugo’s done with presents.” James cupped his hands around his face. “Everyone! We’re starting the match!”

“How about we slow down a bit?” Teddy suggested. “This is meant to be a friendly game.”

James stepped up to his godbrother and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing is ever friendly. From this moment forth, you are my mortal enemy.”

Teddy rolled his eyes. “Fine, then. Pick.”

“Mum.”

“Figures,” Teddy muttered. “Pick the professional.”

“Who are you going to pick, then?”

“Albus,” said Teddy.

James blew a fat raspberry at his younger brother. “Whatever. He’s terrible.”

Albus took offense. “I’ve beaten you one on one on multiple occasions—”

“D’you hear something?” James asked, cutting Albus off.

“Not here,” Ginny responded, a sly grin on her face.

“Mum!” Albus griped.

“What? It’s like James says.” Ginny screwed up her face, imitating James. “From this moment forth, you are my mortal enemy.”

“This is why I picked you,” James said, giving his mum a light high five.

Teddy patted Albus on the back. “Don’t worry. As long as we get Charlie—”

“Uncle Charlie!” James called. “You’re with us!”

“You were saying?” said Albus.

Teddy stewed silently, casting a dirty look at James. “That new broom of yours had better make up for lost ground.”

“Oh, it will.”

Albus’s confidence persisted throughout the team selection. He was in high spirits by the time Teddy’s complete team drifted into the air, even as the others grumbled.

“How did they end up with both professional players?” Roxanne complained.

“It’ll be fine,” Teddy reassured. “It’s seven to five. We’ve got strength in numbers.”

“And age,” Fred added.

“Don’t let your dad hear that,” Teddy warned. “That ruddy magical ear of his is a nuisance.”

“I heard that!” came George’s voice.

Teddy looked around, ignoring George. “Okay. Positions. Albus will take Seeker, that’s a given. James is playing Chaser today, and we need someone fast to throw him off. Molly—”

“I’m literally already holding the bat.”

“Fantastic. Hugo, put that new bat to good use. Fred, you take Keeper. You’ve got some practice, right? Good. Roxanne and Lily, you two are playing Chaser with me.” Teddy looked around at his teammates. “Alright, you lot. Play hard, play fair, have fun. You all know the drill. Molly,” he warned. “Keep contact low.”

Molly shrugged. “The Bludger does what it wants.”

Teddy shook his head. “Damn you Quidditch types.”

“You were one of us, once,” Fred pointed out.

“Once. Then I got a job.”

“Then he got a girlfriend,” Hugo whispered to Albus.

“Oi, Teddy!” James called. “We’re ready when you are!”

“Ready to lose?” Teddy responded before turning back to his teammates. “Look, we’ve got this!” He put his hand in the middle of the huddle. “Come on!”

“I’m not doing that,” Lily said curtly. She drifted down to where James’s team was huddled around Harry, who had been dragged in to officiate.

“Yeah,” Teddy said bitterly as the others followed. “Sure.” His face changed as he turned to Albus, who was watching as Harry rattled off the rules below. “Albus.” Teddy placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got this. One mission: get that damned Snitch.”

“I know.”

“But don’t end it too quick,” Teddy amended. “We want to rub it in a bit, no?”

“Of course,” Albus said, concentrating on the box of balls on the ground as Teddy joined the others down below.

The Chasers on either team circled around Harry’s head like hawks, ready to strike whenever he threw up the Quaffle. But, of course, he had to release the Snitch first. Albus watched the little golden ball zip away, trying to keep his focus on it, but he was forced to close his eyes as it passed directly before the bright, winter sun.

He cursed as Harry blew the whistle and kicked off, zooming towards the place he’d last seen it, but the Snitch was long gone. Charlie, who James had designated as their team’s Seeker, was hot on his tail.

Albus was about to come to a stop and observe the game, but having Charlie behind him on a line gave him an idea. He spotted that James had the Quaffle just above the ground. Albus swerved downwards, intentionally pointing himself towards the direction of snowfall. He squinted, prepared for the assault of precipitation, but his uncle, from his grunt of frustration, evidently wasn’t.

Albus hurtled towards James on a warpath. His brother turned his head in alarm and widened his eyes, but Albus pulled up at the last second.

Charlie, half blinded, was less lucky. He knocked James half off his broom, and by the time the two had recovered, Lily had stolen the red Quaffle and taken it halfway up the other side of the pitch.

“Ref!” James complained. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” Harry shouted using a voice-enhancing charm.

“Albus! He made Charlie run straight into me!”

“Harry can’t call that,” Charlie whispered. “Albus didn’t actually touch you. It was smart.”

“It was dirty!” James whined.

“It was legal!” Albus hollered, passing them and overhearing their conversation.

His brother gritted his teeth in annoyance but said nothing, choosing to return his attention to the game.

Albus sat above their center goalpost for the next few minutes, trying to place the Snitch. It was difficult given the weather, whose effects multiplied in intensity whenever he flew. The stray snowflakes reflected sunlight in a manner uncannily similar to a tiny, winged ball, and Albus was starting to feel insane as he continuously mistook tricks of the light for the Snitch. Once the scoreboard read an even 50 to 50, Albus started back onto the field again, accelerating past Charlie.

“Watch it, old man!” Albus said, grinning.

“Shove off, Al!” his uncle nagged as Albus rocketed ahead. “You’re playing a dangerous game!”

“I’ll take my chances!”

Albus cruised around the outer border of the pitch, keeping a keen eye out. The trees provided enough cover to differentiate the Snitch from the snow if it zipped close to the ground. Indeed, the ball soon appeared, whizzing around the base of the opposing team’s left goalpost.

Albus rocketed towards it, sucking in an awe-filled breath as the broom responded with its impeccable agility. He narrowly skirted past a Bludger sent from George and rolled to avoid another person he couldn’t distinguish, and before he knew it the Snitch was just out of his reach.

Albus followed the little golden ball like his survival depended on it. The Snitch did its damnedest to shake him, even pushing the boundaries that Harry and Ron had drawn by weaving in and out of the front line of trees. Albus ate leaves as he tried to pursue it into the trees, and amidst his sputtering and head shaking he almost lost the Snitch. By some miracle, it hadn’t darted away, and Albus tried kicking back into gear as his eyes watered from the wind and the scratches on his face. He strained his fingers to go further, further, further, and the snow falling from the sky started getting thicker, thicker, thicker.

Charlie brushed up beside Albus and bumped him gently. “Watch it, Al!”

“It doesn’t work when you do it!” Albus yelled over the wind.

He put on a sudden burst of speed to try and shake Charlie while simultaneously making a grab for the Snitch. But the golden ball sensed his movement and darted out from under his arm, continuing its straight path.

Albus stumbled. Startled at the change in his balance, he yelped as the burst of acceleration sent him sliding forwards on the handle. He kicked his feet vainly in the air as the broom tipped, only gaining speed as he slid more and more forwards. The Snitch grew closer, but so did the ground and the prospect of a painful landing…

Until Albus felt a sharp tug on the collar of his shirt. Charlie heaved Albus back onto his broom, pulling up to slow both him and his nephew.

“Push down on the back end of the broom!” Charlie yelled. “It’s going to happen quick, you need to shift to the middle of the broom!”

Albus registered the instructions shakily, twisting his arm around and feeling a painful stretch in his shoulder. He forced his hand down onto the chrome plating from which the bristles extended. Just as his uncle had said, the broom began tipping dangerously in the other direction, and the handle passed the horizontal and rose.

But Albus had more leverage here, and he pushed himself forward, ignoring the snap pain in his groin as he planted his legs towards the ground. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed as the broom evened out and stopped accelerating.

As the broom slowed, the Snitch did the same, like it was teasing him. The golden ball floated and darted directly in front of his face, but when Albus flung his arm out it started speeding up.

He gritted his teeth in frustration and placed his hands on the front of the broom. “You can let go!” he said to Charlie.

Charlie did. He looked up to where the others were playing. “OI! TIMEOUT! Albus—Albus? Albus! Relax!” Charlie had glanced back to find Albus speeding up again, moving faster and faster through the air. “Control it, Albus!”

Charlie sped up to catch his nephew, but Albus made a sudden brake and started dropping to the ground. Charlie figured he was in pain, and he trailed slowly behind Albus until they both landed gently on the snow-covered dirt.

“You alright, Al?” Charlie asked concernedly, hopping off his broom and casting it aside. He placed a hand on Albus’s back. “Just breathe.”

“I’m fine,” Albus said hoarsely, his back still turned. He appeared to be clutching his hand. “I’ll live.” The snow had started coming down harder, and it started piling on his head in a little heap.

“You look hurt. Let me see, maybe I can—” Charlie’s words came to a sudden stop as Albus turned around.

Albus was clutching his hand, but from the sides of his fist protruded a pair of thin, fluttering, golden wings. Albus heaved a breath and managed a smile. “I win, old man.”

“Bloody idiot,” Charlie muttered, clapping his nephew on the back. “You’re a typical Potter, you know that?”

“Albus?” Ginny called as she descended from above. “Are you okay, dear?” She planted her feet on the ground opposite from Charlie and ran towards her son. “Are you hurt?”

“He’s fine, sis,” Charlie said. “He’s got the damned Snitch!”

“WHAT?” James screamed from higher above, his tone furious. “WHO’S GOT THE SNITCH?!” He landed, gripping his broom so hard that his knuckles strained white against the wooden shaft.

 “I do!” said Albus, unable to hold back his joy.

“ALBUS!” Teddy roared, darting down to join them on the ground. “You bloody legend!” He raced past James, who was looking at his own extended hands despondently, and mussed Albus’s hair roughly. “You did it!”

Albus’s whole body was sore, but the words of admiration and encouragement as the rest his team descended drew a smile to his face. He said his thank you’s as the others commended him for a job well done and started heading inside, shielding their heads from the increasing snowfall. But as Albus picked his broom up off the ground and turned towards the house, he noticed his brother.

James was laying down in the snow staring up at the sky. He wasn’t moving; he was just staring. Albus didn’t know what compelled him, but he placed his broom back down and laid next to his brother in the white powder.

“What are we doing?” Albus asked.

“Nothing,” James said simply. His eyes were closed, and the fresh snowflakes that had landed on his face had begun melting.

Albus stayed silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. “You know—"

“I’m gonna beat you next year,” James said suddenly. “I can’t let my baby brother keep the title, right?”

Albus smiled softly, blinking the snowflakes out of his eyes. “You tell yourself that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

James stood up and scooped up a handful of snow, balling it quickly with his bare hands and pegging Albus in the stomach. The pain in his groin returned, and he let out a breathy oof! and sat up.

“Why?” Albus coughed. “That hurt!”

James’s mirthful face changed to one of concern. “Damn, seriously? Sorry, I didn’t—hmf!” James made a similar noise as Albus returned the icy favor. “You arsehole!”

“I’m a Slytherin, right?” Albus called over his shoulder, already halfway down the field. “It’s what I do best!”

“Just you wait!” James yelled, grinning as he picked up another snowball and chased after his brother, flailing his arm in the direction of Albus’s back.

And so, the two brothers played in the falling snow, their faces obscured by the thick precipitation, and the Firebolt Model III  laid there, momentarily forgotten.

 

Chapter 13: The Malfoys

Chapter Text

 

 

Albus had presented the charred remains of his phone to George on a trip to Diagon Alley a few days after Christmas. George hadn’t been able to do much, and instead suggested Albus spend his term focusing on schoolwork instead of the application.

“You sure?” Albus had asked.

“I am. I don’t want you getting into trouble like James did.”

 Albus remembered that night before the Quidditch match, when James was all sulky. “He got in trouble because of that?”

George laughed nervously. “I might have asked him to… borrow something from your dad.” He placed a hand on Albus’s shoulder. “Look, I talked to Harry about this. I think that him and I can take care of this better ourselves. Hell, I don’t even know if the app was what killed your phone like that.”

Albus remained silent.

“I’m going to buy a couple cheap phones and work on those, just to be safe. But you can be one of the first people to use it when it’s done,” he promised, seeing the glum look on Albus’s face. “I’m sure your dad would be fine with it. He gave you the Cloak, didn’t he?”

“How d’you know about the Cloak?” Albus asked, surprised. “Dad said he didn’t tell anyone.”

“He told a few people.” George winked. “Harry got up to his fair share of mischief at Hogwarts, you know. Enjoying the late night strolls? There are plenty of secrets around.”

A pang of anxiety hit Albus in the gut. Did George know about the Architect’s Chamber? “Erm, yeah.”

“I’ll give you a tip,” George said, leaning down to whisper in his ear. “In the basement, there’s a portrait of fruit. See if you can figure it out.”

The nervous bubbling subsided. “Figure it out…” Something sounded familiar about what George was mentioning. A portrait of fruit… Albus couldn’t place it.

After some convincing from his sister, Albus asked his mother to teach Lily to fly using the Firebolt. Lily claimed he had no place for it in the castle given that he wasn’t part of the Quidditch team (yet), and following some pleading and dramatics, Albus relented. It made Lily happy enough, and it would simultaneously annoy his brother.

The morning of their departure to King’s Cross was grey and dreary. Albus didn’t mind it; he packed his things quietly and occupied himself with his new MP3 player. George had bought one for him after what happened to his phone, and though Albus had little hope it would function at Hogwarts, he brought it along for the train journey.

He’d preloaded the device with a decent assortment of songs using a decade-old laptop George kept in the garage. Albus nodded his head absentmindedly to the music pumping through his ears as one of the two Ministry cars drove up the M3.

Harry had to go into work early, and he promised to meet them at the platform. Albus had made up his mind to ask him then, about horcruxes. He didn’t want to send his questions in a letter for fear it could be intercepted—Albus had heard countless war stories of nefarious parties seizing owls delivering post.

The trees flew past, a collective green blur, before giving way to the choked London cityscape. Soon, Albus and the others were being escorted through the turnstiles at King’s Cross. Albus ended up between Louis and Roxanne as the Potter-Weasley children funneled into a line. He couldn’t help but brace himself as he watched Louis disappear into the solid, brick wall between Platforms Nine and Ten.

Albus pushed his trolley through the barrier to the platform. A familiar tug pulled at his navel, dragging him through the passage and spitting him out onto the crowded floor. All sense vanished as Albus was jostled from side to side. The scarlet engine was emitting its shrill whistle as parents and students alike fumbled around to say goodbyes and load their luggage.

Louis was already nowhere to be found. Albus edged his trolley forwards but immediately bumped into an emotional first year crying into his mother’s shoulder. He excused himself and parted the crowds with his trolley, craning his neck to search for a characteristic shock of Weasley hair or flash of Veela silver. He spotted a tall person with short, platinum blonde hair in the distance and maneuvered that way, assuming it to be Louis.

As the top of the person’s head grew closer, Albus slowed down to avoid running them over with his trolley. A vigorously snogging couple reluctantly separated to clear a path, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“Louis—“ Before he could finish, someone’s foot hit the back of his knee.

Albus buckled to the floor, hanging onto his trolley as it dragged him forward. He whipped his head around, but whoever had bumped into him was long gone.

“Are you alright, young man?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Albus responded.

He looked up slowly. It was the person with blonde hair he’d spotted earlier, but the man was taller than Louis and sported a beard that would make his cousin jealous.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” Albus said.

A deep frown set into the man’s face, as though he had stepped into a pile of dung. “Hm. No matter.”

A boy emerged from the crowd and spoke to the man as Albus got his bearings. “Father, I think I’m all set for the—Albus?”

“Scorpius?” Albus grinned. “I didn’t think I’d see you until the train.”

“Albus.” The man’s voice was icy. “You’re Albus Potter, right?”

Albus realized that the situation he was in might have been more awkward than if the man were a stranger. “Er, yes, Mister Malfoy.”

Scorpius’s father crossed his arms. He examined Albus for a moment before his eyes fell on the Slytherin pin affixed to one of the straps on his trunk. Albus could have sworn he saw the corners of his mouth tilt up for a moment.

“Scorpius tells me you two are good friends,” said Draco Malfoy.

“We are,” Albus answered slowly. “It’s nice to meet you?” The end of his response sounded almost like a question.

Draco stayed silent for another moment. “You look just like your father.”

Albus nodded sheepishly. “I get that a lot.”

“Let’s just hope you don’t take after him.”

“Father!” Scorpius looked just as embarrassed as Albus was a moment ago.

“Alright, alright.” He placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Now, I expect better out of you this term. You’re letting a Weasley beat you out on test scores—”

“Father!”

“—and I expect you to rectify that mistake.” He clapped his son on the shoulder. “Good luck.” Draco turned back to Albus. “And you. Do me a favor and keep him in line if he starts slacking.”

Albus resisted the urge to laugh at Scorpius’s cherry red face. “I’ll try.”

“Albus? There you are, you parents are looking for you!” It was Victoire. She placed a hand on his shoulder and realized who she’d run into. “Oh. Hello, Mister Malfoy.”

Draco looked amused. “Does everyone seem to know who I am?”

Albus couldn’t see Victoire’s face, but he imagined her grinning. “I make it my business to know the Ministry department heads,” she said.

“Ah. Do you plan on pursuing a career in the Ministry, Miss Weasley?”

“Indeed. And it looks like you know who I am, too,” she added with an air of pride.

“I make it my business to know who applies to intern in my department.” Draco crossed his arms again. “I hope to see you over the summer. You’re one of the brighter ones. The DIMC could use someone like you.”

Victoire was taken aback. “Er, thank you, sir.”

Draco chuckled. “You don’t have to call me sir.”

“Noted.” Victoire squeezed Albus’s shoulder. “The train’s about to leave, Al.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Scorpius looked pointedly at Albus’s trunk. “I see you forgot to load that.”

The color drained from Albus’s fate. “Victoire—”

“I’ll help,” she muttered, Levitating the trunk with a flick of her wand.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts?”

Victoire was surprised enough to drop the trunk, sending it crashing to the floor. She didn’t seem to hear Albus’s cry of protest, instead nodding absentmindedly and again Levitating his battered luggage. She excused herself before dragging Albus away as he promised to find Scorpius on the train.

“Are you even listening?” Albus protested as they came to a stop next to one of the storage cars.

Victoire was in a dazed kind of state as she Levitated Albus’s trunk into a waiting porter’s hands. The porter almost collapsed to the ground under the weight, but he managed to carry the trunk onto the train.

“Is my dad here?” Albus asked uncomfortably.

“The head of the DIMC just watched me break a law,” Victoire whispered, ignoring Albus.

Albus looked at her like she’d grown a third head. “Our parents break stupid laws all the time! Hell, Aunt Hermione expanded my trunk!”

Victoire turned her head slowly. Her cold stare bore into his soul. “She what?”

Albus gulped.

“I’ve been trying to convince her to do that for years. I’ve even tried to do it myself.”

“And?”

“I couldn’t get the Concealing Charm down. Why d’you think I had to go get a new trunk last summer?” she asked sourly.

Albus’s mouth went dry. “I’m going to leave.”

“Do that,” said Victoire. “I need a moment.”

Albus pried himself out of the situation as Victoire looked around for her own friends. He moved along the side of the train, searching for his parents, this time. He needed to say goodbye before—

The whistle blared twice, indicating that the train would leave in a minute. Albus’s hands grew sweaty and he started breaking into a jog. He couldn’t just leave without saying anything. Albus straightened his back, trying to look over the crowd, but he could hardly make out any faces. Suddenly, a distant voice calling his name prickled at his ears, and he turned to find its source.

The voice grew louder as Albus reached the front of the train. It was his mother standing next to the tracks, calling out with her hands cupped around her mouth. “Albus!”

“Mum!” Albus exclaimed, pushing out of the crowd.

Ginny swept him up into a hug and placed a kiss on his head. “Don’t try and leave without saying bye to your mother!”

“I wasn’t trying to!” Albus insisted. “I got lost. Where’s Dad?” he asked. “I wanted to tell him something!”

“They were looking for you—”

The train’s whistle came again, this time short but intense.

Ginny exhaled sharply. “I don’t think we have enough time to find them.”

Albus bounced on the balls of his feet and pursed his lips, frustrated.

Ginny smiled softly and pulled Albus into another hug. “It’s alright. Just go, I’ll tell them you said goodbye.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

Albus felt bad as his mother broke their embrace and told him to go. He grabbed the railing to the first entrance and heaved himself up just as the wheels began turning. Albus had a perfect view of the crowd, now, and as though the universe had heard him, Harry’s face became visible at the very back of the platform.

Albus mustered all he could to yell out. “Dad!”

Harry’s head snapped upwards and his eyes met his son’s. He smiled, looking relieved, and waved enthusiastically.

Albus waved back, but he stopped as the wind pushed up the front of Harry’s hair. He could see the lightning scar clear as day, like it were drawn in permanent marker on his dad’s forehead. Albus’s hand hung awkwardly in the air as the train pulled out of the station. Maybe it was best he hadn’t asked about horcruxes.

 

*     *     *

 

Rose was the first person Albus found, and she led him back to the compartment where the rest of their friends sat. Albus spent most of the journey listening to his music and playing chess against Finn, who still didn’t seem to understand the rules. Talia, meanwhile, goaded Scorpius into buying one of everything off the sweets trolley, and the compartment started gradually drowning in boxes and wrappers.

Talia and Rose briefly left the compartment as they neared Hogwarts to allow the boys to change first. Albus shoved his MP3 player beside his wand and threaded the earbuds through his robes and out the collar. A resigned feeling that the MP3 player would cease to work when they reached Hogsmeade set in as he, Finn, and Scorpius conceded the compartment to the girls. Albus did his best to hang onto the little glimmer of hope that remained as the train pulled into the station and his music continued to play. He turned the volume down so it was just audible.

Mister Greywater directed them to the carriages instead of the boats. They had to walk down a dirt path and wait in line with the other students for a while, but before long the five reached the front of the queue and were directed to a carriage of their own.

Scorpius eyed the space before the carriage as they settled in. “My dad told me about these, but I didn’t know they’d look so… creepy.”

“About what?” Albus asked, following his gaze.

“The thestrals,” Scorpius said.

“Thestrals?” Rose stood up in alarm, but she stumbled and was pulled back into her seat as the carriage began moving. “That’s what pulls the carriages?”

Scorpius nodded. “I can see them.”

Rose looked prepared to go off on an explanatory tangent, but she shut her mouth after Scorpius’s comment.

Finn glanced between the two. “What am I missing here?”

Scorpius’s kept his eyes on front of the carriage as it wound its way up the path. “Thestrals are these black, skeletal horses with wings. You can only see them if you’ve witnessed death.”

The other four remained silent. The music playing in Albus’s ears felt disrespectful given the implication of his friend’s statement; he pulled his earbuds out and hung them around his neck. Nothing could be heard but the squeaking and rattling of the carriage on the path. For some reason, a horrid fascination crept into Albus’s mind. Who?

