You think you know someone

 Albus had a problem. He did not consent to altering his seating arrangement at Potions. He was perfectly content to sit with the rest of the Slytherins if it meant staying out of his family’s way. But Hermione and Ron dragged him to sit next to them. Ron and Ernie tried pestering him with numerous questions throughout the lesson, but Hermione made sure to shut them up. Albus, very reluctantly, mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to her (after all, she did force him into this uncomfortable position). Meanwhile, Harry kept to himself, which Albus was grateful for. The strange, nonverbal encounter with his dad from earlier had left him quite speechless.

 The rest of class went insufferably slow until it mercifully came to an end. Albus couldn’t wait to be rid of the thickness in the air. And it had nothing to do with the potions’ scents that hung around the classroom’s air.

 “Hi,” Hermione showed up by his side once he was out of the dungeon, followed by Ron next to her and Harry strolling in a distance behind. “walk with us?”

 Why.

 He shot her a desperate look, but she only smiled at him in encouragement.

 He sighed defeatedly, letting her guide him toward Gryffindor table once they made it to the Great Hall. It felt like a betrayal to his own House. Sure, they hadn’t seen eye-to-eye, and they probably wouldn’t bat an eye if something terrible were to happen him, but he wished he was trusted enough to be let into their inner circle. He planned on working on it. Sitting at the Gryffindor table, however, could jeopardize that.

 None of the Golden Trio said a word throughout their journey to the Great Hall until they finally sat on the benches. Ron and Harry sat on the benches closest to the wall. Albus sat across from them, facing Ron. His and Hermione’s backs were to the Hufflepuffs.

 “Are you sure this is wise?”

 It had been Harry that spoke first, looking around the enormous room at the students that were pointing at them with hushed voices, though Albut had a feeling Harry kept doing that to avoid looking directly at him. He didn’t understand why it hurt having Harry not look at him. The gesture felt eerily similar to his father’s. Pretending he couldn’t see Albus so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge his abundant dismay, but Albus sensed it regardless.

 “It’s fine, Harry.” Hermione reassured her friend. “This is hardly any different from fourth year, and if anything, it’s an improvement from last year.”

 “That’s true.” Ron agreed.

 Harry still wouldn’t look at him.

 “Besides, you and Al are going to have to interact tonight anyway at the Headmaster’s office.” Hermione continued speaking to Harry. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea for you to know each other beforehand.”

 “Al?” Ron looked at him funny.

 “To avoid confusion.” Albus explained shortly.

 “But why Al?”

 “Does it matter?!” He didn’t mean to sound too defensive. He just already disliked the name and hated that he had to enforce it because it was the better option. He did not wish to add justifying it to the mix of the compromises he had to make in order to fit in. He turned to Hermione in an attempt to drive the subject away from his name. “What do you mean Harry and I are going to Dumbledore’s tonight?”

 “Potter!”

 As if on cue, one of the seventh year Slytherins called as she strode toward them.

 Both his and Harry’s heads turned toward her at the name. Albus noted that she was the Head girl, and he saw the rolled parchment she had with her. “Our Head of House requested I hand this to you.” She said briskly.

 “Er, thank you?”

 She walked away once Albus took the parchment. There could be only one person writing to him, and it sure wasn’t Snape. He didn’t want to open it in front of the trio in fear that whatever was written inside wasn’t for anyone’s eyes to see but his own. “Well,” he said in an attempt to appear nonchalant. “I guess that answers my question.”

 They ate in silence. Albus didn’t because was keenly aware of everyone in Gryffindor staring at him, the only snake in their midst. He was struck by how eerily familiar the treatment had been in both timelines. So, it was kind of like he was back home. Brilliant.

 He made a deliberate effort to avoid Ginny’s figure sitting a few seats away from the sixth years, chatting with some of her friends while throwing a few glanced toward him.

 “I overheard someone who heard a Slytherin say there isn’t a war where you’re from?” Ron said in a tone that suggested it was a question.