Scorpius read the looks on his friends’ faces when he finally peeled his gaze away from the thestrals. “My mother. I know you’re all wondering.”

Talia shook her head. “We’re not—”

“It’s okay, Talia. It’s natural.” Scorpius wrung his hands. “I was eight. She had this genetic disease. Like a magical cancer. It burned through her fast. But she was strong until the end. It hit my father hard. We only have each other, now.” He nodded to himself. “I tell myself I’m over it. I am, for the most part. But… I don’t think the pain will ever go away. It’s alright, though. I guess she’s in a better place, now.”

Another beat of silence. Albus wanted to tell the students laughing in the carriage ahead of them to shut up. His fingers twitched. It wasn’t right that someone like Scorpius was subject to something like that.

Rose looked remorseful, like she was reevaluating her prior reservations towards Scorpius and his father. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled sadly. “She probably wouldn’t want to see me getting academically thrashed by a Weasley, anyways.”

Rose looked horrified. “I didn’t mean for anything by—”

“It’s alright,” Scorpius said, waving his hands. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

The conversation between the five friends bled back to a mundane normal after another few moments of awkward silence. Talia was explaining to Scorpius the concept of a television holiday special when the carriage rumbled.

Scorpius stood in alarm and hung onto the rails for support as he looked out at the thestrals. “They look anxious.”

“Anxious?” Albus questioned, standing up himself.

Another rumble shook their carriage, but this one was powerful enough to propel the back wheels a couple centimeters into the air. The trees on either side crackled as though they were threatening to snap in two, and the lanterns along the side of the road flickered. The five shrieked as the carriage suddenly stopped. The rumbling went on less intensely for a couple more seconds before settling. The laughing from the students ahead was farther, now, for their carriage had moved entirely out of their field of vision.

Scorpius descended the steps quickly and ran in front of the carriage. “It’s alright!” He held his hands out and made a calming kind of gesture. “It’s stopped, it’s okay!” He was obviously trying to calm the thestrals, but to Albus and the others it simply looked odd. Scorpius sent a worried look to the others. “They’re frightened.”

“What happened?” Someone’s voice rang out from the carriage behind them. “Why are we stopped?”

“We don’t know!” Albus responded. The carriage was too far away to make out who was inside, but their voices were clear enough. “Try and get help from further down!”

The person directed their voice the other way, and Albus could hear the echoes of voices passing further and further down the path as he and his friends stepped out of the carriage.

Albus went straight to the back wheel, wondering if they had run over a rough patch of road. He frowned. “Something weird happened here.”

A single raised strip of the path was some ways behind them, like a giant speed bump. It ran across the entire path and beyond, extending further into the forest on either side. It was large enough that Albus could’ve sworn he’d have noticed it ahead of them before. But as Finn came to his side to take a look for himself, something weirder started happening.

The bump crawled forwards, and the trees began crackling again. The ground beneath their feet started rumbling as it advanced. It was like a wave rolling onto the beach, except it showed no signs of stopping.

“Get back!” Albus yelled, putting out his arm.

Finn shrieked as he and Albus scrambled backwards. “The road is moving! It’s moving!”

“What?” Rose asked, a disbelieving look on her face until she spotted the movement over Finn’s shoulder. Her eyes widened. “What is that?”

“Move!” Albus insisted, roughly grabbing Rose’s hand. “Come on!”

Scorpius grunted in frustration as he tried handling the skeletal horses. “The thestrals don’t want to move! They’re panicking, bad!”

“We can’t leave them here!” Talia exclaimed, turning to Scorpius. “Can you untie them?”

“Already on it,” Scorpius said, drawing his wand. “Relashio!” He stumbled away and moved his head up in fascination. “They bailed pretty quick!”

“We should do the same!” Finn suggested, fully turning to run forwards. “It’s getting faster!”

The five broke into a run. Albus looked back over his shoulder in fascinated terror.

The rolling ridge crashed into the back wheels of the cart again, but this time it sent the carriage flying. The thing flipped forwards and landed upside down, and it creaked and groaned loudly as the ridge dragged it further down the path. Lanterns fell off their posts and shattered, but their flames kept burning as the ridge pushed their remains forward.

To Albus’s horror, the ridge was growing. It was getting taller fast, and soon it was almost a meter high. “It’s getting bigger!”

“What d’you mean ‘it’s getting bigger?!’” Rose yelled, her words thick with panic.

“He means it’s getting taller!” Scorpius exclaimed, having looked back, as well. “It’s too tall to jump over!”

Heavy thuds joined the crackling from the forest as the ridge presumably started uprooting trees entirely. Finn and Talia were a few lengths ahead of the other three, and they called out to try and reach the carriage in front of them.

And then, so abruptly it was almost comical, the rumbling stopped entirely. A couple trees continued to fall a ways off into the forest, but Albus looked back and slowed his run after finding that the ridge had entirely disappeared.

“It’s gone!” he said.

They all slowed down, panting in relief and looking back with dubious expressions. Between two standing lanterns holding blue flame laid the overturned and mangled carriage, along with copious amounts of glass interspersed with flickers of still burning orange embers. The wreckage formed an entirely straight line between the two posts that simply couldn’t be a coincidence.

A few trees had fallen crookedly onto the path behind them, which was now lumpy and pockmarked from the amount of dirt the ridge had displaced. One of the trees lay just behind the carriage, and its thick trunk blocked off the entire path.

“Can anyone hear me?” Mister Greywater’s amplified voice rang out from further down the path. “Send up sparks if you can!”

Rose raised her wand and spoke an incantation Albus didn’t recognize. A shower of pink sparks rocketed from the end of her wand, rising into the air above tree level before fading.

“Alright, I see you! Hold tight!”

“That’s a fourth year spell.” Scorpius sounded impressed.

“My mum told me to learn it early,” Rose said, still panting. “Just in case.”

“Good thing you were prepared,” Talia remarked, her hands on her head.

“That was the first time I’ve ever tried it,” said Rose.

“Are you all okay?” Mister Greywater questioned, running around the tree blocking the path and widening his eyes at the sight of the debris. “Anyone hurt?”

“No,” Albus said. “Just winded.”

Mister Greywater looked like he wasn’t quite sure what to say. “What happened?”

“The road started moving,” Finn responded.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s not kidding,” Talia said. “It was like a wave rolling up the path. It was getting faster and taller, but it just… stopped.”

“Bloody hell.” Mister Greywater looked between them and the carnage. “You five are lucky you made it here in time.”

“Here?” Albus questioned.

Mister Greywater had a grim expression on his face. He pointed along the line of debris, from one of the blue lanterns to the other. “This follows the magical boundary around the castle.”

 

*     *     *

 

The five were taken up to the castle immediately. The other carriages were issued a stop order, and Albus saw a couple seething glances from the carriages they passed come his way as Mister Greywater escorted them down the path.

At Albus’s encouragement, Rose attempted to text her parents about what had happened. Her phone simply refused to work, and its screen remained resolutely dark. Albus soured, and in his gloom forgot about his MP3 player, tucked deep into his robe pocket.

The bridge to the courtyard was completely empty. The mountains loomed overhead, and their blackness against the navy sky was intimidating. The stars above were concealed by a thick layer of clouds, and the warm glow that emanated from the open doors felt like an inviting promise of security.

Albus cast a glance at the statue of the Architect as he passed. It’s golden luster matched the color of the candlelight so well that it appeared to almost camouflage into the recess just near the door. It was a damn good hiding spot for a secret chamber.

Mister Greywater silently swept them past the Great Hall. The buzz of chatter within eked out, but it faded as the five were led into the stairwell and up two floors. They rounded the corner, but Mister Greywater held out his arm and brought them to a stop.

Albus sucked in a breath. It was the bronze gargoyle that he had passed when he tried chasing Neville earlier that year. The statue was three meters tall with wings that curled around the interior of the cylindrical well it sat in.

Mister Greywater cleared his throat. “Te auxilium rogo.

The gargoyle curtly nodded its head.

Mister Greywater turned to the five of them. “This might be a tight fit, but I need you to crowd between the gargoyle’s wings.”

The statue seemed to hear Mister Greywater’s words, and it unfurled its wings further. The interior stretched to accommodate, and the passage widened to three times its original size.

Mister Greywater scratched his head. “Well, I didn’t know it could do that. Get on in, then.”

Albus looked up as he entered. The flat ceiling was high above, maybe by an entire floor. Suspended on the wall was a solitary wooden door, with no indication of how to get in. Mister Greywater brought up that rear, and as soon as he stepped fully between the gargoyle’s wings, the ground started rising.

The gargoyle turned, and the platform they were on turned with it. Albus whipped his head around. Slabs the size of the platform they were riding upwards were appearing out of the floor. Their spiraling stopped smoothly, but now they were facing the door from before. Mister Greywater knocked twice before opening the door and ushering them inside.

The room was wide at the front, and it arced inwards to the back, like a semicircle. Bisecting the room was a curved staircase with thin steps under a row of three ribbed arches. Trophy cases and shelves of trinkets lined the walls before the steps, and near the right side of the steps was a massive, marble fireplace. Above the arches hung tens of portraits, displaying a wide variety of witches and wizards who scrutinized them as they entered.

Beyond the steps stood Headmaster Helios, stooped over and poring over an open book on his desk. His beard was shaggier than it had been at the end of term, and he was wearing a set of dark purple robes. His head turned as Mister Greywater closed the door behind them.

“Headmaster,” said Mister Greywater, “we have a situation.”

“I imagined,” said Helios. “Phyllida saw you all going past the Great Hall.”

One of the portraits, presumably Phyllida, nodded her head.

“I was just getting ready to head down, but I assume this is urgent.” Helios stood and waved his hand. The book shut closed. “Neville told me you stopped the carriages.” His tone was serious, a far cry from the bumbling, confused demeanor that Albus often associated him with.

“I did.” Mister Greywater glanced between the group of five and the headmaster. “I suggest one of the children explain what happened. I only arrived to see the aftermath.”

Albus instinctually looked at his other friends, but Finn was already opening his mouth to speak. “The road started moving,” he said.

Helios cocked his head. “That could mean a lot of things.”

“It started moving, like, up and fast—”

“There was a kind of ridge,” Rose interrupted. “It rolled up the path and started destroying everything in its way. It even flipped the carriage.”

Helios’s expression morphed into one of alarm. “The carriage?”

“It’s okay, Headmaster,” Scorpius said quietly. “I let the thestrals go.”

“Ah. I appreciate your thoughtfulness.” Helios tilted his head up to look at Mister Greywater. “Who do you think did this?”

“I don’t think anyone did this, Duxe,” Mister Greywater said darkly. Albus hadn’t heard Helios’s given name before; it sounded almost regal. “Neville believes that this has to do with what forest was doing last fall—"

Helios sent Mister Greywater a look. “Please remember your audience, Connor.”

The groundskeeper went quiet. Albus resisted the urge to scream for more information, but Mister Greywater moved up the staircase and whispered urgently into Helios’s ear.

Helios nodded as Mister Greywater stepped back. “We’ll talk after the feast. We can’t keep the carriages stopped like this. Get the students who can’t get past the damage onto the boats.”

“Right away, Headmaster.” Mister Greywater left in a hurry, leaving the five Slytherins standing awkwardly in place.

Helios examined them all as he descended the steps. “Are any of you hurt?”

Albus shook his head, assuming the others did the same.

Helios tsked. “I’m still going to send you down to the Hospital Wing, just in case. Given the delay it looks like we’re about to have, you all should make it back before the feast. I’ll write to your parents tonight, and they’ll have an open invitation to visit if they wish. Do you have anything else to tell me?”

Albus felt the headmaster’s eyes burn into his soul. He gulped as the secret bubbled to the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t tell. But his friends… no, surely they wouldn’t.

“I’m worried about my marks on the finals,” Rose blurted. Her eyes widened and her ears lit up cherry red, as though she herself didn’t expect to say the words.

Helios looked amused. “Well, Miss Granger-Weasley, I daresay you’ll be fine.” He clapped his hands together. “Well, head on down to the Hospital Wing, then. Dilys will know if you don’t.”

“I will,” affirmed a portrait of a witch with curly brown hair. “So you’d best get going.”

Albus’s friends turned to do so, but Albus couldn’t help but latch his eyes onto a portrait towards the center of the others. It depicted an old man with grey, almost white hair, deep blue robes adorned with yellow stars, and a pair of characteristic half-moon spectacles.

Albus’s namesake caught his gaze and winked. “Go on.”

Helios followed Albus’s line of sight, turning and facing the portrait. “Oh. Goodness me, you two haven’t met before, have you?”

“I don’t believe so,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “But perhaps time for meeting is best saved for when one has a full belly.”

Albus felt his stomach rumble on queue. He nodded, not sure how to respond, and turned to follow his friends, who were waiting for him at the door.

 

*     *     *

 

Albus was the first one of his friends cleared by Miss Cordary, the nurse. He was instructed to go straight to the Great Hall, and he did so reluctantly after casting an apologetic glance to his friends. Walking the hallways alone and exposed felt odd. Albus didn’t have the comfort of his Invisibility Cloak, and he felt like the walls themselves were scrutinizing him under the light from the lanterns.

He finally remembered with a jolt that he still had the MP3 player on him, and with a sense of hope Albus popped the earbuds into his ears and hit the play button. Nothing came, not even that horrific siren, and Albus tucked the little device into his robes, just as disappointed as before.

Albus skirted into the Hall quickly, trying to avoid drawing attention. He needn’t have done so; the feast was already in full swing, even after Helios’s claim there would be a delay, and the chatter of conversation drowned out his footsteps. Albus made a beeline for the Slytherin table, hoping he could slide in at the emptier side of the table close to the end of the Hall.

“Albus!” Someone called his name from behind.

Albus cringed and turned; he hadn’t even made it past the beginning of the Slytherin table. “What is it?”

The boy who’d called his name looked familiar. He had dirty blonde hair and a nervous smile on his face. “My name’s Jason. Look, I was the one who called out in the carriage behind you. Are you all okay? I saw what happened.”

Albus placed the boy, now, eyeing the Gryffindor badge on his chest; he looked familiar because Albus often spotted him at Dylan Abbott’s side. “Abbott sent you here to torment me, didn’t he?”

Jason’s smile vanished. “I’m not one of his cronies.”

“You’re always hanging around him.”

Jason sighed. “Look, I didn’t know anyone here except Dylan. His parents are friends with mine.”

“And?”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you understand how hard it is to fit in when you’re the first Gryffindor in your family?”

“Yes.” Albus clenched his jaw. “I’m the first Slytherin in mine.”

Jason grimaced. “Right. Look, I just wanted to say that I hope you’re alright—”

 “And you did.” Albus nodded curtly and turned heel, heading for the Slytherin table.

A fourth year at the end of the table had watched his exchange with the Gryffindor, and he sneered. “I knew you’re not a real Slytherin, Potter.”

Albus was taken aback. “He approached me, I didn’t—”

“Save it. You and Weasley both, we didn’t ask for you.”

“Innit?” another fourth year chimed in. “Go back to your mud house on the hill, why don’t you.”

“Shut up, Zabini,” said Scorpius, who had arrived out of nowhere. He stood just behind Albus, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”

Zabini stood and put his hand flat on the table. “The blood traitor himself. You’re the only embarrassment here, Malfoy.”

“What was that?” Scorpius asked coolly. “I can’t hear you over the shit pouring from your mouth.”

“You little—”

Ethan Healy seemed to appear out of thin air, and his presence forced both Scorpius and Zabini into a tense silence. “Is there a problem?”

“No, Professor,” Scorpius responded, grabbing Albus’s hand. “We were just going to sit.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes and turned to return to his seat without another word.

Scorpius tightened his grip on Albus’s hand. “Let’s go.” He dragged him away, brushing past Zabini. “They’re not worth it.”

“Sure, Malfoy,” Zabini hissed. “Take your boyfriend and run away. Run away, just like your father.”

Scorpius defied his own orders. He let go of Albus’s hand and drew his wand, aiming it squarely at Zabini’s face. “Densaugeo!

Zabini widened his eyes as hit front teeth started stretching. He put his hand to his chin, as if trying to forcibly stop them from growing, but his teeth continued to lengthen as though being pulled by gravity. He seethed, standing and drawing his own wand as his teeth reached his collarbone.

His words whistled between his elongated teeth. “Listen here you little shit—”

Both Scorpius’s and Zabini’s wands flew out of their hands and clattered against the wall.

“What do you two think you’re doing?!” Professor Nyx was standing from halfway across the room, glaring at them. Her tone was furious enough that the entire Hall fell silent. “You’re making an embarrassment of our house!”

The original fourth year who’d antagonized Albus stood and banged his fist on the table. “Potter and his blood traitor cousin already did that when they weaseled their way into our house—”

“ENOUGH!” Helios’s eyes were aflame as he stood from his seat. He looked angry enough to descend from the head table and throw them all out of the castle. “This kind of behavior is despicable! Have you no shame?”

Helios’s words rang out through the Great Hall, echoing until they bled into silence. Albus was frozen in place, petrified by how quickly the situation had escalated. He could feel Helios’s stare burning into him just like before.

Professor Nyx pointed to the doors. “Out. All four of you.”

Scorpius opened his mouth to protest. “But Professor—”

“No excuses!”

Albus walked out the Hall with his head hung. He could practically feel everyone’s stares piercing his back, and goosebumps raced up his arms as he and Scorpius stood on the other side of the entrance from the fourth years.

Nyx wordlessly shut the doors with a flick of her wand, and Zabini raised protest as soon as she did, lisping through his teeth. “Malfoy drew his wand on me—”

“I suggest you stop talking, Cordon.” Nyx’s icy tone was enough to send another chill down Albus’s spine. “You think there’s a defensible reason for picking on first years? Go to the Hospital Wing. We’ll decide your punishment tomorrow. You, too, Seneca.”

Cordon Zabini and his friend Seneca Selwyn trudged away, grumbling under their breaths. But as Albus turned to do the same, Scorpius piped up. “Professor, Albus didn’t do anything—”

“Enough, Scorpius!” Nyx’s eyes were wide. “I didn’t expect this kind of behavior from you, of all people! What would your father say?”

Scorpius clamped his mouth shut, and he looked down at his feet, ashamed.

Nyx saw the effect of her words, and she relented a little. “Letting their words get to you is exactly what they want. Don’t give them the satisfaction.” She let out a breath through her nose. “I understand that you two have been through a lot this evening. But that doesn’t excuse hexing a classmate, and I still need to enforce consequences. Your parents will know about this.” She thought for a moment. “I think it’s better if you two return to your rooms. I’ll have some food sent up. I understand you haven’t eaten yet.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Albus said quickly, turning around again. Scorpius followed his lead, still looking embarrassed.

“Scorpius?” Nyx called.

Scorpius turned his head, meekly meeting her eyes.

“The hex was well cast.”

 

Chapter 14: Extended Leave

Chapter Text

 

 

Albus fully expected to be greeted by the sight of his mother the next morning, but as he pushed open the door he instead found his father talking to Professor Helios. Goosebumps washed over Albus’s arms, and for once, he wasn’t sure if he was glad to see his father.

Harry turned and took a hard look at his son before sighing. “No offense, Al, but I wasn’t hoping to see you so soon.” He moved forward and placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Duxe told me about last night. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Albus muttered. “I don’t even really know what happened.”

“We’re figuring that out, too,” Helios affirmed. “We’ll let you both know when we do.”

“Your safety is paramount,” said Harry, peering at his son concernedly. “But we need to talk about the other thing, too.”

“It’s not what you think.” Albus met his father’s eyes, hoping he’d believe him.

“That’s what everyone tends to say in this kind of situation,” Helios commented, his arms folded. “What made you act like you did, Albus?”

“You didn’t hear?” Albus asked drily. “Zabini called us all blood traitors.”

“That’s no excuse,” Harry said. “You know we get those comments all the time—"

“Not just us. Scorpius, too.”

“Scorpius? Scorpius Malfoy?” Harry demanded.

“Yeah. He’s my friend.”

Harry stayed silent. “Why didn’t you tell me this over break?”

Helios sensed the private nature of the conversation Albus and his father were having, and he moved further away.

“You were at work most of the time.” Albus looked down. “It wasn’t important.”

Harry knelt down. “Albus…” He hesitated. “Whatever animosity Draco Malfoy and I had for each other is irrelevant. We were kids, just like you and these people you’re arguing with.”

“But you weren’t in the same house.”

“No, we weren’t.” Harry glanced behind him at Helios, making sure he wasn’t listening in. “Duxe is hard on you because he has to be,” he whispered. “It’s his job. He can’t be partial to you, even if you think you’re on the right side, here.”

“But—”

“I think you are too,” Harry insisted, causing his son to fall into a stunned silence. “I do, really. Scorpius defended you, he didn’t instigate. And I imagine the punishment will reflect that, hmm? How much detention did you get?”

“Two weeks,” Albus mumbled.

“And Zabini and his friend?”

“A month and a half.”

“There you have it.” Harry smiled and shook Albus’s shoulders slightly. “Chin up, Al. I had to serve more detentions than James in my years here.”

“Really?”

“Well, the circumstances were a little different, but yeah.” Harry set his jaw. “I need you to understand that I understand you, Albus. Your detention is punishment enough, I don’t need to scold you.” Harry lowered his voice again. “I would have done the same thing as Scorpius, anyways.”

Albus couldn’t help but let a little smile slip. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You tell me if something like this happens again, alright? I want to know, Albus. It matters to me.”

“Okay.”

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Albus wanted to push Harry’s hair out of his face to see if the scar was still there. “No,” he said quietly.

“Alright.” Harry stood up and raised his voice back to normal volume. “I better not see you until June,” he warned.

“You won’t.”

“Good.”

 

*     *     *

 

The days started bleeding together as the schoolwork’s intensity kicked into high gear. Albus and the others had made routine of  spending the time between the end of classes and dinner in an empty classroom on the third floor, where they pored over textbooks to wrap their heads around the spell work.

Scorpius was called up to the Headmaster’s Office on Friday to speak to his father, but he reported that he’d gotten largely the same treatment.

“He doesn’t socialize much with the Pureblood community anymore,” Scorpius explained. “I can’t blame him. We went to maybe one function when I was ten, and they’re all elitist arseholes.”

Zabini’s teeth went back to normal within two days, and he spun a biased version of the story to nearly all of the Slytherin Purebloods. Now, whenever Albus and his friends spent time in the common room or walked in the corridors, they received more malicious stares from members of their own house than they did Gryffindors.

The hostility was so severe that Albus started venturing out under the Cloak nightly again, for the halls at night were quiet and free of the daytime distractions. The Chamber became a place of familiarity for Albus, to such a point that there were some nights he fell asleep on one of the armchairs reading a book. Though the air of magic in its secrecy remained, the Chamber felt more regular than ever.

Albus’s nightly activities withered his sleep schedule and tanked some of his grades, especially in Herbology. His “near-prodigal” work from the first term was nowhere to be found; and yet, Neville himself was too distracted to care.

The man looked to be operating on just as little rest as Albus. Even though the Slytherins had Herbology midday, Neville would show up disheveled and half asleep ninety percent of the time. Albus’s suspicious mind looked for a way to tie Neville’s state to the exchange between Mister Greywater and Headmaster Helios, but even Finn and Scorpius dismissed him out of hand.

“You’re looking for a connection that isn’t there!” Scorpius insisted on one afternoon when Albus had corralled the boys into the dormitory to rant about his theories.

Albus was pacing. “Look, if there’s a problem with the forest, it would correlate to Neville’s concerns at the beginning of term. Maybe something from the outside is trying to get in through the forest? Whatever it is stopped at the entrance to the grounds, it couldn’t get through the shield. But I was right last time,” he added as Scorpius began to retort. “About the Architect’s Chamber. About the siren being a homing beacon.”

“That was lucky! There was a minute percentage of a chance that you could be right—”

“But I was, I was right!”

“Is this about your dad and the horcrux thing?” Scorpius asked quietly.

Albus had told only Scorpius and Finn about what he’d read in that French book, but he was regretting it, now. “No,” Albus said stubbornly. “Look, what if this forest thing is important, more important than school?”

“You can’t worry about important stuff if you get kicked out of Hogwarts for flunking exams,” posited Finn from where he laid on his bed.

Albus stopped and glared at him. “When did you become studious?”

“I’m not. Rose yelled at me today.”

“About what?”

Finn stuck his arm straight up into the air. “I found this at breakfast this morning.”

Albus snatched the piece of parchment out of his hands. It was a crude map of part of the castle. Its creator wasn’t a good artist, and the thing looked like a failed attempt at a diagram. “What’s this?”

“I think it’s showing how to get somewhere.”

Scorpius stood and peered over Albus’s shoulder. He wrinkled his nose, making a confused face. “Where?”

“Somewhere on the basement floor, I think.”

“How did you figure that out?” Albus questioned, rotating the paper to see if he had it upside down.

“It says it.”

“Where?”

Finn grumbled and heaved himself off his bed. He pointed his finger to a scribble near the edge of the paper. “Here. It says basement.”

Albus’s head hurt. “No, it doesn’t!”

Finn scoffed. “Are you two blind?” He shook his head and flopped back onto his bed. “Idiots.”

At Rose’s insistence after he received a T on a plant identifying quiz, Albus decided to try killing two proverbial birds with one proverbial stone. Rose still refused to even talk about the Chamber around Albus. Remorse wrapped around him every time he visited the hidden tower, though he supposed that was Rose’s intent in refusing to discuss it. It took an entire week of convincing, but Rose finally agreed to spend a single night studying in the Chamber (“one night, that’s it!”) after Albus persuaded Scorpius to tempt her with the prospect of a secret library.

The fifteen minute journey under the Cloak was decidedly uncomfortable. Rose made noises of displeasure the entire time, and Albus feared she would give them away. He pressed his Cloaked hand against the wall behind the Architect’s statue and heard his cousin let out a small gasp as it folded away. “It’s like Diagon Alley,” she whispered. “You think that’s where he got the idea?”

“Maybe,” said Scorpius. “How old is Diagon Alley?”

“I dunno,” said Albus, smirking smugly. “But wait until you see the inside, Rose.” Albus balled the Cloak into a bundle and led her up the stairs. “What d’you think?” he asked, pushing open the door atop the landing.

“I don’t like it here,” she responded. “It feels… off.”

But her eyes betrayed her words, and they darted around in wonder. Rose dropped the pretense of hesitancy altogether when she stepped into the Chamber. She looked up and spun around, taking in the sights as Scorpius dumped the books he’d brought with him out on the table.

“Why did you have to suck at the most boring subject, Al?” Scorpius complained, flipping open the one on top.

“It’s not that boring,” Rose said defensively, still slowly spinning in a circle.

“I’m not slighting Professor Longbottom or anything,” said Scorpius, “but you must admit that studying plants isn’t particularly appealing in a world of magic.”

Rose said nothing as she came to a gentle stop. She ran her fingers along the fabric of an armchair. “I imagine this is what your house looks like, Scorpius.”

Scorpius laughed. “I wish. Malfoy Manor is much more… grey. And black. And brown.”

Albus deposited the Cloak out onto the same armchair Rose was studying. “What do you want me to do?” he sighed.

“We’re going to do a lot of memorization,” Rose warned. “You’d best pay attention.”

Albus didn’t pay attention. Rose was irate only ten minutes into their study session, but Albus simply couldn’t wrap his head around the torrent of terms that came his way. He began making up answers, and by the time he incorrectly identified a picture of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia as “Dylan Abbott’s giant head,” Rose was fed up.

“Albus!” she reprimanded.

“Look, I just can’t do it!” said Albus, frustrated himself.

“You don’t have a choice!”

“Actually,” said a nervous Scorpius, “you might.”

Albus stared at him blankly. “Really?”

“Maybe.” Scorpius flipped through his notebook. “D’you remember what Neville said about the final exam at the beginning of term?”

“No,” Rose and Albus both said.

Albus looked at his cousin like she’d grown a third head. “No?”

Rose looked down in her lap. “I was distracted trying to copy the notes off the board.”

“Well, I wrote it down,” said Scorpius. The lilt in his voice indicated he was glad that he finally knew something Rose didn’t. “He said that identification would be twenty percent of the exam, alongside thirty percent theory and fifty percent practical.” Scorpius shifted to face the other two. “If Albus just focuses on the theory and the practical, he might not need to memorize anything.”

“But that feels a little… disingenuous,” said Rose.

“That doesn’t sound like something a Slytherin would say,” said Albus with a sly grin.

Rose shot him a glare.

“It’s the best we can do,” continued Scorpius. “Even with the theory, Albus needs to answer thirty-three percent of that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rose questioned, trying to follow along.

“Thirty-three percent of thirty percent is ten percent. If he gets ten percent of the marks from the theory portion and full points for the practical, he still passes with an Acceptable.”

Albus shook his head. “Mate, this is just as hard to process as the memorization.”

Scorpius held his hands out. “Focus on practical. If you do that, you learn some theory along the way. Then you pass.”

“That’s brilliant!”

“It is quite smart,” Rose admitted.

“Am I free, then?”

Rose looked down despondently at the tens of notecards spread across the desk. “I suppose.”

“Thank god.” Albus was prepared to ask Rose what she thought of the Chamber, but she was already distracted again.

“Are the books up there?” she asked, turning to Scorpius.

“Yeah,” said Scorpius offhandedly.

Rose threw a precursory glance at Albus before making her way to the wrought iron staircase that led up to the loft.

Albus pushed his Cloak to the side and flopped onto the chair next to it. “I told you, Rosie. It’s a bookworm’s paradise.”

Scorpius whispered to Albus as Rose perused the shelves. “Have you told her?” Scorpius asked. “About horcruxes?”

“No. Why?” Albus stiffened. “It’s nothing, anyways. No need for her to worry.”

 

*     *     *

 

For the entire following week, Rose didn’t chastise Albus about the Chamber. It was a small victory in his mind, and it did away with most of the guilt associated with his nightly visits. But that thought continued to tickle the back of Albus’s mind, the thought that the professors were trying to subdue some invisible threat. It was like picking at a scab that had no intention of coming off.

Sometime around the end of February, Albus had settled into a routine with some semblance of regularity. Rose refused to give Albus her notes, insisting he do the work himself, but Albus simply received them from Talia, who copied Rose’s notes, anyways. His nights spent in the Chamber dwindled to once a week; it seemed his body refused to function without at least five hours of sleep a day.

It was on a Friday morning after one of these weekly visits that Albus found himself stretching awake on an armchair, yawning as the sunlight washed over his face. He blinked sleepily and stared out the window. The sun had crested the snow-dotted mountains, and its light shone down the face of the valley onto the Black Lake. The sight was quiet and peaceful enough to make Albus want to drift off again… until he realized what he was looking at.

Sunlight.

He cursed, throwing himself off the chair and grabbing the Cloak. The fabric hugged his shoulders as he furiously descended the steps, but he stopped before touching his Cloak-covered hand to the door. There might be people outside, people who would spot him…

As if the solid wall could read his mind, a small, Albus-sized door opened silently before him. It was entirely concealed from view behind the Architect.

Albus scrambled outside and hid behind the base of the statue, throwing the Cloak over himself and peeking out from the side. The corridor before the Great Hall was empty. He tiptoed around the base of the statue before breaking out into a run.

Albus ran in a kind of squat to reduce the noise his shoes made over the stone halls. He knew he must have looked ridiculous, but the Cloak thankfully hid his ridiculousness from any passerby.

He hurried into the staircase hall; he needed to get his bag from the dorm. But halfway down a staircase that led directly to the Slytherin common room entrance, Albus’s foot went directly past a step that was supposed to be there.

He plummeted face forward and smacked into the staircase as his leg dangled between two steps. It was intensely painful, and it knocked the wind out of Albus. He wheezed as he tried to get up and a step dug into his stomach. Albus wasn’t able to get enough of a grip to prise himself out before the staircase started moving.

He sure as hell understood what a Vanishing step was, now.

Albus grunted and wriggled out of the painful situation as the staircase stopped rotating. It was pointing the opposite way now, but Albus couldn’t be bothered to wait for the staircase to return to its original position. He scrambled down the rest of the steps, pushing through the searing pain in his ankle as he took the long way around to the dormitory.

The common room opened after Albus whispered the password into the wall. He darted inside amidst the scraping, causing a curious sixth year prefect sitting near the entrance to peer out and call, “who’s there?”

Albus froze in place against the inside of the passageway as the prefect stood and investigated the door, looking around either which way before shrugging and allowing the door to close. Albus moved slowly as the prefect returned to their seat, edging past the tables and chairs to the steps leading up to his dormitory.

He opened the door carefully and spotted his bag on top of his neatly folded sheets. Attached to it was a lovely note in Scorpius’s handwriting:

 

Wake up and get back here before class next time, idiot. Don’t forget your essay for Transfiguration.

 

Magically pasted to the note was a breath mint that Albus immediately shoved into his mouth. The sticky feeling in his mouth vanished as mint rushed through his sinuses and sent cool tingles down his spine; it was evidently enchanted.

“Thank you, Scorpius,” he muttered, stooping to check he had his essay.

The clock on his bedside read 9:08. He had already missed most of Potions. Albus left the dormitory in a hurry, not wanting to waste any more time.

The prefect jumped out of her chair when Albus opened the door again, waving her wand aimlessly at the open passage. “Whoever you are, this isn’t funny!” she called, but Albus was already halfway down the corridor outside.

Albus adjusted the Cloak turned the corner to the staircase hallway, but stopped short and jumped back before running smack into Neville and Mister Greywater.

Albus flattened himself against the wall as Neville frowned. “Did you hear something?”

“Might be one of the cats,” Mister Greywater responded, looking around the corner and directly at the wall where Albus was. “They like it down here.”

“Sure.” Neville’s derisive face held for a second before he relaxed and turned back around the corner. “What was I saying?”

The rational part of Albus’s brain screamed for him to get to class, but Albus clung to the wall and tried not to make a sound.

Neville spoke in a hushed voice. “Look, this has been a repeated issue for the majority of last term. I don’t think this is any normal occurrence.”

“What d’you want me to do, then?” Greywater asked.

“Duxe doesn’t think we can do much, but I have a theory. Meet me down at my office this evening, I’ll show you.”

“Does this have to do with what happened to—”

“Not here,” Neville whispered. “Later.”

“Why not just tell me? You and Duxe have been very secretive.”

Albus could imagine Neville’s grim face as he spoke. “If you aren’t aware, Harry Potter owned an Invisibility Cloak while he went to Hogwarts.”

Albus’s eyes widened, and he forced himself to stop breathing altogether.

“And?” Greywater pressed. “You think one of his children has it now?”

“I do. I think Harry would want his kids to get up to a healthy level of rebellion.”

Greywater sounded concerned. “Should I tell the prefects to keep an eye out at night? James gets up to enough mischief on his own as is.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s necessary. Just make sure nothing gets out of hand. If James decides to do something rash in the future, I suppose we have leverage. Though I’m quite sure Harry would have given the Cloak to Albus.”

“And this pertains to what you have to tell me, how?”

Neville chuckled. “Call me paranoid, Connor, but I don’t want one of the Potter children sticking their noses into serious business. That family has had enough trouble for nineteen lifetimes.”

Albus left before he could hear the end of the conversation. He wanted to laugh at the severe irony of the situation, but now a little part of his brain was terrified that Neville would begin popping out from corners to snatch the Cloak off his head. Of course he knows… he and dad were close friends at school, he’s probably even used it before… And what was Mister Greywater saying? What happened to who?

 He prepared to take the Cloak off as he approached the Potions classroom on the same dungeon level, but froze as the electronic bell sounded from the loudspeaker in the corner. The echoes from the other speakers in the dungeon filled the corridor as first years streamed out of the Potions classroom. Albus flattened against the wall again, and in the commotion pulled the Cloak off his head.

No one noticed the sudden appearance of an eleven-year-old boy in the dungeons, and Albus stuffed the Cloak into his bag. He spotted his friends huddled together in front of the classroom door and waved. They didn’t see him. Talia and Finn were at the front whispering to one another, and Albus sidled over trying to scare them.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

Talia shrieked and accidentally hit Albus square on the nose. “Sorry!” she said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” said Albus, rubbing his nose.

 “You bloody idiot!” Rose’s voice came high and shrill from behind. Albus turned, but her look on her face was so irate that he wished he were still under the Invisibility Cloak. Rose lunged forward and smacked Albus on the shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Albus muttered.

“Like the mint?” Talia asked lightly. “It was my idea.”

“It worked a charm,” said Albus, still feeling the aftereffects of the mint as he spoke.

“I got some from Diagon Alley over the holiday. My parents can’t get enough of that place, they’re fascinated.”

“Did you remember your essay?” asked Scorpius.

“Yeah, thanks to that note.” Albus patted his rucksack.

Rose stared at Talia and Scorpius with a bewildered expression on her face. “You aren’t going to say anything else about his deplorable behavior?”

“Chin up, Rosie,” said Finn, thumping Albus on the back. “He missed a quiz, he’ll get the due consequences.”

Albus blanched. “I missed a quiz?”

Quizzes and essays made up more than half of their Potions grade, largely because of Nyx’s unorthodox approach to homework. Missing one would be brutal on his grade.

“You did, Mister Potter.” Professor Nyx was standing at the door. She raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Don’t the rest of you have class?”

His friends shared a precursory glance at Albus before wordlessly heading down the corridor.

Albus squirmed in place as Nyx’s discerning eye studied him. “I’m not sure that sleeping through class is behavior that reflects the values of Slytherin house.”

“Erm…”

“Meet me here tomorrow morning, seven-thirty sharp. I’ll let you make up the grade. You will not receive another handout, understand?”

Albus’s tense shoulders fell. “Yes, of course. Thank you, Professor.”

“Fully expect it to be much more difficult than the one your friends took today,” Nyx warned. “I know you children, and sharing answers won’t help you here. Though I suspect that you’ll manage.” Nyx frowned as Albus stood in place, nodding awkwardly. “You don’t plan on missing another class, do you? Get a move on!”

Albus stammered out a final word of gratitude and turned to follow his friends, who had already turned the corner to the stairwell. He trailed them up the stairs, stepping cautiously, and caught up to them in the corridor beyond.

“You lot left me!” said Albus. “What kind of friendship is that?”

“What did you want us to do?” Rose questioned as they approached the Transfiguration classroom on the ground floor. “Take the quiz for you?”

“If you offered to, I certainly wouldn’t object—” Albus fell silent as Rose shot him an icy glare.

“She’s not happy,” commented Finn.

“I can tell,” said Albus, shoving Finn into the classroom when he turned to make another smart comment. But the two met a wall of bodies clustered around the front door, and Albus stopped short of smacking into someone for the second time that morning.

Something about the classroom was wrong. The ceilings were lower than normal, much lower, and there was less light coming through the windows. Albus frowned and looked to the back of the class, but all of the steps that they normally used as seating were gone.

“What’s happening?” Finn asked no one in particular.

“Professor M isn’t here,” responded a Ravenclaw girl near them.

Albus and Finn shared a look as the crowd began filing in. The floor was almost entirely full of desks, and the two boys joined the other Slytherin boys at the back of the classroom. Rose and Talia were only sitting a few rows away, conversing with Minnie and the same Ravenclaw girl who’d answered Finn’s question, but Albus was glad he didn’t have to deal with his cousin’s biting attitude for the time being.

“So.” Scorpius clicked his tongue. “What… what do we do?”

Minghao put his feet up on the desk and leaned back, a scene reminiscent of what Finn had tried in Nyx’s class at the beginning of the school year. “Who cares?” he said.

“I mean, there isn’t anything on the board,” Barry stammered. “I don’t see what we’d do even if we wanted to do something.”

“I’ve got an idea!” said Finn, placing his fists on the table. “Truth or dare, but if you lie you get hexed.”

Scorpius looked horrified. “No!”

“How would you even tell if someone was lying?” Minghao questioned.

Finn grinned. “That’s the fun of it!”

“If you want to hex someone, go hex Abbott,” said Albus. “No point wasting a good hex on your friends.”

The boys made their own amusement by drawing lines in midair with their wands and playing hangman. Talia joined them soon after, as did a couple Ravenclaws, and their six person game soon turned into a class-wide affair that necessitated relocating the drawings to the front of the room.

 “That’s too many letters!” Minghao complained after Felix drew so many lines they covered the length of the room.

“It’s only twenty-eight!” said Felix.

Rose counted them out with her finger, muttering under her breath before speaking aloud. “D.”

Felix tapped his wand to the fifth blank, and the letter appeared.

“Antidisestablishmentarianism.”

Felix gawked and spluttered. “How did you know?”

“There are only so many words that are twenty-eight letters long!”

“You try, Gore,” Talia suggested, turning to him.

Gore said nothing for a moment before lumbering up to the board. Felix cleared a wide berth as Gore replaced the blanks with seven of his own.

Minghao guessed first. “L!”

“Why would you do L first?” Scorpius demanded.

Gore wrote two L’s.

“I rescind my statement,” said Scorpius weakly.

“E!” said Albus. He cursed as Gore shook his head and drew a circle under the rope.

 “Language!” Rose chastised.

“A,” Barry offered. There was one A, right at the beginning.

Finn slapped Scorpius on the arm. “You’re slacking, Malfoy. Guess something.”

“I,” Scorpius suggested. No dice.

Another three incorrect guesses passed before Harold Ramsey, a Ravenclaw whom Albus suspected was named after his father, scored two O’s. But then, as Finn opened his mouth and yelled “X!” at the top of his lungs, the door flew open.

A short old woman with stubby legs waddled through the door, carrying a folder under her arm. She wore a putrid green cardigan and had wispy, grey hair that looked like a cloud of mist floating about her head.

“Apologies for the lateness,” she said gruffly, Vanishing the markings in the air when she reached the front of the class. “Sit, please.” They did, glancing at one another as the old woman cleared her throat. “My name is Professor Pippinsqueak. I will be your Transfiguration teacher for the foreseeable future.”

There was a moment of silence before the room lit with shouts.

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“Where’s Professor M?”

“Do we still have a final exam?”

“Quiet!” Pippinsqueak shouted, and the class went silent once more. “Who asked if we’re still having a final exam?”

Minghao raised his hand.

“Are you daft, child?”

Minghao lowered his hand.

Albus had asked the second question, and he shifted in his seat as Pippinsqueak sat behind the large desk next to the blackboard. “Now, let me take attendance, we don’t have time for much else today. Atherton, Talia!”

“Here.”

“Carlisle, Juliette!”

“Here,” said the Ravenclaw girl from before.

“Erickson, Barry!” Pippinsqueak continued rattling off names.

“How was my guess?” Finn whispered, looking at Gore expectantly.

“Don’t tell him,” said Scorpius. “You’ll break his heart.”

Gore smirked and spoke with a voice like crunching gravel. “He was right.”

“Score!” Finn said, pumping his fist.

Scorpius blinked. “What in the hell was the word?”

“Axolotl,” said Gore.

“What even is that?”

“A little salamander.”

“Potter, Albus!” said Pippinsqueak.

“Here, Professor.” Albus couldn’t let his question pass unanswered. “Professor—”

“Prince, Finn.”

“Professor, please. What happened to Professor M—”

“Did your parents not teach you not to speak out of turn?” Pippinsqueak demanded.

“Well, they did, Professor, but—”

“What’s your name, child?”

Albus blinked. “You just called it, Professor.”

“I asked for your name, not lip.”

“Albus. Albus Potter.”

“Albus Potter.”

Albus wasn’t sure if this was a form of punishment. “Yes?”

She stared at him for a moment before looking back at her sheet. “Prince, Finn?”

“Here,” said Finn, catching on to Albus’s train of thought, “but—”

“I didn’t remember first years being quite this rude!” Pippinsqueak exclaimed.

Rose shot Albus a look from the front of the class, but Albus ignored her. “Professor, we just want to know what happened,” he pleaded.

Pippinsqueak narrowed her eyes. “Your Transfiguration professor has been temporarily incapacitated. He is on sick leave, and the best we all can do is wish for a speedy and safe recovery. Any. Further. Questions.” She spoke like she was daring Albus to say something.

Albus wanted to ask a hundred more questions, consequences be damned. But he snapped his mouth shut until the end of class ten minutes later, leaving hurriedly as Pippinsqueak’s eyes burned a hole into his back.

Rose had had enough of his antics, and she grabbed Albus roughly by the arm halfway down the corridor. “The first thing you decide to do is antagonize the professor?” she snapped as Albus resisted.

Albus shook her off and whirled around to face her. He had a wild look of panic in his eyes, one that made his friends take a step back. “Don’t you see?” The pieces started falling in place. “It’s all connected! Whatever is going on with the school, it happened to Professor M! He’s gotten sick because of it! I heard Neville and—”

“You shut up, Albus Severus Potter!” Rose’s voice thundered down the corridor. “I have had it with your fantastical delusions—”

“They’re not delusions!” Albus yelled. “I’m not going looney!”

“You think you can stick your wand into business that’s not yours! I’ve had it!” She quite literally put her foot down. “I’m telling the Headmaster about the Chamber.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Yeah? What’s going to stop me?”

A sudden fury rose in him, so great that he ripped his wand out of his pocket. Albus didn’t know where the anger came from, but it felt like it were pouring out his ears and seeping into his feet. “Me,” he said.

Rose pursed her lips, but she didn’t try to draw her wand. She scrunched up her face, like she was trying not to cry. “Have fun playing detective by yourself.” Rose’s words had a sense of finality, and she turned heel and left, marching out of the corridor swiftly.