 “Yep.”

 “It’s true what they say then,” Some seventh-year Gryffindor butted in, no doubt was eavesdropping. “that He Who Must Not Be Named doesn’t exist in your world?”

 “Yep.” He repeated without looking up from his untouched plate.

 “Must be nice.” He heard someone else mumble from the background.

 Everyone, as in the trio, continued to eat without speaking, though Hermione and Ron kept looking from Harry to Albus, back and forth, as if waiting for one of them to break the ice. When it seemed neither was willing to do so, Ron took charge.

 “So, Al.” He started obnoxiously. Albus could feel other Gryffindors inching closer to listen attentively. “Who are your mates, where you’re from?”

 “Um,” oh, oh. He swallowed nervously. “Why do you ask, Ron?”

 Ron shrugged. “Just curious. Can you blame me?” He let out a breathy chuckle that didn’t quite sound humorous. “I’m also curious of what House Hermione and I are sorted in at your world. I mean, if you’re not a Gryffindor, then what about the rest of us? I reckon you’re Ravenclaw.” He looked at Hermione when he added that part.

 “No, she’s a Gryffindor.” As was their daughter. Their son, however. “You’re. . . you’re a Hufflepuff.”

 Ron got quiet, mulling it over.

 “Oh dear,” Hermione said in mock worry. “that means other Ron’s common room is close to Hogwarts kitchens!”

 “I like the sound of that.” A gleam crossed Ron’s eyes. Albus stared yearnfully at them. It was at this moment that he looked so much like Uncle Ron. “Bet I’d make a great Hufflepuff, right Harry?” He nudged his quiet friend.

 “Makes sense, you’re fairly loyal.” Harry said to Ron with a small smile, stubbornly averting his gaze from Albus.

 “And hey, at least the alternative isn’t Slytherin.” Ron said with contented relief.

 Harry’s smile turned strained, and Hermione cleared her throat pointedly.

 Ron seemed to have just recalled what colors were Albus’ school attire. “I’m sure you’re great.” He amended quickly. “I mean, as far as I can tell, you’re nothing like those bigoted, pure bloods.”

 Albus felt physically affronted on behalf of his House. Slytherin was the for the ambitious and cunning. Those attributes didn’t automatically make people prejudiced!

 He looked desperately at his dad for his help. He knew his father didn’t have a problem with Slytherin in general, just some specific people from that House (namely Draco Malfoy). To Albus’ utter shock, he saw Harry nodding.

 Seeing him act okay to what Ron implied felt like a punch to the gut. At least his real dad always defended the Slytherin House against biased criticism, but this version of him not only stayed quiet but agreed to said criticism. The only Gryffindor who appeared to possess some common sense was Hermione, who shook her head at her friends in disapproval. Or perhaps it was only because she noticed Albus’s discomfort and didn’t want to disturb the peace? Either way, Albus discovered he didn’t want to sit with their company any longer.

 He didn’t like how they were implying that his House was dark. Granted, it currently was in this timeline, but that did not give them the right to assume that it always was!

 “Y’know,” He said low enough, leaning forward so nonother than the three Gryffindors could hear him. “where I’m from, Malfoy and I are best mates.” He finally answered the question Ron asked him earlier.

 Silence rang among them as the trio registered what had been said.

 Then, there had been more silence as each of the Golden Trio reacted by pulling a face different from the other.

 “What did you just say?” Harry said slowly, finally addressing him.

 This was the first time he’d ever spoken to Albus.

 He rolled his eyes. This was like telling his family about Scorpius all over again! “Well, we didn’t grow up in the heat of a crisis. I thought everyone knew that?” When he was met with more dumbfounded silence, he sighed. “There’s no reason for me to hate on him, basically.”

 Albus heard a load slam on the table and plates clattering, but his main focus remained on the lanky Gryffindor with the wildly unkempt hair, glaring at him. Albus glared back.

 “Like hell there isn’t!”

 “Ronald!”

 Other students shifted their focus back toward them when they heard Ron and Hermione’s outbursts.

 Harry spoke to him again, voice dangerously levelled. “War or not. That never stopped Malfoy from practicing his pure-blood supremacy belief on everyone—”

 “YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!” Albus shouted, livid and a tad disappointed.

 This time, the entire Great Hall had its eyes laser focused on them, including the staff.

 “Y’know what? I do, because before Voldemort got resurrected, everyone thought he was dead then.” Albus didn’t recall standing up until Harry stood himself, and despite being shorter, Albus somehow thought Harry was towering over him. “And guess what? He called Hermione the M word when we were kids. Still does. And that’s just a tiny example of what kind of person he is.”

 “I’m not supporting the rubbish people like him believe in, but guess what? You can’t determine who’s good or bad, especially someone whom you never met, so you don’t have a right to assume that my friend is a bad person!”

 “You—”

 “No, I’m not going to listen to you claiming all pure blooded Slytherins are inherently bad just because you never bothered to know any of them on a personal level. Go on, name one Slytherin who you had a personal connection to? Hmm? See? Nada.” Albus took several intakes of long breaths to calm his nerves. After a moment or so, he said calmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to harass Draco.”

 He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to add that last part, especially since Draco and he weren’t remotely friends, but it left him feeling satisfied from the baffled looks the entire Gryffindor table was giving him. Without saying another word, he picked up the plate with the untouched food before leaving to join the Slytherin side of the Great Hall.

 Once he settled there, the Malfoy in question was already gaping at him.

 “What on earth was that?” Draco sounded just as baffled.

 Had they been that load?

 “Other me’s a bloody git, that’s what!” He snapped.

 The Slytherins didn’t look like they knew what to do with him, and Albus didn’t pay them any mind. He decided now was the time to unroll the piece of parchment, and sure enough, his eyes were greeted by Dumbledore’s elegant scrawling.

 Dear Mr. Potter,

 I hope that you are having a brilliant first day.

 I want to inform you that I shall be busy throughout the term, so you may not have a chance to speak to me if needed. Therefore, I have taken it upon myself to inform your Head of House of your true circumstances for you to have someone rather than myself to confide in should you need it. Furthermore, I wish to see you in my office after dinner tonight, so do swing by.

 Yours sincerely,

 A. P. W. B. Dumbledore

 P. S. I don’t know about you, but my current sweet obsession is with Acid Pops. Pity they ran out of them at Honeydukes.

 Albus reread the letter thrice to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him before looking over the staff’s table. Snape’s seat was unoccupied, and unsurprisingly, so was Dumbledore’s. 

Harry and Dumbledore had already been talking by the time he pushed through the door. The Headmaster greeted him joyfully and Harry resorted to glare at him. Though gone was the look of hostility from earlier today. Harry now had a pensive expression on.

 Albus felt sweat bead over his neck. What did Dumbledore tell Harry?

 “Mr. Potter, I was just telling Harry here about the incident of the veil. He has other questions regarding the incident that you can answer better than I.” Dumbledore turned to Harry from where he sat behind his desk and nodded at him. “Go on.”

 “What did you see before you got tossed to our world?” Harry asked with unmasked curiosity, already getting up from his seat to face Albus fully.

 “Er,” So, Dumbledore didn’t tell Harry anything, basically. “nothing really. It was very dark. . . but I remember seeing a silver light at a distance in the-the void around me, and it felt like I was being pushed towards it.” Albus tried his best to get his point through. “When I came of the void, I was at the Department of Mysteries where—” He waved a hand around. “—stuff was going on, and all.” He concluded lamely.

 “But do you remember seeing anyone come out of the silver light before you got through?” Harry looked at him imploringly.

 Albus knitted his eyebrows in confusion. What was that about?

 “No.”

 “Are you sure you didn’t see something? Anything at all?” Harry’s eyes had a pleading shadow cast over them. It softened his usually sharp gaze. Albus thought he preferred the cold stares to whatever vulnerable state his father—Harry was in.