Albus just watched Rose leave from over the point of his wand. The anger was gone in an instant, and it left a bitter emptiness. Talia had a veiled expression on her face, but she soon left, too. Finn and Scorpius tried to get Albus to move, but he remained standing there, staring at his wand held in midair.

The bell rang.

 

Chapter 15: The Blank Book

Chapter Text

 

 

Albus’s eyes glazed over. He wasn’t really reading the paper in front of him, just looking at it.

 

The basis of the Pocket Locking Charm lies in a variant of the Locking Charm, “Colloportus.” The incantation is “Occludus poke,” but it’s composition is most interesting. While the Locking Charm is entirely derived entirely from Latin, the Pocket Locking Charm adds an adapted Anglo-Saxon noun as a modifier, lending the spell a fundamental difference to—

 

“Albus?” someone asked. “Hello?”

“Yeah.” Albus closed the book. It was Finn. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” said Finn. “I just… when was the last time you went out under the Cloak?”

“A month or so ago,” said Albus.

He hadn’t gone back to the Chamber after that night. He’d flirted with the idea, even going to far as to remove the Cloak from his trunk and cast it over his shoulders, but something stopped him whenever he tried walking out the door to the dormitory.

“Why?” Albus asked.

Finn rubbed his hands together. “I think I’ve found something.”

“Meaning?”

“Remember that piece of parchment I found the other day?”

“The one that’s impossible to read?”

“Sure,” said Finn, his smile unwavering. “I’ve figured it out. Where it goes, I mean.”

Albus instinctively glanced around the common room. It was nearly empty. The minutes left in the day were winding down, and the windows showing the lake outside were dark and murky.

“Is it important?” Albus asked.

“No,” said Finn. “Well, kind of.”

“Even then, don’t worry about it.”

“Consider it my birthday present to you.”

Albus looked at Finn sharply. “You know?”

Finn nodded. “Talia told me. She had the idea to do something, and I suggested this. You almost caught us talking about it a few weeks ago.”

Albus remembered; Talia had hit him on the nose.

“She’ll join us,” said Finn, “if you’re up for it at all.”

Albus felt flattered. He didn’t like advertising his birthday, but his parents had thrown a celebration for his eleventh that was anything but quiet. This would be his first birthday away from home, and the casual nature of it all felt oddly… nice?

Albus hoped things would remain that way for the entire day tomorrow, but it looked like Finn’s knowledge of the events wouldn’t be helping matters.

“Please don’t tell me you’ve planned something big,” said Albus.

“Maybe,” said Finn, a wicked glint in his eye. “We can take the Cloak out tonight, yeah?”

“Sure,” said Albus, feeling thoroughly uneasy.

Albus didn’t bother trying to get some sleep for the next few hours as the common room emptied. Instead, he stared at the Charms book, spending an entire half hour on the Pocket Locking Charm. It wasn’t that he was thinking about something; in fact, it was quite the opposite.

“Oi!”

Albus shifted in the armchair to find Finn standing at the base of the stairs to the boys’ corridors, seemingly holding nothing in his hands.

“I took the liberty of getting it for you,” said Finn, throwing the Cloak at Albus. It landed on his head. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Stop being so loud!” Talia whispered, tiptoeing down the stairs. She was bundled up in a dark green sweater two sizes too big. “You’re going to get us caught.” She pointed a finger at Albus. “I’m only doing this because it’s your birthday.”

“Thanks,” said Albus drily. He stood and shook the Cloak out. “Come on.”

The three made sure their feet were fully concealed before heading out the common room.

Finn had brought the unintelligible map with him, and he guided them through the winding dungeon corridors with ease. “We need to go out to the ground floor and across the castle,” he whispered. “Towards the Hufflepuff common room.”

Albus had rarely been out that side of the castle. “Are there more staircases on that side?”

“Yeah,” Talia whispered. “Finn and I have both scouted that way.”

The three had to awkwardly jump a Vanishing step before leaving the staircase room. The Slytherin dungeons were just off the main stairwell near the Great Hall, so they had to move around the interior corridors to get to the Hufflepuff commons.

Sleep was gnawing at the corner of Albus’s mind. He hadn’t ventured out at night for weeks, and it was taking a toll. It looked like Talia was experiencing the same, for she yawned softly every few minutes.

“Are we there yet?” Albus asked as they rounded another corridor.

“Almost,” said Finn, checking the map.

They made to turn another corner, but heard two prefects talking and hugged the wall.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if the enchantment’s wearing off,” said one.

“Eh, I dunno about that,” the other responded. “It’s, like, a thousand years old.”

“My point exactly!”

“It’s practically sentient. I don’t think it needs to be reenchanted.”

“But what if it’s going looney? It would make sense, given that it put two…”

The Slytherins waited until the prefects’ voices faded out entirely before moving. After another few corners, they came to a grand, wide staircase the length of the corridor leading down to the basement floor. Little golden badger finials lined the top of either bannister. Albus recognized it, for it was just before the rear courtyard that led out to the Quidditch pitch.

“Come on,” said Finn, leading the others down the stairs.

There weren’t very many steps, and the bottom of the staircase opened up into the middle of a corridor. These dungeons weren’t made of grey stone like the Slytherin ones. Instead, they matched the color of the beige brick throughout the rest of the castle. Before them was a series of pillars, like in Roman architecture. Past the columns was a brick wall lit by soft lamps that evidently marked the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.

“Not very secret, is it,” said Albus.

“Nope,” Talia agreed. “But we’re not headed there.”

They turned left towards a hung portrait of fruit. The painting was massive, likely as big as the Architect’s statue near the Great Hall.

“This is what we’re here for,” said Finn.

George’s words from before term came back to Albus, and now he remembered why he’d thought it familiar. “Where did you say you got the map from?” he asked.

“It was on the floor in the Great Hall.” Finn held up a finger as Albus opened his mouth to speak. “Just watch.”

Finn reached out and, after gaining enough leverage, pulled the Cloak off their heads. Talia looked uncomfortable being out in the open, but she didn’t say anything.

“What are you doing?” Albus hissed. “We’ll be seen!”

Finn just continued extending his arm until he touched the painting. His hand brushed the pear near the bottom of the frame. Finn wiggled his fingers, and the pear giggled softly in response.

Albus watched with bated breath as the edge of the painting came undone from the wall. He looked to Finn, who was putting the Cloak over his arm like a bundle of rope.

“What is this place?” asked Albus.

Finn stepped aside and pushed the portrait open with his shoulder. “Come on.”

“It’s fine,” Talia assured as Albus cast a worried look her way. “Finn said he’s gone inside.”

“That still doesn’t give me much confidence,” Albus muttered.

Albus wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered, but he’d once more underestimated Hogwarts’ propensity for the extraordinary. It was a massive kitchen.

The front half of the room looked like something from one of those cooking shows his mother was fond of. The side nearest to them was packed floor to ceiling with stainless steel tables, trays, and shelves, all mounted high with gleaming brass pots.

But farther into the room, the walls changed to a red brick to accommodate an unusual amount of doors in unusual proximity to one another. The doors were all different in color, size, and shape: some were large and daunting, as big as the doors to the Great Hall, even; others were small and quaint, likely designed for the kitchen staff.

The staff in question were elves, all dressed in miniature chefs’ uniforms, complete with hats. There were maybe ten or twenty of them in the room at present, and they bustled around preparing a seemingly endless amount of dishes. A few elves sat on a circle of sofas near the raging brick fire at the far back of the room, and the firelight danced off the silver appliances at the front.

All of the elves immediately looked up when the Slytherins entered. The activity stopped in an instant, and the unnerving silence was so thick that Albus felt an instinct to run out the door and leave.

“Hello again,” Finn said brightly. “These are my friends, Albus and Talia.”

Talia waved. “Hi.”

Albus cleared his throat. “Er, hello.”

One of the elves near the fire wearing an especially tall hat stepped forward, eyes wide. She spoke in a soft, almost reverent voice. “Harry Potter’s son?”

A line of whispers ran through the room as Albus looked down sheepishly. “Yeah.”

The elf broke into a smile. “Harry Potter’s son! Winky is very glad to meet you! Mister Finn is telling us you is visiting, but he is not telling us you is Harry Potter’s son!”

“Winky?” That name rang a bell.

“Yes! Harry Potter is coming to visit us during his years at Hogwarts. He and Minister Granger is giving presents every Christmas,” said Winky excitedly, balancing on one leg to tug on the top of her multicolored socks.

The rest of the elves did the same, and a flashes of clashing, garish colors dotted the kitchens.

Albus was entirely unaware of this. “He does?”

Winky bounded forward and grasped Albus’s hand. “Your father is a great wizard, Master Potter.”

Albus felt unnerved. “Please, call me Albus.”

“Of course, Mister Albus.” Winky moved over and took Finn’s hand. “Mister Finn, we is thanking you for introducing us to Harry Potter’s son!”

“Erm, you’re welcome?” said Finn.

“And Miss Talia, it is very nice meeting you,” said Winky.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, too,” she responded, matching Winky’s smile.

The other elves watched the three Slytherins curiously as Winky led them over to the couches and offered them mugs of hot cocoa that appeared out of nowhere.

“Do you happen to have coffee?” asked Finn, delighted when an elf procured a steaming mug of inky black liquid. He took a sip, but stuck his tongue out. “Ick. Why did I like this stuff?”

“Do you make all the food for Hogwarts?” Albus questioned, still fascinated by the sheer scale of the operation.

“Indeed, Mister Albus,” Winky said. “Sir Longbottom is being very insistent in following C.E.W. regulations.”

“C.E.W.?” Talia questioned.

“Committee for Elf Welfare,” said one elf. “Minister Granger has been very good to us.”

“That’s right,” said Albus, now recognizing where he’d heard the name. “Aunt Hermione mentioned that you’re a member of the Committee, Winky.”

Winky welled up with pride. “Minister Hermione is passing many regulations to help elves find work. Many of us is working here, at Hogwarts. Headmaster Helios is very cooperative.”

“What are those?” Talia asked, gesturing to the doors along the walls.

“Storage and things,” explained Winky. “The smaller doors is keeping more expensive foods.”

“Expensive?”

“Saffron is more expensive per ounce than gold,” said the same elf from earlier.

“That is Tinsy,” said Winky. “She is very… enthusiastic.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mister Albus,” said Tinsy, nodded frantically. She was a little shorter than Winky, with wispy black hair that stuck up in odd places. “I am a great supporter of your Aunt’s.”

“Are you on the Committee?” Albus asked.

“No, no,” Tinsy responded, shaking her head. “I am still training for a Ministry position. I will be the first elf to hold one,” she said, her eyes lighting with joy.

Harry and Hermione had frequent conversations about work at home, and many snippets of their discussions were coming back to Albus, now. Making elf servitude illegal was one of the first things Hermione did in office, but Albus didn’t know too much else about the Committee, perhaps because he never paid attention in History of Magic. He resolved to owl Hermione later.

Finn and Talia were talking with Tinsy about her Ministry training, and Albus was brought out of his thoughts by a statement from Winky. “You is having your father’s eyes, Mister Albus.”

Albus smiled. “My mum says that a lot. I think my grandmother had the same eyes, too.”

“It is fitting,” said Winky. “Mister Albus’s eyes is matching his house colors.”

Albus looked at her for a moment. “I suppose they do, yeah.”

“And the all the steel?” Finn asked, nudging Albus on accident as he sipped on his hot cocoa. His coffee laid to the side, forgotten. “Is that new?”

“It was redesigned,” Tinsy said. “After the Battle of Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall found it prudent.”

“Headmaster Helios is making some additions, too,” added Winky. “He and Mister Greywater is talking with others years ago.”

“They made additions?” Albus asked, surprised. “You can’t normally add to the castle, it’s got ancient protective magic on it.”

“Headmaster Helios is a wizard of extraordinary proficiency,” said Tinsy. “Many people do not know that he was former Co-Chair of the Committee for Maintenance of the International Statute of Secrecy, or former head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.”

“The children learn enough in school,” Winky chastised. “I’m sure they is not wanting to learn more.”

“I don’t have any objections,” assured Albus, only half lying. “It’s interesting.”

Tinsy looked as though she would faint. “It is nice to talk to someone who’s interested,” she gushed. “Many students do not visit. Mister Marley comes most often.”

“That’s a Gryffindor prefect,” Finn said. “He tried taking points from me for standing in the hallway, once. Called it loitering.

“Maybe don’t tell these lot that,” Talia whispered. “They seem eager for company.”

 “Professor Longbottom, too,” Tinsy added. “Well, he brings us the ingredients to prepare food so that’s a given. There is less food coming in these days, though—” The elf fell silent as Winky shot her an intense glare.

“There’s less food coming in?” Albus asked. Something about that didn’t feel right. “How come?”

“We is not knowing,” said Winky quietly, as if she were afraid to speak. “But it is not too severe.”

“Some of the produce is different,” Tinsy said. “I think they’re getting it from somewhere else—you know, we usually get food from the forest and all, I’m sure there’s some reason…”

Albus didn’t process the end of Tinsy’s sentence. Why would Hogwarts need to outsource its food supply?

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” said Finn, grinning. “It’s Albus’s birthday today.”

Tinsy gasped excitedly. “Mister Albus is having his birthday today? It’s my birthday, today!” She straightened up. “I am turning three hundred and thirty-three.”

Albus wasn’t sure he heard her right, but he didn’t want to pry in case it came off as rude.

“Happy Birthday, Tinsy,” said Finn, holding out a hand that Tinsy shook lightly.

Winky snapped her fingers. “Winky is planning on keeping secret for a while, but it is seeming like now is a good time.”

Two elves carted over a steel tray the size of one of the tables in the Chamber. On it was a cake, adorned with intricate lace designs that spelled out Happy Birthday Tinsy!

Winky snapped once more. The lettering on top rearranged itself to read Happy Birthday Albus and Tinsy! and the icing changed from a baby blue to a deep green.

Albus was flattered. “You didn’t have to—”

“Please,” said Tinsy, smiling. “I am very pleased to share a birthday with Albus Potter.”

Albus couldn’t help but grin as the cake partitioned itself into tiny portions. “I hope this cake doesn’t explode,” he joked, thinking about the incident that first caused him to do magic.

Winky looked horrified. “Never, Mister Albus!”

Albus waved his hands. “No, no, it was a joke. My brother blew up my birthday cake, once.”

“James Potter,” said Tinsy. “Yes, he is very messy.”

“Messy?”

“Some of us elves have jobs cleaning the castle,” Tinsy said as she delicately grabbed a slice of cake. The rest of the elves were doing the same, foregoing plates or forks. “James Potter makes many messes in the Gryffindor common rooms.”

“You’ll love my sister, then,” said Albus. “She’s very tidy.”

“You have a sister?” Finn asked, following the elves’ lead and taking a piece of cake.

“Yeah, two years younger. She’s brilliant, and she loves Quidditch.”

“Sounds like we would get along,” said Talia.

“More friends?” asked Tinsy. “I would love to meet them!”

“I’ll be sure to bring them along,” said Albus. “Scorpius, and Rose—” He paused.

For a split second, the same guilt from a month ago welled up, but only a moment later, it was replaced by something else. A bubble formed at the bottom of his stomach, and a childish monster roared in his chest, screaming petty thoughts.

It’s not my fault! It’s that… place!

“We’ll visit often,” Talia said, picking up from where Albus left off. “I’m sure they would love to meet you all, too.”

“Please be telling Harry Potter and Minister Granger that we is grateful for the presents,” said Winky, patting Albus’s hand.

“Of course.” Albus looked out at the other elves, who had continued working. “I’m sure they’ll be pleased to hear from you.” He sounded distracted. Talia and Finn noticed but said nothing.

The three Slytherins left after another few minutes of pleasant conversation, but Albus’s mind was made up now as he threw the Cloak over himself and his friends. “I want to visit the Chamber,” he said.

Talia started. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea—”

“Please,” Albus said. “I need to do something.”

 

*     *     *

 

Albus stopped at the top step, looking out into the Chamber. It had been over a month, but nothing had changed.

“Why are we here?” Finn asked, sounding annoyed. “I was looking forward to sleep.”

“Is there a fireplace in here?” Albus questioned.

“I don’t think so,” said Talia. “But we should go.”

“Where’s that spell book? Remember, Finn, the one we found on the first day?” Albus probed.

“I don’t remember,” said Finn. “What are you trying to do?”

Albus handed the Cloak to his friends and bounded up the metal staircase. He started rifling through the books in the section they’d categorized for English. The first book he came across was entirely unhelpful, and he threw it down from the loft onto the velvet armchair he most often sat on.

“Albus!” Talia exclaimed, sounding appalled.

“I understand that it’s your birthday,” said Finn, “but this is getting a bit ridiculous, even for me!”

Albus ignored his friends, tossing more books down to the floor below. Each heavy thud on the floor sent a resounding pang through his head, but he continued with a kind of fury.

Albus finally found the book he was looking for and opened it to the table of contents. His finger scanned the page until he found something that would: Flame Spell. He flipped to the page and studied the incantation before shoving the tome back into the shelf. It wasn’t like any of the normal incantations he’d read in his textbooks; it didn’t look Latin.

“Pronounce it like th,” he muttered. “Short i.

“What are you doing?” Finn questioned.

“Burning them.”

Albus heaved the French Fondementaux book off the shelf and over the railing. It made the loudest sound yet, hitting the ground like a cement brick.

“Burning them?!” Talia shrieked as more and more books came crashing down. “No, Albus! You can’t, not inside!”

“Mate, Scorpius is going to—"

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Albus snapped, cutting Finn off as he descended the steps.

“Albus!” Finn snapped, tossing the Cloak on the floor. He sounded legitimately concerned. “This is stupid!”

“Please, Albus.” Talia held her arms out. “Think this through.”

“I have,” said Albus bitterly.

He withdrew his wand and pointed it at the stack of books. Finn lunged forward and tackled him from behind, but Albus was already shouting the incantation.

“Svíða!”

The books lit aflame immediately, and Albus and Finn tumbled to the floor. The fire jumped so high that it threatened to touch the ceiling. A couple of the books were instantly incinerated, and the rest crackled like logs in a fireplace. The velvet on the armchair melted together before crumbling into ash, sending up thick grey smoke.

As Finn clambered off him to try and stamp the fire out, Albus’s eyes fell on the blank book stood up in one of the trophy slots. The rush of anger overcame him again, and he got to his feet and darted around the burning chair. Albus grabbed the book from its place harshly and hurled it into the fire.

“Make it stop!” said Talia, covering her mouth with the top of her sweater. “It’s going to burn the place down!”

“That’s the point!” Albus said stubbornly, but he coughed as the words came out. He hadn’t thought about the smoke collecting. A noxious scent akin to burning rubber joined the mix, now, likely from the page binding and covers.

“Aguamenti!” came a muffled shout from Finn. A little stream of water poured from his wand onto the fire, but its effects were minimal. He looked at Albus helplessly. “Come on!” Finn exclaimed as Talia began doing the same. “Help us!”

Albus sighed heavily before reluctantly obliging, pointing his wand to the blaze and putting out water. The more water he and his friends poured onto the fire, the more the intense burning in his chest subsided, diminishing to a mewling whimper before it and the fire dissipated.

Talia beat out a lick of flame with her foot as Finn raced over to the trophy case. He hauled a stone tablet from its pedestal and launched it at the floor to ceiling window, where it bounced off after leaving a tiny crack. He repeatedly lobbed it at the window, establishing a rhythm of violent bangs that made the floor vibrate.

Albus stared at what remained of the chair. The ashes clumped together, soaked from the water. They dripped onto the floor and swirled, making patterns in grey puddles on the floor. The delicate flecks of black dissolved slowly. A ripple extended from the center of the largest puddle as water dripped from a splintered chair leg.

But something was wrong. The blank book sat there in the middle of it all, entirely unmarred. It looked old and faded like before, but it was like the fire hadn’t touched it at all.

The sound of glass shattering came from the window, and Finn yelped.

“What happened?” Albus asked, feeling a little numb.

He kneeled, careful to avoid getting splinters as he reached through the wooden frame and grabbed the book. The water ran cleanly off its front when he picked it up, and the pages remained dry.

“I lost the stone,” said Finn.

“Oh, well,” said Albus absentmindedly.

Albus heard footsteps behind him before a heavy hit landed on his shoulder. “Are you bloody insane?” Talia cried, hitting him again.

“Maybe,” Albus murmured, flipping to the first page. The list of books inscribed in thick, black ink remained unscathed.

“Don’t be stupid again,” Finn warned. “Leave the stupid to me.”

“Fine, fine, but look at this,” Albus insisted, waving Finn over.

“Yeah, mate, I can see. Look, I understand that you feel bad about the whole thing with Rose—”

“No.” Albus turned, holding the book up. “Look.”

Realization dawned on his Finn’s face. “Is that…”

“Yeah.”

Talia looked between the boys. “What is it?”

“I don’t have a quill on me,” said Finn.

“Neither do I.” Albus flipped the book open to the middle. It was still blank. “I don’t understand…” He tossed it to Finn. “It’s completely fine.”

“Maybe your spell didn’t work entirely?” Finn suggested, looking through the book.

“The spell worked too well,” Albus said. “I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“What is it?” Talia asked again.

“A blank book. Like, except for the first page. We wanted to write in it on the first day, but we forgot and never got back to it.”

“How did it survive the fire?”

“I dunno!” Albus exclaimed, feeling irritated. “It doesn’t make sense!”

“Guys.” Finn’s voice was serious. “Something’s happening.”

Finn held the book out. He’d flipped back to the first page, but the list was gone, replaced by two lines of text.

 

Headmaster s Office.

L á ta.

 

“What page is that?” Albus asked. He already knew the answer.

“The first page,” said Finn, rubbing the ink with the side of his fist. “Aren’t there some joke products like this?”

“I dunno… maybe?” But Albus knew that the book wasn’t some joke. He had studied the pages more times than he could count, and the thing hadn’t done anything. “Láta… what does that mean?”

“It’s changing!” said Talia, pointing at the page.

Indeed, new words were forming right beneath the others.

 

Return to me when the earth awakens, Albus.

 

Albus snatched the book from Finn’s hands. “What is this?” he asked, his voice wavering. A terrifying thrill crept up his spine, and looked up at the other two. “How does it know my name?”

“Your name?” Talia asked. “What are you talking about?”

Albus looked back down at the page.

 

Return to me when the earth awakens.

 

“No, no!” said Albus frantically. He flipped the page over, but his name wasn’t there. “It said my name! It said it right there!”

“Albus, we need to go back,” said Talia concernedly. “You, you’re not right, something’s wrong.”

“It never said your name,” said Finn softly. “Really, Albus.”

Albus felt dizzy. Was he actually going crazy? No, he couldn’t have been. He’d seen his name, right there, on the page. “We need to go.”

 “What d’you mean?” Talia asked, sounding nervous. “Go where?”

“We shouldn’t,” said Finn grimly. “We really shouldn’t.”

Albus brushed his thumb over the page. “We have to,” he whispered.

 

*     *     *

 

Albus stopped at the brass statue of the gargoyle on the second floor. Both his friends bumped into him, and the Cloak fluttered against their ankles.

“This is really stupid!” Talia hissed. “Is it always like this with you two?”

“Scorpius hates it, too,” said Finn, as though it were supposed to offer Talia some consolation. “Albus,” he said, turning to him, “we should really think about this before—”

“Láta!” Albus whispered.

The gargoyle nodded its head in response, and Albus scurried onto the platform as it began moving. Talia and Finn climbed on quickly behind him, unwilling to stay exposed in the hallway without the Cloak.

The ride up was quiet and smooth, and the gargoyle came to a gentle stop at the door. Talia looked down off the edge of the platform. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she said.

Albus held up a hand. He heard voices on the other side of the door, voices that sounded insistent. “People are speaking,” he said.

“What do you suggest I do differently?” came a shout, so loud even after being muffled by the door that it sent a pang of red-hot panic through Albus’s chest. That was Helios’s voice.

“I just need more hands,” said another voice, this one softer.

“That’s Neville!” Albus whispered insistently.

“Shut up,” Talia murmured, jostling her way in between the boys.

“I am doing all I can,” said Helios. “With the resources we have available—”

“I know. That’s why I’m suggesting…”

A sharp breath. “Then it would have to go public.”

“But it’s our best chance, Duxe.”

“I’m not so sure it is. Your research—”

“It’s a dead end. I’ve never seen anything like this. I can’t help without proper assistance. Government assistance.”

“No.”

“This isn’t about political—”

“I said no. We cannot allow the Ministry to begin interfering at Hogwarts, not after—”

A pause. Then Neville, quietly: “I know that Marcus would agree with me if he were here.”

“Yet he isn’t,” said Helios, sounding bitter. “Because I failed to recognize the gravity of this situation.”

“We need to draft plans in case—”

“That won’t happen.”

“We don’t know. Not anymore.” Another pause. “I want to call in Hagrid.”

“That man has had enough problems—”

“He knows the forest best. He has a much better chance of finding Marcus than myself and Connor do—”

“Wait.” There was some shuffling. “I forgot to—" A sharp whooshing noise resounded from the door, cutting the voices off instantly.

“Shite,” Albus cursed. “Silencing Charm.”

“We need to go,” said Talia, tugging at Albus’s sleeve. “Albus, this is serious—”

“I know.” He turned to the gargoyle. “Er… can we go back down?”

It seemed to understand his words, spiraling back the other way.

“I don’t understand,” Finn said, his eyes wide. “What does it mean? Is that why Tinsy said they’re getting food from elsewhere? The forest is going weird?”

“That’s part of it,” said Albus. “But…”

“It means Professor M isn’t on sick leave,” said Talia quietly.

“He’s missing,” Albus finished. “In the Forbidden Forest.”

Chapter 16: The Earthquake

Chapter Text

 

 

Albus could hardly care about his birthday. Everything he’d been theorizing had just been confirmed, and it brought a sickening anxiety to his gut. He hadn’t felt like bringing it up as he, Finn, and Talia walked back to the dungeons that night, and he went to bed unable to feel his legs.

Albus did everything he could to not throw up all over his sheets, and his nausea didn’t abate come morning. His friends thought he was crazy. Albus had seen his name appear in that book clear as day, but they didn’t believe him. Why didn’t they believe him?

Once Albus managed to drift off, he had a horrible dream about M’s pale corpse sneaking into his dorm and strangling him to death.

Albus kept his guard up at breakfast. He had a feeling that James was planning something, and whatever it was, Albus wanted to get it over with as soon as possible.

The hairs on his arms stood on end as James casually strode over halfway through breakfast. “Hello, brother,” said James.

“Yes, hi,” said Albus.

“Why so serious? I’m not pranking you.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You probably shouldn’t.” James grinned. “Happy Birthday, Al. Enjoy your day.” James said nothing more, but Albus couldn’t help but hold in a breath until James sat down at the Gryffindor table.

And so Albus silently stewed, accepting the birthday wishes in kind with a dim look on his face. His anxiety was compounded by James’s ominous words from breakfast, so much so that Albus was afraid he’d projectile vomit in the middle of class. It felt as though a black storm cloud followed him around the castle the entire day, emitting low rumbles of ominous thunder every time Albus smiled even a little.

Throughout it all, Rose still refused to talk to Albus, save for a curt “Happy Birthday” and a single, wrapped book titled Sophistication Out of Context. Albus supposed he deserved it; he had been an inexcusably horrid cousin. But around lunchtime, after Talia tried speaking to Rose about what they’d overheard outside the Headmaster’s Office, Rose stomped over to Albus’s end of the table.

Her eyes were ablaze. “What do you think you’re playing at?” she asked loudly.

Albus grimaced. “Can you be a little quiet, please?”

“Even if Professor M is—is missing,” she whispered, “we can’t do anything about it! And that book, that stupid book, is going to get you killed! You keep listening to it like an idiot! And now, you’re claiming it said your name—”

“It did say my name!”

“No!” Rose’s fists were trembling. “Take that ruddy book and chuck it into the damned lake. If you so much as touch it again…” She took a shaky breath. “I don’t care if the Architect made the castle. I don’t care about someone who’s been dead for a thousand years. I care about you, believe it or not. And that—that thing—is not just a normal book.”

“What is it, then?” Albus demanded. “Huh? Why don’t you tell us the answer, Miss Granger-Weasley?”

Rose sniffed and stared at Scorpius. “I don’t know,” she said. “But you’re smarter than I am.”

Scorpius started. “I’m not trying to—”

“I don’t want to know,” said Rose. She turned back to Albus. “And I don’t want to be involved in any of this. Just… please. Stop. If not for my sake, for yours. For your father’s.”

Then, with one last hard look at Albus, Rose left.

Halfway into the day, Albus couldn’t not talk about it anymore. He mentioned to Scorpius and Finn what Rose had said, but to his surprise, they agreed with her.

“What are we even supposed to do?” Finn asked groggily as Albus raised his dissatisfaction in History of Magic.

“It’s best we leave things to the professors,” said Scorpius. “It’s not like we can help, anyways. They don’t even know we heard what we did, and we’d get in trouble if they found out.”

“I don’t like it,” said Albus, staring at the chalkboard through Professor Binns. “I don’t like it one bit.”

Finn followed Albus’s gaze. “Huh. Why’s there a board here if Binns never uses it?” he asked, his words thick like syrup.

“Guys—”

“I dunno if the man even knows he’s dead,” said Scorpius quietly.

Albus shivered.

 “Does he come to meals?” Finn asked.

“I don’t think so,” said Scorpius. “He doesn’t eat, does he?”

“Then he must know he’s dead.”

“Albus!” came a whisper.

Albus grabbed onto his desk roughly to avoid falling out of his chair and cringed as the desk’s feet clattered against the floor. Binns didn’t even bother to look up.

“What is it?” Albus whispered, shifting around in his seat to look at Barry.

Barry pointed to the floor next to Albus. “I dropped my quill! D’you mind?”

Albus picked up the quill and handed it back, trying to ease his nervously pattering heart. “I’m going to die,” he mumbled.

“You’ll be fine.” Scorpius cocked his head at Finn, who had fallen asleep. “Just take after him.”

“I might,” Albus muttered, his eyes already drooping as Binns began to talk about the Third Goblin-Wizard Agreement in excruciating detail. The lack of sleep was catching up to him.

Albus’s anxiety came to a razor sharp point when James approached him again at dinner, this time with a large gift box wrapped in Gryffindor colors. His brother ignored the jeers flung his way as he plopped the box down onto the Slytherin table. It made a great rattling sound, and James patted Albus on the back.

“Little baby bro. You’re turning twelve, already! I can hardly believe it.”

“Why are you here?” Albus hissed.

“To give you your present! Did you have fun today?”

“No!”

“Open it, go on.”

Albus wanted to profusely refuse, but it was clear from James’s expression that he wasn’t going to leave until Albus opened the gift. Albus untied the ribbon, his hands shaking, and under James’s watchful eye he carefully pried the lid of the scarlet and gold box. The box and the lid both vanished when the two were completely separated, revealing a cake smothered in green icing.

James patted Albus’s back again. “Happy Birthday.”

Albus stared down at the silver lettering on the cake. Albus Slytherin-us Potter. “Really?” he asked.

Scorpius laughed drily. “How… creative.”

“I know, right?” said James, sounding legitimately proud. “Came up with it myself.”

“I can tell,” said Albus. He was still prepared for the cake to explode or bite his head off. “What is it?”

“A cake, mate,” said Finn like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You alright?”

“It’s never just a cake, not with James,” said Albus grimly.

James scoffed. “You don’t believe me?”

“No.” Albus turned to face his brother. “What’s the joke?”

“What joke?”

Albus’s face grew redder. “I don’t like this!”

“Okay, relax.” James smirked. “There is no joke.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I. There is no joke.” James roared in laughter at the helpless look on Albus’s face. “Seriously! The joke is that there is no joke! I bet you had a terrible day, looking behind your shoulder, peering around every corner in fear that I’d be lurking in wait—” James wheezed. “I’ve big-brained you!”

Albus stared at the cake, not believing what he was hearing. Hot blood rushed to his ears. He was angry at James, James and his stupid, self-satisfied face. Somehow, it felt as though some karmic, cosmic force was doling Albus his comeuppance. Take it back! he wanted to scream. I don’t want it!

“I hate you,” said Albus, unsure if he was directing it at James.

“I love you, too, baby bro,” said James.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Nope!” said James cheerfully, ruffling Albus’s hair before promptly leaving.

Scorpius placed a supportive hand on Albus’s shoulder. “Mate, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine,” said Albus bitterly. “He couldn’t have known.”

Albus thought he’d have enjoyed his first birthday away from home, but right then, a hug from his parents would have been much appreciated.

 

*     *     *

 

The nausea never really left; the days just felt more… grey.

Albus couldn’t do anything but stifle his frustrations within the confines of schoolwork. It was a pitiful tradeoff in his mind, for schoolwork tended to be work, as if such wasn’t obvious. He’d get occasional letters from his parents that kept him grounded, but it was a week after the late night visit to the kitchens that Albus realized he’d forgotten to owl Hermione.

Albus ventured out to the Owlery on a dreary Saturday morning. The walk to the tower was rather peaceful. It was halfway between the Quidditch pitch and the castle, and traversing the winding, rocky path down the steep grade felt like walking through an enchanted garden.

Albus kicked away brambles and pebbles as he hopped down the steps, humming to himself quietly. The tower was embedded into a base of rock, like a stone fist protruding from the ground. Two crows cawed and took flight as Albus approached.

A crumbling staircase wound up the side of the tower, clattering ominously with each step Albus took. His mood was rather chipper as he pushed aside the perpetually rotting wooden door, but it withered as he came across Dylan Abbott petting a tiny brown owl.

Abbott turned rapidly, and the owl took off, startled. “What do you think you’re doing here?” he said, glaring.

Albus held up his stamped parchment. “What d’you think?”

Abbott’s right hand trailed close to his wand sticking out of his pocket. “You and your friends are right nutcases. You know that, yeah?”

“You never cease to remind me,” said Albus bitterly. “Some new material might be useful.”

“I suppose that’s the Potter family curse, huh? You’re all a bunch of losers.”

“Say that again,” said Albus, his temper flaring.

“Oh, I will.” Abbott sneered. “Your father’s lost his nerve.”

“My father is a great man!” Albus thundered. His hands curled into fists. “My father killed Voldemort! What did your parents do, huh?”

Abbott didn’t say anything. He avoided Albus’s gaze as he left, shutting the door so hard that it rattled on its hinges.

Albus shrunk a little as Abbott’s footsteps echoed up the tower. For some reason, his fingers shook as he tied his letter to Beethoven’s leg.

He received a wordy reply from Hermione only two days later. Beethoven took out a platter of bacon at breakfast, sending it flying halfway across the Hall just as Albus reached for a piece. He solemnly took the letter, instead, sighing as he unfurled nearly a foot of parchment.

 

Dear Albus,

 

I am thrilled that you want to learn more about the work we’ve done for elves here at the Ministry! I wonder why you didn’t simply ask Rose, she’s on top of this kind of thing, but I’ll gladly give you a brief overview. Keep in mind that committees are standing boards of elected officials within departments. For example, the committee your father oversees, the Committee for the Protection of Magic, is the largest committee within the DMLE. You can ask him for more information if you so desire, I’ve told him that you’re interested.

One of my first acts as Minister was to form the C.E.W. under the Department for the Promotion of Magical Species Relations (formerly the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures), and I specifically drafted legislation with direct input from humans and elves alike. That document is called Bill 12.E.II, or the Elf Liberation and Establishment Act.

The first clause legally invalidates the archaic title “house elf” in favor of simply “elf.” From there, the bill details a series of programs that the DMPSR (you can say it like ‘dempser’ for short) is providing funding for through the Post-War Reformation Act that my predecessor, Kingsley Shacklebolt, drafted. We have further expanded elf opportunity by passing more laws with cooperation between the DMPSR and the DIMC, the latter of whom is taking steps to ensure similar policies are integrated internationally. Draco Malfoy is head of that department, perhaps your friend Scorpius might know more about that. If you want further information about recent magical policy—for I highly doubt that you’ve even opened your History of Magic textbook—I recommend the book, “A Comprehensive History of British Magical Law: 1995-2015.” It’s fairly dense compared to this letter, but I’m quite sure it will be illuminating.

 

Regards,

Your Aunt Hermione.

 

Albus had to read that last sentence again. The bloody book is denser than this letter? He agreed that he’d just ask Tinsy if he wanted to know more, but it felt like the letter was quite enough for his liking.

Albus slogged through the next two months of term, simply going through the motions. Each day lasted an eternity. Every Transfiguration lesson, every time he saw Neville or Helios or Greywater in the halls, every time he spotted the dark foliage of the forest beyond the grounds; it was all sickening. After centuries, the last week of May rolled around, signaling the start of finals.

Albus didn’t need to see his marks to know he’d passed the Potions theory and practical with ease. Transfiguration was painful—Albus’s hand had felt numb every time his quill touched the page—but he got through it. Albus was fairly sure he confused a Metamorphmagus and an Animagus, a circumstance that made him feel incredibly stupid considering Teddy was a Metamorphmagus, himself.

Albus entered the Charms exam with a certain sense of dread, but did surprisingly well on the theory, which asked the students to write an essay discussing the differences between the Locking and Pocket Locking Charms. It appeared that staring at a textbook for an hour was a viable strategy, after all.

Divine determination dictated that he take his Herbology exam last. Albus had exclusively drilled for the Herbology practical, even having gone so far as to sign up for tutoring classes earlier that month. A dark aura of futility settled over those sessions as Albus drank in Neville’s state of disarray, for he now knew the true cause behind his professor’s physical distress. It bedeviled Albus, the pure helplessness of his position.

The day of the exam, Albus couldn’t stop his palms from sweating. The multiple choice portion of the test was a complete crapshoot; without Rose, he had no expectation of passing it. The essay was a little less of a shot in the dark: it asked him to write about the properties of Dittany, and Albus focused most of his writing on its application in potion-making. He went into the practical with high hopes and grit.

Each student took the Herbology practical alone and in front of Neville. They were divided into blocks by surname rather than period and house, and Albus, Finn, and Scorpius were all in the second block, I-P. Albus and Finn spent the time waiting outside Greenhouse One reviewing material with Scorpius until he left to take his exam.

“Good luck, Albus, Finnick,” said Scorpius, tilting his head.

“Not my name,” Finn muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it.

The time that followed was tense and silent; neither Albus nor Finn had the levity to make casual conversation. Within five minutes, Scorpius emerged and flashed them a thumbs up before heading into the castle. Their fellow Slytherin Emily Merton was next, and she took considerably longer before exiting.

Albus inhaled sharply as Jane Oakley the Hufflepuff entered, knowing his name was next on the first year roster. “Albus Potter!” came Neville’s voice from the open greenhouse door ten minutes later.

Albus took a deep breath before marching in to meet his fate, narrowly avoiding crashing into Oakley as she barreled out of the room half in tears.

The entire greenhouse had been cleared, save for two large tables near the front. The one closest to him held a cluster of plants next to empty pots, soil, and various tools. Neville sat behind one of them making marks on a clipboard, and he smiled when Albus came in. Albus couldn’t help but notice the severe dark circles under his professor’s eyes.

“You feeling alright, Albus?” Neville asked.

“Yeah,” Albus muttered, shaking his hands out. “I’m ready.”

“Okay. This is going to be straightforward. I’m going to give you three separate tasks, each involving multiple steps. Just do everything to the best of your ability. If you’re stuck, let me know and we’ll move on. The first task,” said Neville, glancing at his sheet, “is to re-pot a Puffapod and extract a vial of spores without causing it to bloom.”

Albus’s eyes went immediately to the flowering pink and purple plant at the end of the table. Those were the Puffapod plants, he knew that much; their distinctive colors made them easy to recognize. Neville wanted him to re-pot it… did he mean the plant or the pod?

“D’you want me to pot the plant itself or a pod, Professor?”

Neville grinned and ticked what was hopefully a check on his paper. “Plant a pod, please. Good job for asking, Albus, it’s better than doing the wrong thing.”

Albus donned the pair of magical gloves left near the empty pots, and they shrunk to fit his hands like a second skin. He made sure he had the pot and a fair base of soil before carefully extracting a single pod from beneath the violent magenta flowers. The pod had an orange and green gradient, and it pulsed in Albus’s hands as he placed it gently into the soil of the new pot.

Spores… I need to get spores. Albus retrieved a flask and a pair of tweezers. He surgically extracted maybe nine or ten spores from the Puffapod’s exterior, ensuring he didn’t poke the fleshy pod for fear of it blooming. Albus sighed in relief as he stoppered the vial, but almost forgot to fully cover the pod with soil before announcing he was finished.

“Alright…” Neville made some more marks on his paper as he stood and inspected Albus’s work. “We can move on.”

The second task required Albus to properly dispose of Devil’s Snare, which he did with ease. His father’s stories of his own first year came to Albus as he cast repeated Lighting Charms on the plants. The third task dictated that Albus properly harvest dried nettles without burning or stinging himself, and he did so within a minute using the Severing Charm alone. He finished the entire practical just under seven minutes, and from the look on Neville’s face, he’d passed with flying colors.

Albus left Greenhouse One feeling pleased with himself, and he gave Finn a rare smile before Neville called his friend’s name.

“Albus!” Scorpius waved him over as soon as he entered the Great Hall. Rose and Talia were sitting some ways down from Scorpius; Talia offered Albus a little smile when he sat, but Rose looked away. “How did you do?” Scorpius asked, keen for an answer.

“Bloody terrible, mate,” said Albus. “I flunked it.”

Scorpius’s smile dropped slowly. “Oh, damn. I’m sorry, Al, I didn’t—you’re messing with me, aren’t you.”

Albus couldn’t help but let a grin slip halfway through Scorpius’s apologetic words. “I completely, undoubtedly, passed.”

Scorpius laughed incredulously and thumped him on the back. “I told you! I told you it would work!”

 “I don’t think the essay went that bad, either. What about you, how did you do?”

 “It was one of the worse ones,” Scorpius admitted, “but I think I managed.”

“I saw your face coming out of the greenhouse,” Albus teased. “You’re being modest, I bet you killed it—”

“I didn’t!” Scorpius insisted. “Trust me, compared to what Rose has told me about—” Scorpius cast a glance down the table.

“It’s fine,” said Albus, trying to brush it off. “I can’t just ignore her forever.” The words tasted bitter and metallic on his tongue as Scorpius continued, and Albus felt a magnetic temptation to glance down the table all throughout lunch, even after Finn arrived.

The first years finished testing that week, and while the older students still had O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s left, the final Quidditch match of the season was slated to take place the next Wednesday. It was shaping up to be a big deal; Gryffindor and Hufflepuff sat so close in points that this coming match would determine the outcome of the Quidditch Cup. Albus preferred not to think about Slytherin’s standing in the Cup, for their performance was so dismal that it made even the other houses feel sorry for them.

The anticipation built and built to a peak come Wednesday morning, and the entire school was abuzz with excitement for the match that evening. Even Albus had been removed from his self-imposed stupor as he was swept up in the enthusiasm.

Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had taken to calling each other out in the corridors, and Albus was divided between his house’s hatred for Gryffindor and his relatives who encouraged him to support the team. James wasn’t the only family member on the team, after all, as Molly was a reserve Beater.

Albus made his way down to the pitch alongside Finn and Scorpius. Talia had promised them she would catch up after trying her best to get Rose to come down, too. Albus knew that was an uphill battle, but he had said nothing.

Among the flood of students heading down to the pitch, Albus, Finn, and Scorpius had found their fellow Slytherin dormmates. Minghao had obtained an enchanted Gryffindor scarf that caused the lion laid across it to heave putrid green vomit onto itself in a loop. Barry gushed about how Hufflepuff seeker Ali Shafiq was destined to finally upset James’s impeccable Snitch-catching record.

“It’ll happen this time,” Barry promised. “Watch, Shafiq is going to make Gryffindor pee themselves. I can’t wait to see Lilith’s face.”

“I’m not worried about James Potter,” said Minghao. “I’m worried about your sister, Barry.”

Barry blanched. “Yes, well…”

“She’s a force to be reckoned with,” said Finn, staring ahead at the tops of the boxes. “Her goal rate is incomparable to our entire team’s. Why couldn’t she have been Sorted into Slytherin?” he griped.

“Don’t worry,” said Scorpius, sounding assured. “Once Davidson leaves, Evelyn Esmer gets captainship. She’ll turn it around, I guarantee it.”

“Plus,” said Minghao, getting excited and slapping Albus on the shoulder, “we can try out next year! Albus, I bet you’re ten times the seeker that Benjamin Nott is, you’ll stomp them.”

“I think Gore’s going to be the one doing the stomping,” Albus said sheepishly.

Gore nodded. “Yes.”

The Slytherin boys spent a good while shoving past others to the top of the Slytherin stands. Albus spotted Zabini and Selwyn only a couple rows in front of them, but he kept his mouth shut, not wanting them to notice him.

“Quidditch fans, are you ready?” The voice of the commentator, Lewis Thorpe, boomed out over the stadium as the trickle of students from the castle slowed.

Albus whipped his head around. “Where’s Talia?”

“I’m sure she’ll make it!” said Finn, already distracted.