 That’s when it hit him. Harry was asking about Sirius.

 “I’m sorry.” Albus couldn’t bear to see the broken expression on Harry’s face, so he looked down at his shoes instead. It didn’t feel right, seeing his dad looking so down. He was supposed to be the epitome of overconfident optimism.

 Albus looked up once he heard Harry clear his throat.

 “I was wondering that, in your world, are you. . . do you live with your godfather?”

 “Don’t need to, already have living parents with no threat to their lives.” He did not know why he said that.

 “Oh joy. Throw that at my orphaned face.” Harry snarked. “Thanks for the reminder.”

 “Well, you’re not welcome.” Albus jeered, thoughts of their estrangement at the Great Hall came flooding back to him.

 Dumbledore blinked, taken aback by the unexpected verbal outlash. “I take it you two have already met?”

 Albus no doubt looked startled from seeing Dumbledore. He genuinely forgot the man was still with them.

 “We had double Potions today.” Harry offered no elaboration, his face already slipped into a mask of indifference.

 “We did.” Albus added redundantly.

 Harry looked like he wanted to say something to Albus, but he beat Harry to it.

 “Sirius’s dead where I’m from, by the way.” He confessed in an attempt to get rid of any possible misconceptions. “He’s been dead long before I was born.”

 “At least he and his counterpart have one thing in common.” Harry said bitterly.

 “Harry,” Dumbledore sounded worn out, like he’d been trying to convey the same thing over and over. “we do not know for sure that he isn’t out there, somewhere. There’s a chance he might still be alive—”

 “There’s also a chance he might not be!” Harry hissed with fierce conviction. “I’m done holding on to false hope. So, sotired of clinging to it. You’re the one who told me months ago that I needed to move on, well, I am moving on!”

 Harry pushed past Albus rudely as he stormed out of Dumbledore’s office, pausing briefly at the entrance. “I’ll see you on Saturday.” He said timidly before leaving two confounded Albuses behind.

 “Well,” Dumbledore sighed after a long pause. “that could have played out better.”

 Albus stared at the door as though expecting Harry to come marching back any second now to attack him. He inched his hand toward the wand in his pocket just in case.

 He eventually made his way toward the old man’s desk and sat where Harry’s been moments ago.

 “Acid Pops?” A bowl was offered to Albus.

 “I prefer Lemon Drops actually.” He didn’t like how Acid Pops burnt a hole in his mouth that one time he tried it.

 “Suit yourself.”

 There was Lemon Dropps laying closely on the desk, so Albus helped himself and popped one into his mouth. As he was munching on the sour candy, Albus thought of what Harry said before disappearing from view.

 “Are you starting your horcrux lessons on Saturday.” Not a question, but a fact. One that the man behind the desk wouldn’t deny.

 Dumbledore’s expression sored.

 “I wish you’d stop doing that.” He said, but voice lacking any irate Albus was sure the man felt.

 Albus had always tried sneaking his valuable knowledge of the past (or in this case, the future) during his chats with the Headmaster, which said Headmaster was strongly against. Something about protecting the sacred order of time and space or whatever. But Albus figured that him being here had already altered that. So, surely, interfering in a good way shouldn’t be that much of a trouble.

 “Do you at least know that Draco will try to kill you this year?” He pushed his luck. “I mean, he won’t succeed, obviously, but—”

 “I am aware Voldemort wanted to punish Lucius Malfoy regarding what happened in the Department of Mysteries. Therefore, yes, I am aware of Draco’s position here.” Dumbledore cut him off before Albus was able reveal more.

 They’ve been doing this dance a lot lately. Maybe, Albus thought, that that was why the Headmaster stopped calling Albus to his office for anything that didn’t have to do with his OWLs and NEWTs.

 “What’re you planning to do about it?” He had to play his cards right now that he had a chance to inform Dumbledore about important things.