“Welcome, everyone, to the final match of the two-thousand seventeen Quidditch season! This match is sure to be a showdown of the years between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, two teams that have been the strongest we’ve seen in years! Without further ado, allow me to introduce the Flying Badgers themselves, led by captain Ali Shafiq—”

The Hufflepuff stands rose with a roar, cheering so loudly that Albus couldn’t even hear Thorpe calling out the names over the applause. It didn’t matter too much, seeing as Minghao was running his own commentary like his life depended on it.

“There’s Ritchie Porter, he’s only a third year—oh, and Colin Payne, he’s done phenomenally this season—”

Albus recognized Payne, for he was one of Victoire’s friends he’d briefly seen on the train.

“—and there’s Shafiq!” Minghao rose to his feet, cupping his hands around his face. “BEAT POTTER INTO THE DIRT, SHAFIQ!” His cry inspired a chorus of jeering Slytherin voices.

The Hufflepuff team coasted for a lap around the stadium, drifting back to the ground as Thorpe’s voice became heard over the crowd. “And, playing for their third Quidditch Cup in a row, led by captain Lilith Erickson—”

The resultant boos from the Slytherins around Albus drowned out the cheers from the Gryffindor side as the team captains met in the middle of the field.

“Some handshaking and rules being laid down by Mister Greywater,” said Thorpe, “and the teams take the air, awaiting the release of the Quaffle…”

The silence that filled the stadium was shocking in contrast to earlier, but Albus dared not speak on it. He could make out the form of Mister Greywater bringing his hand up to his mouth and placing a whistle between his lips.

“AND WE’RE OFF!” Thorpe roared just after the tweet of the whistle. The noise was back now, and combined with the fast-paced commentary from the box on the other side it made for a dizzying experience. “Erickson takes the ball from kickoff, passes to Chaudhary, who passes to Li, and Erickson is racing up the field! Hall sends a welcoming Bludger at her face, but it isn’t enough as Erickson darts aside and Li makes a brilliant pass—AND GRYFFINDOR SCORES!”

Minghao screamed in dissent at the top of his lungs, and the sea of red and gold on the other side of the stadium shimmered in waves of approval, but Albus could hardly keep track of what was going on. The style of play was so fast and aggressive compared to the other games of the season, and either team had entirely determined looks on their faces as people and Bludgers whizzed around the pitch.

“Hufflepuff looks to be making a good approach from the left flank, as Payne looks for an opening to pass—BUT LOOK AT JAMES POTTER, HE’S GOING INTO A DIVE MIDFIELD!”

Albus’s eyes widened in astonishment as his brother dropped from the sky, coasting straight downwards. James’s entire body was a blur as he picked up speed, but another blur, this one of yellow, soon joined him. James and Shafiq were caught in a blistering, swirling kind of dance, catapulting towards the ground.

“They’re opening up the throttle, now, folks!” Thorpe exclaimed. “Could this be it, already?!”

“NO!” came a roar from the black and yellow Hufflepuff stands as Shafiq’s form looked to get nearer to James.

“What’s he doing?” Scorpius yelled in Albus’s ear.

Albus wasn’t sure what Shafiq was doing, either, but it became clear as James began levelling out and swerving. “Shafiq is trying to ice him out! He’s getting close enough that reaching the Snitch is impossible without crashing!”

“And Shafiq forces Potter out of the dive!” said Thorpe, confirming Albus’s suspicions. “Potter’s still going, though, I think he’s got an eye on the Snitch—”

James and Shafiq were practically on top of one another as they raced around the stadium. Albus frowned; James was whipping his head around like he was looking for the Snitch, not following it. But then, as if registering something, he veered right.

“And Potter makes a sudden right turn, careening off into the middle of the pitch! Shafiq is right on his heels as Potter starts reaching his hand out! He’s reaching, like the Snitch is right there—”

It all happened in less than a second. James braked, hard, and Shafiq was thrown directly into the path of a Hufflepuff Chaser. They both spiraled in the air, getting dangerously close to the ground before regaining control, but James was back up at his position in the air, scouting for the Snitch.

Albus crossed his arms, recognizing the play: it was his own.

“Dirty play from James Potter, making Shafiq crash into Hannah Coombs like that, but no foul is called! It looks like this is a legal move—”

A series of groans sounded from the Hufflepuffs.

“—and James Potter has gotten away with rattling Ali Shafiq like no one has ever done before! But the Hufflepuff Beaters don’t like that, and Arepa forces him to move out the way of a Bludger! The chasers are still firing on all cylinders, and Shafiq and a recovering Coombs dart out of the way as Payne makes his way up the pitch again—there’s a Bludger from Felton that comes rocketing towards Payne, but he passes to Porter! Ritchie Porter, the youngest chaser on the team is zooming up the field to the hoops alone! He takes his shot, AND IT SLIPS JUST UNDER MCKINNON’S ARM! HUFFLEPUFF SCORES—BUT LOOK AT POTTER, AGAIN!”

James had a determined glint in his eye, and Albus could only see it because he was headed straight for the Slytherin stands. The Slytherins ducked and covered their hands as James skimmed the top of the box, straining to reach his arm out—

“I don’t quite know what’s going on, but Potter has nearly taken a few inches off the Slytherin stands!”

The Hufflepuff stands rose to raucous cheers again as Shafiq darted over the Slytherins.

“And Shafiq is right on his tail, just like before! It looks like he’s sharp as ever, the Hufflepuffs have to be happy about that.”

The rest of the match was still going, even as James and Shafiq duked it out in the air, and Thorpe was having trouble focusing on both at once.

“Meanwhile, Li is barreling up the right side of the pitch with Zapot just behind her. This is a new strategy we’ve seen the Gryffindors play before, and it works again as Meihui Li sends the Quaffle through the middle post!”

Albus felt someone roughing his shoulder, and he turned, prepared to tell them off, but it was Talia. Her face was flushed, and Albus could barely hear her as she spoke. “What did I miss?” she asked.

“I couldn’t explain it if I tried,” Albus admitted, scooting over to allow Talia to sit and turning back to the pitch—

“—BUT LOOK AT JAMES POTTER AGAIN! He’s rising, and he’s laughing, he’s got his fist raised in the air—MY WORD, HE’S GOT THE SNITCH! JAMES POTTER HAS THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

Minghao’s jaw dropped as the crimson clad Gryffindors rose from their seats in a triumphant cheer. The Slytherins were all grumbling, and some of them bumped into Albus roughly as they left. There was one shove that seemed a bit harder than the rest, and Albus spotted the back of Selwyn’s had receding into the throng of Slytherins crowding the steps.

“I don’t quite believe what’s happened, but Gryffindor has taken the title for the third time in a row! This hasn’t happened since the days of Harry Potter…”

James’s team raced up to surround him. Shafiq was floating to the side, clapping politely, but much of the Hufflepuff crowd didn’t have the same patience for niceties. They were booing and hissing, shouting inflammatory accusations of cheating. For all the talk of Hufflepuffs being pleasant, they seemed particularly nasty today.

Talia was shaking Albus’s shoulder again. “What the hell?! It’s over? I only missed five minutes!”

“And the match lasted six,” said Scorpius, pointing at the scoreboard.

Albus set his jaw as James hovered over the Gryffindor stands, waving his hands like he was conducting their off-key singing. “I beat him once.”

Scorpius and Talia looked over at him.

“I beat James at Quidditch over the holiday. Resolutely.”

“Then beat him again next year,” said Finn. “You can try out next year, yeah?”

Albus nodded absentmindedly, for his attention was otherwise occupied, now. Mister Greywater was floating on his broom out in the middle of the pitch, waving his arms up at the commentator’s box. “Look.”

“What’s he doing?” Minghao questioned.

The microphone picked up, but it wasn’t Thorpe who spoke. “Students, please make your way down from the stands.” Neville’s tone was calm, but his voice wavered slightly. “I repeat, students—”

But no one was listening to him, especially not the Gryffindors.

“Albus, we should go.” Scorpius was tugging on the end of his sleeve. “Professor Longbottom said to—”

The seats shook, and Albus had a frightening moment of déjà vu. The stands rocked back and forth dangerously, and the cheering turned to shrill shrieks and noises of surprise.

The words wrote themselves into his brain without fail: Return to me when the earth awakens.

“No, Albus!” Talia yelled. She had remembered, too.

Neville wasn’t trying to conceal his worry anymore. “Students, get down from the stands immediately! This is an emergency, everyone! Do not panic, just move in a quick and orderly fashion!”

Of course, everyone panicked. A frantic fervor washed over the pitch as students scrambled down the stairs and the stands shook like matchsticks in a hurricane. Lilith Erickson and Ali Shafiq were instructing their teams to help people down with their brooms as the stairwells started filling, but Albus was pulled away by his friends and thrown into the throng of bodies heading down the stairs.

 Albus was jostled from side to side. “Where are we going?”

He received no response. Albus whipped his head around to find that his friends had vanished.

He grunted and elbowed people aside, trying to get his bearings. “Talia!” he called, but his voice was lost in all the noise. “Scorpius! Finn!”

A particularly violent shake sent everyone careening to the right side of the stairwell. Albus was crushed against a wooden beam, and he wheezed in pain.

Someone wrenched his arm away and dragged him back into the fray, but their firm grip guided him all the way down the stairs. Albus panted, trying to recover his breath as the person pulled their hand off his arm.

“Thanks,” he managed, trying to sound grateful.

“You’re too little,” said Gore, his voice monotone.

“I know that, thanks,” said Albus, shaking his arm out. “You’d make a great Beater, you know.”

“I know.”

“Gore, Albus!” Barry rushed over. “Good, you’re here. Where did the others go?”

“I dunno, but we’d better—” Albus was cut off by another series of shrieks as the ground rumbled beneath their feet.

The stands were groaning in earnest, now, swaying back and forth. But the creaking from the green and silver one was getting louder, far louder than the others.

“Run!” Albus yelled, breaking into a sprint and resisting the urge to turn and watch as the stand crumpled in on itself.

Barry and Gore weren’t far behind, and they were still running towards the castle when the impact of the stand sent another tremor through the ground.

Albus turned, now, his eyes peeled. No one had been injured, and the final few Slytherins were beelining it to the castle, but the fallen stands created a clear line of eyesight to the pitch within. Some of the other stands looked dangerously close to falling, too, but they were all empty at the top, and students streamed from beneath the tarps at the bottom.

“Kids!” Mister Greywater exclaimed, zipping over on his broom. “Are you all okay?”

Something struck Albus. The grounds… the forest… the Chamber… He sucked in a breath.

It had all just clicked.

“Yeah,” Barry responded, beating Albus on the same shoulder that Talia had abused earlier. “We need to go.”

“What’s wrong with the forest?” Albus blurted, loud enough that Greywater braked hard just before he rocketed away. “Does it have to do with the Chamber, the Architect’s Chamber?”

The gamekeeper stared at Albus. He looked shaken, like Albus had just accused him of a serious crime. “How do you… it doesn’t matter now!” He jabbed a finger up at the castle. “Go, now! We’ll talk later!” Greywater watched Albus until he turned up the path.

“What did you say… about the forest?” Barry questioned as they ran, taking breaths between words. “Greywater… he looked pale…”

“Something’s wrong with it, but I don’t know what,” said Albus, his adrenaline pumping. “Helios said he’s keeping it secret from the Ministry, and it’s how M went missing—”

“M is missing?”

“He’s not sick, he’s missing,” affirmed Albus, nodding his head. “But you can’t tell anyone you know, I’m already in enough trouble as it is—”

They had reached the back entrance to the castle, and Professor McCaffery was waving the final few students through. “Let’s go, get inside! Go straight to your commons, don’t stop moving!”

The ground shook again, and the lanterns on the posts rumbled as Albus passed. “Where are you going!” Barry cried as Albus ran past the staircases.

“I have something I need to do!” A sudden worry went through Albus’s mind—he didn’t have the Cloak, what if he wasn’t able to get into the Chamber?

“Come on!” Barry exclaimed, but Albus shook his head and turned down the hall.

“I’m sorry!” said Albus.

“Albus!” It was the first time Albus had ever heard Gore raise his voice, but he kept running. There wasn’t time, he needed to go.

He ran past a couple confused Ravenclaws milling near the Transfiguration courtyard. The very castle was rumbling, now, and the floors rocked under Albus’s feet. This was serious, especially if the magic from the castle wasn’t enough to stop the earthquake.

“Students and teachers, please—back to your sleeping quarters,” sounded Helios’s voice, sputtering from the PA system. “We are close—solving the problem at hand, but we require—be vigilant for a while longer. Again, head back to your quarters—absolute emergency. We are close to solving the problem at hand.”

Albus skirted into the corridor outside the Great Hall, but just before the statue stood Scorpius and Finn, listening to the announcement with apprehension on their faces.

“What are you doing here?” Albus asked, feeling both relieved and worried.

“Talia stayed behind to tell Rose,” said Scorpius. “She needs to know what’s happening.”

“No time!” Talia said from behind, throwing the Cloak at Finn. She panted, putting her hands on her knees. “I barely managed to get the Cloak. I almost got seen.”

“Why didn’t stay?” Albus demanded. “You would have been safer there than here—”

“You think I’m going to let the boys have all the fun?” Talia took her wand from her pocket. “I didn’t learn magic just to sit around in a dungeon.”

Albus pursed his lips. “You all should go back. You shouldn’t be here, anyways,” he said, more out of obligation than genuineness. “Go back, I can—”

“Are you bloody insane?” said Finn. “We’re coming with you.”

“Yeah,” Scorpius agreed. He looked afraid, but he nodded. “We’re not going anywhere.

Chapter 17: The Infection

Summary:

Happy Birthday, Harry.

Chapter Text

 

 

Finn took the Cloak with him around the back of the statue. Albus waited for the wall to melt away, but nothing happened.

“It’s not working!” Finn yelled. He climbed back over the pedestal. “The Cloak! It’s not opening the Chamber.”

Albus blanched. “What? How are we supposed to—”

The ground shook for the umpteenth time, but this shock was noticeably lesser in magnitude. It seemed like Helios’s efforts, whatever they were, were working.

“I don’t know!” Scorpius exclaimed, exasperated. “You try it, you got in the first time!”

Albus darted forward and snatched the Cloak out of Finn’s hands. He threw it onto the base of the statue, scrambled up after it, scraping his ribs as he slid into the crevice, and threw his fist out to the wall. The entrance unveiled itself, but Albus stared at his bare hand as it hung in midair. He twisted his head around to the pedestal, where Scorpius was standing and holding the Cloak.

The two of them shared a look as Finn clambered over the statue and started running up the steps. “Come on, lads!”

“Not a lad,” Talia muttered, dropping down beside Albus and Scorpius.

“You’re a lad, like it or not!”

The Chamber still hadn’t fully reconstructed itself, but that didn’t matter. The book still laid on the table next to the partial armchair, and Albus flipped it open so hard that the entire thing turned over. He steadied his grip and opened to the first page, which only had one word on it.

 

Búask .

 

“Is that French?” Finn asked. “It means drink, I think.”

“No, no,” said Albus, shaking his head. “I know a little bit of French, you’re thinking of boire.

“Then what the hell does it mean?”

“Do we need to go to the Headmaster’s Office again?” Talia demanded, whipping her head around as the ground shook again. “We’ll definitely get caught if we do.”

“I don’t think we have a choice,” said Finn.

Albus ran his finger across the word, as if hoping it would give him any clues. “Búask,” he whispered.

Without warning, the wall at the very back of the Chamber pressed further backwards, expanding before parting straight down the middle like a pair of double doors.

Scorpius looked at Albus sharply as Finn darted over to examine it. “What’s going on? It’s responding to you like it—” Scorpius stopped suddenly, but his face had gone pale. “Like it can hear you.” He’d realized something, but Albus couldn’t tell what.

 “I can’t tell where it leads,” Finn said, staring straight down the passageway.

“Here,” said Albus, moving Finn to the side. “Lumos!”

The end of his wand lit bright, but it only shone down a small part of the passage. It was just that and nothing more: a bare passage, devoid of railings and even walls. A single strip of pathway led off into the darkness, apparently suspended in thin air and wide enough to fit three of them side to side if they were feeling brave.

“I’m not walking on there,” Scorpius said immediately, stepping back. “No way.”

“You’re the one who said you’d come,” said Albus. “Just stay between the three of us, you’ll be fine.”

“I dunno,” said Talia, sounding anxious.

Albus turned to his friends, frustrated. He couldn’t get caught up in his anxiety now, the time for that had gone. “Are you lot coming or not?”

“Fine, fine,” said Finn, putting a very reluctant Scorpius and a slightly less reluctant Talia in front of him as Albus started down the corridor with his light out. The light from the Chamber grew smaller and smaller behind them. The ground rumbled a little every few moments, but it was almost pitiful, now, like a whining death rattle.

Even though they walked in a tight pod, Albus would be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified. The darkness below was smothering, and the inky black had this gravitational pull. Albus found himself careening towards the edge every now and then, tempted to look over the side. He came too far, once, and his foot sent tiny pebbles cascading over the sharp edge of the path.

Scorpius whimpered. “I don’t like this.”

“The darkness?” Albus questioned.

“This whole bloody situation!”

“It’s fine,” Finn assured. “We probably won’t die.”

Albus imagined Scorpius’s face contorting into one of intense fear. “We’ll be fine,” Albus said, facing ahead with his wand held out, but the words sounded like they were more for him than they were his friend.

“How much longer?” Talia asked after a solid ten minutes.

Albus glanced behind; the light from the Chamber was distant and faint, a little pinpoint in the distance suspended in midair. “I don’t know.”

Scorpius’s wand hand wavered, and it morphed their shadows. “This is a terrible, terrible idea.”

Albus turned back to the front, still walking, but suddenly stopped and emitted a little yelp.

Finn’s nose crumpled into his back. “Ow! What was that for?”

Albus stared at the corner of the path he’d nearly walked off. It turned right at a ninety degree angle, creating a sheer drop into the infinite chasm below.

“Ah,” said Finn. “That’s what that was for.”

The four Slytherins maneuvered around the corner carefully, and they continued with a new hypersensitivity to the endless path before them. Albus’s arm was feeling the beginning of a cramp by the time they were forced to stop again, this time at a vertical wall.

Scorpius moved his wand around, trying to gauge how far the wall went in any direction, but the blackness was so deep that it was fruitless. “What now?” he asked, his voice wavering.

“Say it again,” encouraged Finn, poking Albus in the side. “What you said before.”

 “Búask!” Albus tried, but the wall remained a wall. He remembered the word from before that opened the Headmaster’s Office. “Láta!”

The second one worked, and a sizable portion of the wall slid up to reveal a narrow set of stone steps leading straight up.

“So láta must mean open,” Talia mused. “Or something like it.”

“Save the linguistics for later,” said Albus, taking a cautionary step. No arrows shot out of the floor, which he assumed was a good sign. “We’ve got further to go.”

The stairs took considerably less time to traverse than the path. They made it to the top within two minutes, where the staircase ascended into a stone ceiling. “Láta!” said Albus once more, and a slab of stone levitated and slid to the side.

Albus heaved himself out before helping up his friends. It was an office, cushy and comfy with red chairs and a crackling fireplace. A mess of papers and quills lay on a desk in the far corner, over which dripped a wax candle. Behind that, a massive board adorned with sketches and string, like something a serial killer might have.

“Where are we?” Finn asked as Albus helped up Talia.

Scorpius went to the door behind them and opened it, peering out warily. He shut the door quickly. “It’s Greenhouse One,” he whispered.

“Greenhouse One?” Albus said sharply. “No, that doesn’t make sense, we never descended.”

“Magic doesn’t make sense,” said Talia, nearing the desk. “I thought you’d know this by now.”

“Something still doesn’t make sense, even considering magic,” said Scorpius. “The Chamber has to be ancient, but it has a passage to the Herbology professor’s office of all things? Why?”

“Maybe that Architect bloke was a fan of plants,” Finn suggested.

“I don’t think plants were his thing,” said Albus, thinking about the petrified slab of bones in the Chamber. “He’s more a Defense person.”

“You act like you know the fella,” Finn remarked.

“Albus!” called Talia. “Look at this.”

“This situation isn’t ideal,” came Scorpius’s voice as Albus approached the desk. “The candle’s still burning, that means someone was just here.”

Albus ignored him as he stared at Talia’s finger, which was pointing to notes in Neville’s near-indecipherable handwriting. “What is it?”

“Just read it.”

Albus squinted. “Something about an infection… it’s taking over the forest?” He turned the page over. “It’s talking about magical poisoning. Neville and M, they were searching for what was happening to the trees. The roots were growing thick like vines and ripping apart plants that the school uses for food and study.”

“Magical poisoning?” Scorpius stammered. “Gamp’s Law says that tampering with food using magic can cause magical poisoning.”

“But this isn’t humans,” Albus said. “It’s the plants. The plants are getting poisoned.”

“That’s… that’s not possible. Where is the magic even coming from?”

“The wards?” Talia suggested. “Professor McCaffrey said that even the Ministry doesn’t have wards as strong as Hogwarts,” said Talia, holding the candle dangerously close to the parchment. “If Hogwarts is unique, this might be a unique problem.”

“But the wards have been fine,” Albus insisted. “They stopped us from getting crushed at the beginning of term.”

“But that was outside of the wards,” Scorpius argued. “Now the inside is acting the same, too.”

“Maybe,” said Talia, “but if the wards are the cause, it would make sense. It affects the outside first, the part not protected by magic, and then seeps inside.”

“But why has there only been isolated incidents?” Scorpius clicked his tongue. “It’s not a recurring problem, it’s only happened twice.”

“What if it’s not to do with the wards?” Finn suggested. “What if it’s to do with the Chamber?” The other three turned to him slowly as he continued. “I mean, Longbottom said these issues started near the middle of term. And the Chamber is ancient, we know that, too. If this kind of thing hasn’t happened before, and the Chamber hasn’t been opened since the days of our Architect friend, then maybe it’s our fault. I mean, the blank book talked about the ground shaking, too, that’s why we’re here.”

Scorpius nodded. “That’s a wise deduction, Finnur.”

“Okay,” said Finn, “you have to have made that up.”

“Nope. It’s Norse. I think.”

“What is your name?” Talia asked. “Like, in all seriousness.”

“Griffin,” said Finn.

Scorpius scoffed in disbelief. “Griffin? As in Gryffindor?”

“You know,” said Finn, shaking his finger, “I’ve never thought of it like that.”

“Everything aside,” said Albus, “I think Finn is almost right. I asked Greywater about if the forest issue had anything to do with the Chamber—”

“You what?” questioned Talia, aghast. “We weren’t supposed to tell anyone!”

“I know, but it just came out! And I think he knows, too! He looked at me like I was crazy.”

“Maybe because he thought you were crazy! That doesn’t prove anything!”

“But the book knew, it knew that this was going to happen!” Albus grunted. “Look, everything Finn said makes sense except for one thing. Remember how Neville showed up on the first day of class?”

“Yeah,” said Talia, “before you ran off.”

“I lost him on the second floor, right outside the Headmaster’s Office. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. But we didn’t find the Chamber until months later. How did the book know about all that?”

“Because it’s a horcrux,” said Scorpius quietly. The other three turned to him as he went on. “A soul fragment within a horcrux cannot speak unless it has a body, or a medium. The blank book. That’s the Architect’s horcrux. That’s how he’s speaking to us. He’s been orchestrating this whole thing.”

“What?” Finn laughed nervously. “You think that bloke put a piece of his soul in a book—a book!—and started making plants go bonkers?”

“A piece of his soul?” Talia stared at Finn. “What are you talking about? This horcrux—it’s someone’s soul? The book has someone’s soul in it?”

“We don’t know!” Scorpius exclaimed. “We don’t know what a horcrux can do! We don’t know! What if it woke for some reason, and Hogwarts rejected it? Like a virus!” Scorpius gestured at Talia. “The castle found a virus in its system, the horcrux, and it’s reacting!”

“Maybe,” said Talia warily. “I mean, I guess…”

Albus went rigid. “My dad,” he said, “in his second year. He killed a basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Old codgers and their ruddy chambers,” Finn muttered.

“Basilisk?” Talia asked. “Chamber of Secrets?”

“Salazar Slytherin, he built a secret chamber under the castle before he left. He put a monster in there, this big arse snake with a gaze that could kill. The Heir of Slytherin was meant to open the chamber and let the monster wreak havoc on… on Muggleborns.”

“Oh,” Talia squeaked. “How nice. My house founder would have wanted to kill me.”

“Our house founder wouldn’t be very happy with any of us, I don’t think,” said Scorpius.

“But the only reason the Chamber of Secrets opened,” Albus continued, “was because my mum was possessed by a diary. That must have been Voldemort’s horcrux.” Albus shivered. “That’s why it took so long to kill him.”

“But… I thought horcruxes were indestructible?” said Finn. “That’s what the book said.”

“No, this is good!” said Scorpius, nodding his head. “Albus, if your dad killed a horcrux, then there must be a way to kill this one, too!”

“I can’t just ask him,” Albus grumbled. His friends stared at him. “What?”

“This Architect guy means bad business,” said Talia slowly. “We need to tell someone.”

“How are we even so sure the book is a horcrux?” Albus asked weakly.

“We can’t do this alone, anymore,” said Scorpius, cutting Albus off. “We’ve supported you, Albus, but this is too much. If it the book really did say your name, it only proves our point.”

“My phone going off,” Albus asked. “How d’you figure the book or the castle managed that?”

“I dunno,” Scorpius admitted. “But the rest of this… it can’t just be a coincidence.”

“We need to tell Helios,” Talia said quietly.

“I agree,” said Scorpius.

Albus turned to Finn, who shrugged. “Me, too,” he said.

Albus knew when he was outmatched. He followed the others as they filed out the greenhouse and headed up to the castle. Albus got lost in his thoughts. Everything was so complicated, but there was surely still a missing piece.

The Architect… he couldn’t have been all bad, could he? The book had never led any of them into direct danger. The Architect had built the bloody castle with Rowena Ravenclaw, surely she’d have known if the Architect had made a Horcrux…

Albus caught himself. Why was he defending him? This man had… murdered someone. He’d murdered someone just to extend his own life. Albus felt guilty, just as guilty as when he’d turned his wand on his cousin, if not more so. His friends were right. Things were getting out of hand.

“How do we get in?” Scorpius questioned as they stopped in front of the gargoyle. “Do any of you remember what password Greywater used?”

They all shook their heads. Albus opened his mouth. “We can use the other password—”

“No,” said Scorpius resolutely. “No more.”

“…Fine.”

Finn looked up at the gargoyle. “Mate, mind letting us in? We need to tell the Headmaster something.”

The gargoyle nodded and unfurled its wings.

Albus didn’t bother questioning his friend’s methods as he stepped onto the platform after the others. But something even more odd happened once everyone had gotten on: the gargoyle spun downwards.

“What’s going on?” Talia asked, looking up. “This isn’t right.”

Albus started. “I don’t know—”

And then, like Albus had been Petrified, his whole body went rigid. He felt a sharp pain at the middle of his temple, like someone had stabbed him in the head, and his vision went dark as he crumpled to the ground.

 

*     *     *

 

Albus could do nothing but feel. He woke on a dirt floor, but the world around him was pitch black.

The silence was deafening.

He blinked furiously and rubbed his eyes, but the world remained as dark as before. A panic set in as Albus shook in place on his hands and knees. He uncurled his fists and set his hands flat onto the ground. The dirt was cool and dry, like packed sand. Albus spread out his fingers to find something, anything. The space around him was simultaneously vast and claustrophobic.

Albus’s legs trembled as he rose into a f squat. He fumbled around to find purchase. Soon, he gained the courage to put his arms out. Nothing, still. His wand fell from his pocket, but Albus couldn’t hear it hit the ground, and he spent a frantic five minutes finding it before warily standing again.

Albus turned, but his outstretched left hand smacked a smooth, planar surface. He cried out as his wrist snapped inwards, and an icy sting poked itself into the joint like a needle. Albus felt the vibrations of his yell in his own head, a register that he’d made a sound, but its reflection never reached his ears.

Albus couldn’t tell if his wrist was broken, but it was tender enough that he cradled it into his chest. He moved until his other hand found the wall, and he snuggled up to its surface. Whatever was to the other side might have been one or a hundred meters away. He didn’t know, and he was too afraid to find out.

Albus cried out again, this time in desperation. Once more, the sound never reached his ears. It was like screaming into an infinite abyss, and his voice started giving out from the effort. His eyes watered in pain and fear, and hot tears ran down his cheeks. He didn’t remember the last time he’d cried.

He opened his eyes as wide as he could, and though he could feel the air brush across his eyelashes as they moved, there remained nothing to see. He eventually started shuffling his feet, doing so in such minute intervals that it barely felt like he was moving. The wall was frictionless, and Albus stopped every few moments as the ghosts of objects that weren’t actually there passed.

After an eternity, the ground started curving upwards like a ramp. Albus brushed the dried tears away as he continued, still holding his wrist awkwardly. The ramp grew steeper and steeper, and soon Albus was on his knees climbing the tunnel. The ground was more rocky and uneven the further he went, and Albus’s good hand started grasping what felt like tree roots.

Roots… an infection.

Albus hauled himself up and out of the tunnel using his legs, and when he collapsed on the grass, his senses returned. He stood quickly, now hypersensitive. It was dark outside, but the stars and the moon illuminated the forest, washing it in a dark blue. And there, directly in front of him, laid the entrance to the tunnel.

Albus’s eye followed the top of the tunnel all the way into distance. The trees were parted where the tunnel’s roof stuck up out of the ground, as though it had pushed them aside…

Albus inhaled sharply.

The ridge, the one that had attacked them after the winter holiday. It wasn’t a ridge at all. It was a tunnel, a tunnel to the middle of the forest.

Albus was in a clearing. The ground was littered with dead leaves and tree roots, which had formed a kind of nest in the middle of the glade. And there, half-covered by roots, laid Professor M.

“Professor!” Albus exclaimed. He ran over and placed his good hand on the roots covering M’s chest.

Professor M’s body was wrapped in the roots like a cocoon, but his face was almost entirely visible. He looked blue and cold, and his eyes were closed. Albus shivered at the thought of M breaking free, wrapping his hands around his neck, and squeezing the life out of his body… But when Albus looked closer at the roots crisscrossing over his professor’s torso, he took a step back.

The roots had embedded themselves into his skin. They were green at the ends, and they pulsed like fleshy little slugs. M’s blood was caked onto his arms, so dry that it looked like a black layer of coal. But as Albus watched in horrid fascination, the roots wriggled again within M’s skin, and M let out a croaking, rasping breath.

He was still alive.

“Professor…” Albus drew his wand awkwardly using his left hand, but he wasn’t sure what to do. He hesitated for a moment, looking back at the tunnel.

But it was gone. The ridge had receded into the ground, leaving no indication it was there save for the parted trees. The forest went on endlessly in every direction, and Albus had no idea if the way he was facing was even towards the castle.

Albus knew he had to look when he cast the spell. He forced himself to stare at the cocoon, hoping that the sight would make him less squeamish if he got accustomed to it.

He took a deep breath and pointed his wand at one of the outer roots not connected to M’s body. “Diffindo!”

The spell sheared off a solid chunk of the root, casting it out of the nest where it clattered onto the ground like a hollow piece of wood. Albus repeated the spell in little increments until the nest was all but gone. He tried pulling M from its wreckage, but the roots implanted within the professor wouldn’t budge. Albus whined before stowing his wand and prepping his good hand. He knew what he needed to do.

Albus bit his lip hard as he pulled the first root from M’s skin. It made a horrid, squelching sound as it came out. The single root split into feathery veins towards the end, and they wilted as Albus exposed them to the air. He did this another five, six, seven times, all with one hand, and all with immense disgust.

M was finally free, but he looked worse for wear. His lips were purple and his cheeks were patchy, as though parts of his skin had flaked off. Albus heaved his professor’s arm around his shoulder and tried to stand, but doing so caused him to bend his broken wrist.

Albus cried out and let go of M as he fell, and his professor’s catatonic body to dropped to the ground. Albus had landed in the remains of the nest, and he struggled to get up, blinking back tears as he moved his wrist. But as he finally managed to stand, something snaked around his waist and pulled him back down violently.

Albus screamed as his wrist smacked the edge of the nest. It was probably even more broken, now. Amidst the intense pain shooting up his arm and down his back, the tendrils wove themselves around his legs. And then, as blood seeped into his mouth from biting his lip too hard and the roots began digging into his skin, the pain overwhelmed Albus, and he succumbed to the lulls of unconsciousness.

 

*     *     *

 

The man stared at the knife. It was a beautiful thing that had been handcrafted for him by his wife. The blade was a piercing silver so dark it was almost black, with a wicked edge that glinted in the sunlight. The handle was fashioned from a rounded fragment of brown stone. Inscriptions wound around its edge, Nordic runes that the man had translated multiple times over.

His eyes moved further down, to the book. A single letter laid across its cover, sealed and stamped with his initials. It had taken him a good while to write that letter, and still it didn’t say everything he’d wanted it to.

His hands started shaking as he turned his gaze back to the dagger. His knuckles were white against the handle, clenched in such a tight fist that his nails dug into his palms.

He had to do this. He knew he had to do this.

The man closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and grasped the knife with both hands before driving it into his chest.

He expected to pass with his eyes closed, but his eyelids peeled back without warning. The man opened his mouth. He watched as the blue, glowing mist drained out of his throat and into the air, collecting into a tiny, bright ball of light before fading, just as his vision did a moment later.

Chapter 18: A Return to the Roots

Chapter Text

 

 

Albus swam in and out of consciousness, unsure of what was and wasn’t reality. Images flashed before his eyes that he knew he hadn’t seen before: an impossibly thin wall of ice that stretched hundreds of meters into a purple sky; a deep amber crystal amulet decorated with gold inlays resting around a man’s neck; a fractured, partially shattered portion of a black stone disk; and a girl with bright purple eyes and an expression of mirth.

They interspersed themselves with scenes Albus knew must have been true, whispers of familiar voices and glimpses of the castle walls. Those glimpses brought pain, too, searing pain that spread through his limbs and sent him spiraling into blissful darkness again, and again, and again.

And then, like after a tortured night of sleep filled with nightmares and terrifying propositions, Albus opened his eyes.

He was in the Hospital Wing, propped up on a bed in a far corner. The other seven beds were made prim and proper, save for one occupied by a fifth-year girl with short hair quietly reading a book. The window beside him let in copious amounts of orange light tinged pink as the fingers of the sun splayed out into the sky. It was early in the morning, evidenced by the analog clock above the entryway.

Albus blinked as he examined the date: June 14. It had been a week.

Pristine white sheets covered his legs and torso, and he was wearing a set of clothes that he didn’t own. Albus made to sit up straight, but he hissed as the shooting pain returned and collapsed backwards onto the bed. His arms were covered in bandages, and around the border of each one peeked a light green paste.

The girl glanced over at him and widened her eyes. “Miss Cordary, he’s awake!”

“Mister Potter?” came a voice from the office on the opposite side of the room. The nurse, Miss Cordary, bustled out with an air of urgency. “Albus, how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Albus muttered. He grimaced and tried to sit up again, but Miss Cordary placed a hand on his chest before he could.

“No, you need rest.”

“I’m fine, I’ve been resting for long enough—”

“You need rest.” Albus didn’t test her further. “I’m going to call the Headmaster, just wait right there.”

“Sure,” said Albus bitterly, unsure of where else he might have waited.

The girl snickered. “You look incredibly unhappy.”

“I am,” he said.

“At least you’re alive,” the girl offered, returning to her book and leaving Albus to stew in silence.

Helios appeared within two minutes, sweeping into the room dressed in a heavy cloak and followed by… Professor M. The Transfiguration professor was thinner and paler than normal, but his wounds were entirely gone.

Miss Cordary ran from her office and intercepted the two men. “Headmaster, Professor, he’s in a very unstable condition, so I would recommend taking it easy—”

“I’m sorry, Robin,” said Helios gruffly. M stood back, letting Helios take charge. “There are things I need to know.”

“I must insist,” said Miss Cordary.

“As do I. This is of utmost importance.” Helios glanced at the girl. “Miss Dart, shouldn’t you have been discharged by now?”

“It’s quieter here, Headmaster,” said the girl. “It’s nice for reading.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to take your reading elsewhere.”

The girl clicked her tongue and hopped off the bed. She winked at Albus. “Good luck.”

Helios moved forward, obstructing the girl from view as she left. His face was deep set with lines of worry as he examined Albus’s condition. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Tired,” Albus repeated. He looked over Helios’s shoulder at Professor M, who offered him the slightest smile.

“I’ve notified your parents that you’re awake,” Helios continued, “they’ll be here shortly. Do you remember anything about what happened?”

Albus’s palms started prickling. “Er…” He phrased his answer carefully, not wanting to incriminate his friends or mention the Chamber. “I remember… I tried to go to your office… but I blacked out and ended up in the forest… where Professor M—” His breath hitched.

“I am entirely fine,” M promised. “Evidently.”

“You looked worse than I do,” Albus said, once more glancing at his arms.

“Worse?” Helios questioned. “How do you mean?”

A cold sweat broke out across Albus’s forehead and hands. “There were these roots,” he said quietly, still staring at M. “They were buried into his skin… I had to pull them out, I think they were keeping him alive… I thought he wouldn’t make it, even with magic.”

Helios cast M a look before clearing his throat. “Albus, Professor M was the person who carried you out of the forest.”

Albus could hear his own heart beating. “He… he what?” His head started spinning. “No, that’s not possible.”

“He didn’t have any injuries on his person.” Helios spoke gently, like he was testing the waters.

“No, no,” Albus muttered. “I’m telling you.” He looked at M desperately.

“You’re sure this is what happened?” M questioned.

“Yes!” Albus insisted. For once, he was telling the entire truth. “It was like Neville thought, the roots were infected, they trapped him in this, this kind of nest—”

Helios shook his head. “I still can’t comprehend how you know of all this. Mister Greywater—”

Albus seized up, knowing what was coming next.

“—he said that you’d known, about the truth. Was it that Cloak of yours, is that how you found out? Yes, we know about the Cloak,” Helios added, trying to provide context that Albus didn’t need. “It’s evident that both of us know more than the other would want us to.”

Albus curled his hands into fists, grasping the sheets tightly to stop his palms from sweating so severely. It was done. They knew, they knew about the Chamber, and now they knew that he knew. He was going to be expelled, him and his friends, and it was all his fault. He held back the tears; he couldn’t cry, not now.

“I had a password,” Albus said. “There’s a book, in the Architect’s Chamber. That’s where I got it from. I overheard you talking with Ne—Professor Longbottom about how you needed to hide it from the Ministry.”

Helios widened his eyes so slightly that it could have been a trick of the light, but said nothing.

M furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you alright, Albus?”

“It’s okay, Albus,” said Helios, recovering from his momentary lapse, “you can tell the truth. You and your friends aren’t going to get in trouble.”

 “I…” Albus wasn’t sure if he’d misspoke. “I told you everything.”

 “Albus, I understand that the situation is pressing—”

“I told you!” Albus whined. “That’s the whole truth! I found a secret chamber behind the statue of the Architect outside the Great Hall—”

“Helios,” M whispered, “the boy is clearly in shock, just like his friends were. Leave him be. The issue is resolved, we have no real need for this.”

“Albus!” came a voice from the door, high-pitched and piercing.

Albus sat up sharply but fell back after the ghost of a cramp crept up his arm. “Lily?” he called weakly.

His sister shoved the two men aside as she bolted into his chest. Albus wheezed as she made impact but didn’t say anything, instead patting her head. “I thought you—I thought—” Lily fumbled with her words as she cried into Albus’s chest.

“Albus,” said his mother, relieved. Helios and M made way as Ginny came to Albus’s side and placed a hand under his head. She was dressed like she’d just woken up, and her hair was all askew. Her eyes were puffy like she’d been crying, too, but she smiled.

“I feel fine,” said Albus, answering the question before his mother could ask. “A little sore, but fine.”

“Lily, lighten up, you’re going to suffocate him! Albus, your father—”

“I’m here!” said Harry, appearing out of thin air. He smiled forlornly at Albus. “I know I said I didn’t want to see you until June, but I didn’t mean like this, Al.”

Ginny gently let go of Albus before whirling on Helios. “This had better not happen again!”

“Ginny—”

“No, Harry.” Ginny crossed her arms. “This is too much. Far too much.”

“It won’t,” Helios assured. “I can promise you. The Minister made sure to impress that on me.”

“And I’ll be sure to impress something else on you if you—”

“Thank you for your transparency, Helios,” said Harry, cutting his wife off. “I think you understand her sentiment.”

“Indeed,” Helios said curtly. “I’ll leave you be.” He turned his gaze to Albus. “Remember, Albus. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who deserve it. Visit my office after you’re discharged, if you will. You need not a password, the gargoyle will let you pass if you ask. Marcus?”

Helios turned, but M whispered something into his ear. The headmaster nodded and left, and M approached the other side of Albus’s bed. “Albus, whatever you did, you found me. When no one else could.” He reached into his robes. “I did something for you, as thanks.”

Ginny’s tone was considerably less cold. “Professor, you didn’t need to—”

“It’s quite fine.” M withdrew Albus’s MP3 player, wrapped in a cocoon formed by the earbuds. “It took some work, but I managed to fix it up. Here, give it a try.”

Albus nudged Lily, and his sister moved just enough so he could take the small device. He unraveled the cord with one hand and placed an earbud in an ear, handing the other to Lily. The music reached his ears clearly.

“Thank you!” Albus said, trying to sound enthusiastic. He might have been under normal circumstances, but the circumstances were anything but at the moment.

 “You’re very welcome.” M leaned in a bit. “Just try not to miss any more classes, hmm?”

Albus nodded sheepishly, though Lily barely gave him room to do so. M extended a polite goodbye to Harry and Ginny before following Helios out the door.

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Missing classes?”

“It was one class!” said Albus, defensive.

“You’d better hope it was.”

“Mum!”

“Let the kid be,” said Harry, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Do you want to talk about what happened, or no? I know how this kind of thing feels.”

Albus wanted to, desperately. “There’s a horcrux in the castle,” he said.

Harry stared at him, worry lines distorting the faint scar on his forehead. Albus tried conveying meaning using his eyes, but his father didn’t seem to understand.

Albus felt outside himself. It was like he was watching the world through someone else’s eyes, unable to control anything. Could he have even asked his father about horcruxes before, during the winter holiday? Or would he have been just as isolated as he was now?

Harry pursed his lips and smiled sadly. “I know that the younger me would have liked a hug at a time like this.”

His parents wrapped their arms around him and Lily, and his sister hugged him tighter when the tears began flowing down his cheeks. His father was right. Albus did want a hug, but something about the warmth felt hollow.

James was called up during breakfast. He cracked his usual jokes and poked fun at Albus’s state, but both Albus and his parents appreciated the levity, for once. His parents and Lily left just as classes began, and visitors came in waves throughout the day.

Victoire dropped in just after James. Dominique, Molly, Lucy, and Louis all came by in the middle of first period. James revisited with Roxanne and Fred in tow, but Miss Cordary shooed them away soon after to reapply his bandages.

“You’re almost there,” said Miss Cordary, checking the skin of his forearm. “I could let you go now, but I want to do another layer of Quick Salvo, just to stave off the particularly persistent bits of infection.”

Albus watched her apply more of the warm, thick, green sap to his arms. He expected it to smell profusely, but its scent was mellow and pleasant, like peppermint and pine. “Is this what you used before?” he asked, remembering the dry bits of paste that peeked out from the edges of his old bandages.

“Yeah. Nearly depleted my whole stock, you did, I’ve had to order more. Nasty piece of work. Those roots did a right bit of damage. Now, you let me know if you’re feeling a lot of pain beyond the soreness, yes? If everything’s fine for the next few hours, I’ll discharge you. I’ll be in my office if you need anything, there’s a good amount of paperwork to file at the end of the year.”

“I could help?” Albus offered. He was growing ever antsy, for there was nowhere to go and nothing to do. Even filing papers seemed more appealing.

Miss Cordary looked like she was trying not to grin. “Well, I don’t want you to feel pressured—but then again, if you’re offering to help, it isn’t too intensive—oh, fine!” she said with a great sigh. “I just need you to arrange some things by name.”

The work was more entertaining than Albus expected. People had checked into the Hospital Wing for a myriad of amusing reasons: one third year had managed to turn his hair into a heap of kelp, and a sixth year had reportedly been in state of “severe emotional distress” after discovering they’d woken up with violent purple and green eyebrows. Albus snickered as he came across the file of Cordon Zabini, who, Miss Cordary had noted, arrived “nearly in tears as he struggled to hide the severity of his dental condition.”

To his delight, the people he’d been hoping to see finally walked through the door just after classes ended. Albus’s face lit up into a grin as he spotted Rose alongside Scorpius, Finn and Talia. “Took you long enough!” he said as they approached.

Rose sniffed and stopped at the end of his bed. Her eyes were red and sunken, and she didn’t look well. Albus felt a little pang in his heart as she spoke, her voice hoarse. “Don’t you dare go dying on me without saying goodbye.”

“I don’t plan on dying anytime soon,” Albus promised.

Rose let out a little whimper before darting around the side of the hospital bed and flinging herself onto him, much like Lily had done before.

Albus winced. “Ow. Still sore.”