 “I was hoping we can gently talk him out of whatever job Voldemort has for him.” Dumbledore humored him. “Unfortunately, his pride appears to be standing in the way of him asking for help.”

 “No offense, Professor, but I don’t think pride is what’s stopping Daro from asking for help. He’s obviously afraid of what Voldemort would do to him and his family if he betrayed his cause. Need I remind you that he has the Mark?”

 Dumbledore seemed genuinely intrigued but not at all surprised. “I suspected, of course, that Voldemort would recruit Draco and give him an impossible task after Lucuis’ failure in getting the prophecy. Killing me?” He stroked his long beard while humming thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see how unlikely that’d happen. Draco is most certainly being set up to failure here.” He smiled at Albus. “How’re you planning on helping him?”

 Albus stammered. “Y-you’re the Headmaster! You have more power than I do to do something about it.”

 “Of course I do, Albus.” Dumbledore said, infuriatingly calm. “But I simply cannot be of help if he doesn’t trust me enough to know that I can provide refuge for him and his family.”

 “And he’d trust me to provide sanctuary?” Sometimes, Albus couldn’t help but think that being as old as Dumbledore ought to make a man’s sanity a bit crooked.

 Dumbledore actually chortled as though Albus was a clueless child doing something dumb that others found amusing.

 “Help will be given at Hogwarts for those who ask for it.” He said the motto. “If Draco doesn’t ask for my help, then I do not have the right to solve his problems for him.”

 Albus frowned. Shouldn’t it be enough that the Headmaster knew someone needed help for him to give it? Albus can think of many reasons why someone like Draco wouldn’t come forward to ask for help. Wasn’t it Dumbledore’s job, as the one in charge here, to give it if needed?

 “You being the same House and the same year as Draco gives you a greater advantage to help guide him to speak up.”

 Nah, Dumbledore knows what he’s doing. He’s Dumbledore.

 “So, you want me to get close to him?” Albus asked.

 “Showing him you are not his enemy will be a good start.”

 Albus nodded, glad to have had this talk. Personal interests aside, he was glad for the justifiable excuse to try and befriend Draco. Dumbledore practically gave him his blessing, even.

 What Dumbledore didn’t put to account was that Albus was a Slytherin for a reason. Dumbledore wanted Draco to trust Albus, and what better way to build trust than by complete honesty? Dumbledore had unknowingly given Albus permission to reveal his true identity to Draco.

 So maybe, Albus thought excitedly, he could tell him about his son, Scorpius. Of course Draco would be curious enough to want to talk about him! And Albus hadn’t had anyone to talk about his best friend—

 Focus Albus.

 “I know you said that help will be given if asked for, and I understand that it’s best for students to come forward than to be forced to, but.” He had to say it. He might not be particularly fond of Harry at the moment, but boy did he need therapy. Albus had been told that his dad had seen a muggle psychiatrist after the war, which Albus never understood. There were Mind Healers, so it would have been better to go to them than to rely on a therapist that he couldn’t reveal too much—or basically anything— to about his experience as a child soldier. From what Albus could tell, this Harry was clearly mourning for Sirius, it would do him good to start therapy now rather than wait after the war. “sometimes, people don’t know that they need help, you know? Doesn’t Hogwarts’ funds cover student counseling?”

 “The funds are enough to hire a Mind Healer if personally requested, yes, but there has to be a permission form signed by the legal guardians, which many—not only parents, but the students themselves—refuse, for the sake of maintaining their public reputation.” He cocked his head to the side. “Why do you ask, Albus?”

 “Y’know, for Harry Potter? I honestly don’t think he’s aware that counseling is an option.”

 A sad look crossed the old man’s features. He sighed heavily.

“In truth, I haven’t found out about the cupboard under the stairs until the school administration sent out the acceptance letters that year.”

 Albus didn’t understand what he was talking about. But something about how he phrased it told Albus that this was confidential territory.

 “No cupboards under the stairs, please.” His dad had said this to their muggle realtor when they were searching for a house to buy. Albus had been four at the time, but he was able to recall that moment because it was a significant shift in his life when they had moved to Oxford. He’ll never forget the stressed look flashing across his father’s face when he spoke of cupboards under the stairs.

 Was it a coincidence Dumbledore brought up that particular kind of cupboard? Or was he, Albus, overcompensating?

 Wheels spun inside his brain as he pieced together what the wizard had just practically confessed. When Albus brought up the fact that Harry needed counseling, he had meant that with facing near to death experience every other year, his dad would need to feel supported. It never occurred to him that Dumbledore would interpret this differently. In fact, it never crossed his mind that dad even struggled mentally before starting Hogwarts.

 “Are you implying that before Hogwarts, my—that Harry’s room was a. . . cupboard?”

 He thought, or rather hoped, Dumbledore would wave off his silly assumption, but to his horrors, the man did not even deny it.

 Dumbledore merely raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “I take it your father never spoke of his past living arrangement?” He then shook his head and muttered more to himself than to Albus. “I can’t say that’s surprising.”

 “My dad lived in a cupboard.” He blurted, trying to see how it felt to roll those words off his tongue.

 Suddenly he was struck by another memory:

 “Don’t be dramatic, Jimmy. Your great aunt used to lock me inside my room for three days as punishment when I was your age. You’re only being banned from flying for a week, calm down.” Albus remembered himself being seven and James nine, when their parents had grounded James for trashing their house from flying inside.

 “His relatives lockedhimin the cupboardunder the stairs.” Albus said slowly, mortified.

 Dumbledore sighed, looking very tired all of a sudden. “I’m sorry you had to find out about. . . that. If I knew you had no idea, I would have respected your father’s wishes to keep that information hidden from you.”

 “Why would it matter if you kept it secret?”

 Dumbledore waved a dismissive hand. “That is your father’s personal business.”

 Albus gaped slightly at the wizard sitting behind the desk. Was he imagining it, or did Dumbledore not want people to know that he knew about Harry’s living arrangement? “But you. . .” He pointed an accusatory finger at Dumbledore. “. . . you put him there when he was a baby. Dad told us that much.”

 Dumbledore raised a challenging eyebrow. “Then I believe he told you the reason why.” He said calmly. “It had been in his best interest to stay where he would be safest.”

 “But then you found out about the cupboard, which meant that you found out about his mistreatment there.” Something inside Albus had sparked. It felt like fire.

 “As I said, Harry is safest staying there.” The old wizard said firmly.

 Albus thought of how ill Harry had looked compared to him. How could people ever claim he looked the spiffing image of his father? They were nothing alike!

 “Oh, my relatives weren’t the most pleasant folk to be around while growing up, but you’ve met Dudley, kids. Sometimes, people can change to the better despite their upbringing.” Albus had only ever thought of that argument whenever he wanted to defend the Malfoys. He never considered those words to what they actually referred to until now.

 “They’ve hurt him.” He realized. How could it have taken him this long to realize? It was his dad’s fault somehow. He sugarcoated the stories about him growing up to the point where Albus and his siblings could never question them. “They never cared for him.”

 “They did. In the only way they knew how.”

 “But—”

 “If Harry felt he wasn’t safe there, then he would’ve said something. To me, or to Minerva at the very least.” Dumbledore had a cold look about him that, for the first time ever, Albus was aware of how powerful the other wizard was compared to him. He was fleetingly worried Dumbledore might obliviate this conversation from his mind, then he mentally chided himself. Dumbledore’s a teacher and a well-respected member of the Magical community. People in Britain practically worshipped him. There’s a reason he was granted so much power over the government that he had been able to keep Snape, a known Death Eater, out of going to Azkaban after the war allegedly ended. . .

 And yet, he couldn’t get Sirius Black a trail, who a lot more people were willing to believe he was innocent than Severus Snape. . .

 Wait a minute.