“S-sorry.” Rose stepped back and wiped her eyes, sniffling. “I shouldn’t have given you the silent treatment.”

“I shouldn’t have been an arse.” Albus didn’t want to get emotional again, but he tears prickled at the edges of his eyes. “I should be the one saying sorry.”

Rose punched him in the arm. “I told you, you were going too far!”

“And I should have listened. But hey,” said Albus weakly, “at least I have cool scars now. Girls like scars, right?”

“Girls like blokes who aren’t stupid,” said Finn, grinning. “You gonna say hello to the rest of us?”

“No.”

“Albus.” Scorpius didn’t sound any different from how he had in Neville’s office. “You need to know something.” The others’ faces went dark, but Albus already knew what they were getting at.

“I know,” said Albus.

“Know what?”

“I tried to tell Helios and M about the Chamber. They couldn’t hear me.” A quick moment of panic returned. “You all can, though, right? I’m not going crazy?”

“No, no,” Rose assured, shaking her head vehemently, and Albus breathed a sigh of relief. “We know. We should have believed you the whole time. But…”

“How did it happen?” Albus demanded. “How did I…” He hesitated. He didn’t even know what to ask.

Talia seemed to understand. “When the platform started going downwards, you… you crumpled to the floor and went all weird. Like, you were unconscious, but not… and then, everything went dark for a moment, and when we woke up on the platform you were gone.”

“Gone?” Albus questioned.

“Poof,” said Finn, miming an explosion with his hands. “Like a horror movie.”

“We took the platform back up,” said Scorpius. “Up to the Headmaster’s Office. Neville was there, and we tried telling him about the…” Scorpius laughed nervously, like he was afraid to speak. “About the horcrux. He couldn’t understand us.”

“He called Helios up after we told him you were missing,” Talia continued. “They searched the castle, but couldn’t find you anywhere.” She looked down. “We thought… we didn’t know what to think.”

“Until you showed up the next morning,” said Rose, blinking away tears rapidly. “M carried you out of the forest, we only got word halfway through the day.”

“And you?” Finn asked, poking Albus’s leg. “Why is it you look like a piece of swiss cheese?”

Albus told them everything. The words spilled out of his mouth so quickly that he stumbled over them a few times. It was like a great big balloon in his chest was slowly deflating as Albus laid his experience out on the table, though he did omit the two or three times he broke down and cried. Rose and Scorpius both turned green as Albus described the way he freed M, and all his friends stayed silent after he finished.

“How did you do it?” asked Rose after a long silence.

Albus frowned. “Do what?”

“Go on.”

Albus blinked. “I… I dunno. I couldn’t just sit there.”

Rose shook her head. “I… I don’t know what I’d do in a situation like… that.”

“Speaking of the situation,” said Scorpius, “how is it that you ended up right where Professor M was?”

Albus thought about the tunnel he’d traveled through. “I think… I think that the ridge that attacked us at the beginning of term was trying to lead us to those roots. Maybe Professor M just got tangled up there…”

“You,” said Scorpius. “Albus, it was trying to lead you to those roots. The book didn’t respond to any of us. You were the one in the tunnel, you were the one who opened the Chamber.”

Albus groaned in frustration. “Why can’t we tell anyone?”

“It’s the Fidelius Charm.”

“The Fidelius Charm?”

“It’s old, old magic,” Scorpius explained. “Someone casts the charm to disguise the true nature of anything, from a word to a building. They’re called the Secret-Keeper. The secret, whatever it is, stays hidden until they choose to divulge it. You can only be told the secret by the Secret-Keeper, and once you know, you can’t tell anyone else, just like us. But there’s another wrinkle.”

Albus understood. “How was it cast?”

“The Architect must have cast it on the book, and then made that his horcrux?” Rose suggested.

“No, that doesn’t make sense,” Albus insisted. “Helios, M, the professors we told, they’d all be able to know about the Chamber, then.”

“So, the Fidelius was cast on the Chamber itself,” said Talia.

“No, it can’t be that either. We discovered the Chamber without being told it exists.”

“Hold on,” said Finn, waving his hands. “This Filly Charm—”

“Fidelius,” Rose corrected.

“—makes it so no one can know the secret unless they’re told.”

“Yes,” Scorpius affirmed.

“And we were told by the book.”

“Yeah.”

“Can the book be the secret and a horcrux at the same time? Is that possible?”

“We don’t know,” Scorpius finished, sounding just as dissatisfied as Finn was confused.

“The siren,” said Albus. “What if the siren was the thing telling us about the Chamber? You yourself said we needed to be told the secret exists. What if the siren was, like, confirmation of that?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Scorpius confessed.

“No, it makes some kind of sense,” said Rose, nodding. “If the siren was the Secret-Keeper’s way of leading us to the Chamber, then the Chamber itself could be the secret.”

“Then why can’t we tell anyone about the blank book?” asked Talia. “Or anything we learned from the books in the Chamber?”

“Maybe the charm extends to the objects within the Chamber?” Scorpius suggested. “But that still doesn’t explain the timing. The siren, why did it happen now, centuries after the Architect died? And why Albus’s phone?”

“How is it connected?” said Albus, irritated. “It doesn’t make sense. If the book is a horcrux, how did it make the earthquake happen, how did it make the ridge move like that, how did it make the siren? It’s a bloody object, it can’t use telekinesis.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” said Scorpius, looking as though he regretted his words right after he spoke them. “God, that’s terrifying.”

Albus clenched his jaw. “I hate not knowing.”

Talia laughed drily. “We’ve got a whole six years to figure it out, I suppose.”

Rose shivered. “Please, don’t remind me.”

“What if we just…” Finn made a wild series of motions with his hands. “Remove the book from the Chamber? Like, just take it out of the castle and chuck it out the train window?”

“No,” said Albus immediately. “No, we can’t. We can’t leave this to chance. It’s our problem now. We need to kill it.”

“You said it yourself,” Rose said miserably. “It’s invincible, that’s the point. And we can’t even ask your dad.”

“Maybe not,” said Albus slowly, thinking. “But we don’t need to ask someone, do we.” The other four stared at him. “No, think about it! We have a book about horcruxes, maybe it talks about a way to kill them! How d’you think my dad figured it out, it’s not like we can talk to Dumbledore—” Albus inhaled sharply.

“What?” Rose looked at Albus intently. “I know that look, what is it?”

“Dumbledore. His portrait, in the Headmaster’s Office.” Albus sat up; the pain was gone, now. “He must have figured out a way to kill horcruxes, that’s how Dad knew. If we can talk to him—”

“You can’t,” said Scorpius glumly. “We’re bound by the Fidelius, we can’t tell another person.”

Albus grinned. “But Dumbledore’s not a person, is he?”

Scorpius smacked Albus on the leg. “Brilliant! Bloody brilliant!”

“Kids!” said Miss Cordary, emerging from her office. “I understand you all have much to discuss, but I must see to Mister Potter’s injuries.”

“I’m feeling fine,” Albus assured, indeed feeling better than he had in months. “I think I’m good.”

“Maybe so, but I need to make sure. You four can wait outside, it shouldn’t be too long.”

Albus tapped his foot in midair impatiently as Miss Cordary examined the area under each bandage and made little marks on her clipboard. After an excruciating five minutes, she cleared him for dismissal, and Albus leapt out of bed as he ran to the door.

“Don’t forget, Albus, the Headmaster wants to see you!” she called.

“Fine!” said Albus, realizing that this was a good thing; he could easily get into the Headmaster’s Office and feign emotion to get a moment alone with Dumbledore. “Come on, let’s go!” he said, flying by his friends and ignoring the soreness in his legs.

“Albus!” said Rose, grabbing his arm.

Albus spun around. “We need to go! We need to kill it!” His voice rose—he didn’t want to have another row with his cousin, but if things came to it, he would—

“I know!”

Albus paused. “Wait, what?”

“I know, Albus! We’re coming with you, just slow down! Don’t hurt yourself again.”

Albus stared at Rose for a moment. “Why did you choose Slytherin?” he asked suddenly.

Scorpius started. “Albus, I don’t think this is the time—”

“I was afraid,” said Rose, looking Albus straight in the eye. “I was afraid of being lost in the crowd. I wanted to be different.”

And suddenly, Albus realized that Rose was braver than he ever could be. He pitied any fool who’d try getting in her way.

“You asked me how I went on,” said Albus. “In the tunnel. You said you thought you wouldn’t be able to.”

“I don’t…” Rose shrugged. “I don’t think I would.”

“Really?” Albus grinned. “I think you’d be just fine.”

 

*     *     *

 

“It seems that you five are truly inseparable,” Helios remarked, eyeing the five first years standing before his desk. “I asked for one of you and I get all five.”

“We’re a package deal,” said Albus.

“I can tell. I suppose that all of you were involved, regardless.” Helios sat down and waved his wand. A row of chairs appeared behind the Slytherins. “Please, sit. I need to tell you all something.”

Albus sat down slower than the others. Something didn’t feel right. He folded his hands in his lap, trying to look impassive as Helios spoke.

“You have all asked me repeatedly about something, but I didn’t want to answer until I was sure Albus was fine.” Helios cleared his throat awkwardly. “I know… about the Architect’s Chamber.”

“WHAT?!” Albus exclaimed, standing up and slamming his hands on the table. His eyes were wide. “How? It’s got the Fidelius Charm on it—”

“Albus, please. I cast the Fidelius Charm on the Chamber over a decade ago.”

“You did? But then how did the siren—did you do the siren?”

Helios frowned. “Siren?”

Scorpius forced Albus’s shoulder down. “Sorry, Professor, he’s just a little wired.”

“Then you know about…” Rose gulped. “About the horcrux.”

Helios shook his head. “Not until you told me. Look, I don’t quite know how you all found out about the Chamber when I’m Secret Keeper. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“I wanted to speak to Dumbledore,” said Albus. “About how to kill horcruxes. When my dad killed that basilisk, he killed Voldemort’s horcrux, too, right?”

“You figured that out yourself?” Helios asked.

“Yeah. If dad knew how, he must have gotten the information from Dumbledore.”

“Your events are a little out of order, Albus.” Helios cleared his throat. “You couldn’t have asked Dumbledore. The Fidelius extends to paintings and ghosts, anything that can interact with the human world.”

Albus deflated. “Oh.”

“But there is another way,” Helios insisted. “Tell me what happened.”

Rose started. “There was—"

“We followed a siren,” said Albus, cutting Rose off. “A magical homing beacon wormed its way into my phone, and we followed it to the Chamber. We opened it using my dad’s Invisibility Cloak.”

“There’s a blank book in the Chamber,” said Scorpius. “It had only a single page written on, a list of books. We found one of those books, and it—it was about horcruxes.”

“Then, the writing changed,” said Albus. “I—er, it…” Albus backpedaled, not wanting to admit he set the Chamber on fire.

“Albus set the Chamber on fire,” said Finn.

“Everything came back,” Albus assured. “It all regenerated, like the castle does whenever its damaged. The new writing, in the book, it told us to come here and say a phrase. That’s when we overheard the truth about M and the forest.”

“But the book said something else, too,” Talia added. “‘Return to me when the earth awakens.’”

“And it did,” said Albus. “At the Quidditch final. We went back to the book, just like it had said, and it gave us a new password, and led us through a secret pass beneath the castle. It took us to Neville—Professor Longbottom’s office, and we learned about how the infection was making the grounds go all crazy. That’s where Scorpius found out it was a horcrux.”

“But there was something else odd about the whole thing,” said Scorpius, glancing at Albus. “The book’s passwords, they only work when Albus says them. Albus saw the book’s message different, it said, ‘Return to me when the earth awakens, Albus.’ And just after the Quidditch match, Albus opened the Chamber on his own, without the Cloak. We think that whatever’s going on with the Chamber is connected to the forest.”

“You’re sure?” Helios demanded, leaning forwards. “About all of this, the horcrux, and Albus’s connection?”

“Something about the whole thing is odd,” Rose murmured. “If you think about it, it’s like the book wanted us to know it was a horcrux.”

“We can worry about semantics later,” said Helios, standing. “You said Albus can open the Chamber?”

“Yeah,” said Scorpius. “Why?”

“Albus, follow me. The rest of you, stay here. I want to make sure nothing bad happens.”

“Where are we going?” Albus questioned.

“To kill a horcrux.”

Rose stammered. “Just like that?”

“Just like that,” Helios affirmed. “We don’t have any time to waste, and I’m not putting more of you in danger. No exceptions,” Helios added as all five opened their mouths to speak. “Phineas, will you keep an eye on them?”

“What? Why?” said a portrait of a gruff old wizard on a wooden chair. “I’m not a babysitter.”

“I have some business to attend to.”

“Phineas!” chastised the portrait of the witch with curly hair; Dilys, if Albus remembered correctly. “Apologies, Professor, we’ll look after the children.”

“Thank you, Dilys.” Helios was waiting at the entrance to the office. “Come, now, Albus.”

Albus glanced at the empty frame adorned with a plaque that read Albus Dumbledore. Even if Dumbledore couldn’t have offered answers to their horcrux problem, Albus would have liked to talk with him. Not about anything much in particular, just… a conversation.

Albus followed the Headmaster out the door. He kept his eyes on his friends’ worried faces as the platform spiraled downwards until they disappeared from his sight.

 

*     *     *

 

Albus waited outside Neville’s office as the Herbology professor and the Headmaster spoke. Their conversation was short, and within a minute Helios emerged carrying a small but sharp silver sword with a ruby encrusted handle.

Albus gasped. “The Sword of Gryffindor!” He tried not to squeal. “It can kill horcruxes?”

“Yes,” said Helios, his gaze wavering on Albus for a moment. “Come, then.”

Albus struggled to keep up with Helios’s pace. “Why does Professor Longbottom have it?” he asked as they passed through the back entrance.

“The Sword hasn’t found the need to return to the Sorting Hat, so I suppose it’s elected to stay with the professor for the time being.”

Albus wasn’t sure what else to say, and the two spent the rest of the walk to the Chamber in silence. Helios stopped before the statue of the Architect. He stared at it for a moment with a kind of wistful expression, and Albus cleared his throat after what felt like an unreasonable amount of time. “Professor?”

“Yes, sorry.” Helios held the pointy end of the sword carefully away from Albus. “Go ahead, then.”

Albus felt uneasy, but he heeded Helios’s request and climbed over the base of the statue. He placed his hand to the wall behind the pedestal, and stones grinded and shifted to create an opening tall enough for the two of them to slip through. But this time, the statue itself moved to the side, too.

“That’s new,” Albus muttered as Helios slipped past the pedestal.

“What did you say, Albus?”

“Er, nothing.”

“Right.” Helios pursed his lips. “A blank book.”

“I’ll show you, here—”

“No, Albus.” Helios put out his arm, preventing Albus from stepping towards the spiral staircase. “You don’t want to see this.”

“Professor—”

“This is nonnegotiable.”

Albus looked down. He’d spent an entire year solving a mystery he went looking for, and he didn’t even get to see the end of it. “Fine.”

Helios nodded solemnly and stepped forwards. “Thank you for understanding.”

But as Helios steadied the sword in his grip, something in the air changed. A crackling, hissing noise eked from the walls, and with a great crack! Helios was thrown backwards without warning. The headmaster widened his eyes and flung his hand out, slowing his momentum wandlessly before he crashed painfully into the edge of the pedestal. “What…”

“Did you feel that?” Albus asked, sounding worried. “Something’s different.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Helios, probing the space before him with the sword. He let out a cry of surprise as the Sword of Gryffindor peeled itself from his fist and went flying backwards, clattering to the ground behind the statue.

Albus whirled around, but the sword looked to be dissolving into thin air. “Professor! The Sword!”

But something was very wrong with Helios. He was coughing and sputtering, reaching out to Albus desperately. “It’s trying to transfer—Take it—the Sword! Go kill—” Helios’s eyelids fluttered, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Albus was terrified as he darted over to the vanishing sword. He whimpered a little and, mustering all the courage he could, made to grasp the handle. It passed right through his hand.

“No!” Albus tried again, but the blade was vanishing quicker, now. He fell to his knees. “No, no!”

You’re not worthy, a voice whispered in his head. You don’t deserve it. The entire blade was gone, and only the handle remained. You are nothing. You are a failure. You will never be like your father.

“I don’t care!” Albus yelled, making one final swipe at the sword.

He caught the edge of a ruby with his fist, and in less than a second, the Sword of Gryffindor returned to its physical form.

Albus gripped the sword tight with both hands. It was cold as ice and heavier than he’d expected. Albus steeled himself, preparing for what he needed to do, before standing.

Albus knew that the Chamber would let him pass. He entered without consequence and climbed the stairs. With each step, the setting sun outside seemed to grow brighter.

Soon, Albus reached the top landing. The Chamber was pristine as ever, but he didn’t care. The blank book laid on the first table. It looked lonely, lonely and sad, a lost memory from a time long forgotten.

Albus had always imagined himself smiting an evil enemy with horns blaring triumphantly in the background, but the reality was quiet. His grip on the sword tightened. “No hesitation,” he whispered to himself. The words hung in the still air.

Albus cut through them, heaving the silver blade over his head and slicing downwards at the blank book. For a single insane moment, Albus wanted to stop, to wrench the blade away, to hide the book in a place no one would ever find it. But as the Sword of Gryffindor made contact, Albus felt ashamed he’d ever thought such a thing.

The table lay splintered on the floor, cradling the remains of the book. Black ink seeped from either half of the journal, smoking and flecked with orange and gold. It hissed and stained the wooden surface, sounding like a voice for a moment before giving way to the silence.

Albus loosened his grip, and the sword clattered to the ground loudly. A sudden rush of hollow hopelessness overcame his body, and he sunk to his knees, exhausted. He stared out the window, watching the sun descend behind the mountains.

Then, the pain came. There was always pain.

Albus crumpled to the floor in a fetal position, clutching his head in agony. A scream tore itself from his throat, and Albus wrenched his head back. It was like his very bones were alighting and melting, like every cell in his body was spontaneously combusting. Five words forced their way into his brain, coalescing with his very being, his very soul, and with them came a sheer terror that made Albus want to rip his eyes from their sockets.

You will be my vessel.

Chapter 19: Author's Note: Afterword

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

 

Written on January 20, 2021.

 

Earlier today, I was scrolling through Twitter when I came across a picture of Alan Rickman and Daniel Radcliffe on the set of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. It was the scene where Harry and Ron talk about their dates for the ball, and Snape whacks them over their heads with a book. The scene is so simple in design, but something about it still holds that magic that made Harry Potter so captivating for me and countless others in the first place. I took a closer look at the photo while I thought. It was graded in black and white, and both Alan Rickman and Daniel Radcliffe were laughing. I don’t know if I had ever seen the two laughing in the same frame, yet such an unfamiliar thing felt so familiar.

I think anyone who’s read Harry Potter has wanted to go to Hogwarts. That shared sentiment is probably why myself and so many others brave the horrendous traffic of the I-4 to get to Universal Studios Florida. The Wizarding World of Harry Potter certainly could have been better executed as a themed land—especially if a certain woman didn’t exhibit her unfortunate tendency to demand agency over a medium she is entirely unexperienced with—but it regardless resides in a nostalgic part of my heart.

There’s a ride there, called Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey. The queue is designed to look like it’s taking you through the halls of Hogwarts, starting in the greenhouses, moving past the Defense classroom and Headmaster’s Office (where you meet Dumbledore and Harry, Hermione, and Ron, respectively), and ending at the platform to get on the ride. As you’re leaving the greenhouses, there stands a statue at the entryway. A golden statue of a man with a beard in spiral ringlets, holding a miniature model of Hogwarts in one hand and a roll of parchment in the other, flanked by the four house symbols on each corner of the pedestal. My idea sprang from that, on a trip in late 2019, and that same weekend I wrote a little blurb about eleven-year-old Albus Potter examining the statue.

I expanded this blurb into a single chapter, maybe a couple thousand words in length. It was about Albus talking with his friends, Rose, Scorpius, and Talia. Just talking. I didn’t mean for it to go anywhere, just like my other failed attempts at Albus Potter stories that have been since abandoned. Months later, sitting in a pool of destitution as a virus rendered the world outside near desolate, I came across this same chapter. That’s when inspiration struck.

I began writing because I liked the idea, and that first chapter turned into a longer one. One night, lying in bed, I wrote the entire second and third chapters on my phone within the span of seven hours. The characters formed themselves in my mind, and my blazing fingers could hardly keep up with the pace. Finn, Professor Nyx and Professor M, Felix, Minghao, Gore, Barry; the threads spun themselves. I barely slept that night, because I was too happy. I continued writing, building upon ideas in my head drawn from various writers who’d taken a stab at an Albus Potter concept themselves. (To this end, I must offer thanks to Cody and Andy, who developed an incredible Albus Potter series under the account NoahPhantom. A green teenager read their phenomenal books back in 2016, and he has since rediscovered his passion.) Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, and soon I had produced over two hundred pages of manuscript.

But then, in July 2020, I opened my Word document to find that the page count was sitting in the one hundreds. Nearly half of my story was gone, gone without a trace. It was heartbreaking. This thing I’d invested so much of my own time into had vanished into thin air. I spent hours poring through forums and backlogs, trying to find a solution. I tried everything. Nothing worked. It was well and truly gone.

For the next month, I didn’t have any motivation to write. These ideas were brimming to the point of overflow in my head, but I didn’t have the life in me to write them down. I hardly remember how I got back into the flow of things, but I know for a fact that what I wrote from that breaking point was different. It was more purposeful and more defined, more… me.

I started having these “eureka moments.” I’d be doing the most mundane thing, twiddling my thumbs in mental absence, when a strike of brilliance rocked my brain like a lightning bolt. I wrote clips of scenes from future books that didn’t even have a space of existence yet, and each time I had another eureka moment, I would literally jump up and down in excitement. In conjunction with these little trimmings documenting miscellaneous ideas and character justifications, a gold flower of pride started blooming in my chest. I could feel where it was at night as I laid staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep as my mind conjured vivid scenes of a boy’s adventures at a magic school.

I don’t regret what happened, because it was necessary for me to understand what it means to be a writer. Much of this book used to be confused and meandering, without reason or rhyme or motive, and it read like that. But I returned with new ideas and reborn passion.

The Wizarding world will go on, independent of its creator. The monument will lie in the brains of the people who see the words Harry Potter and smile, envisioning themselves as someone more, someone magical. I lost that magic for a while, but I’ve found it once more. Because even though the mythos might be someone else’s, even though a majority of the names were created by another, I’ve turned names into identities, into people. That’s my little island in the sea.

As I’m writing this afterword, I am penning the final chapter of the first draft. And, for once, even though I have weeks of revisions and rewrites ahead of me, I know that I will finally have an end. I know that I won’t give up on this story, because I care too much.

 

And I have many more stories to come.

Notes:

Book Two coming 2022.

Series this work belongs to: