Chapter 2
They were gathered around the Gryffindor common room, just him, Ron and Hermione, discussing vital matters pertaining to his disguises. This brought back faint memories of him sneaking into here to talk to Rose after she had gotten upset at him for putting boils on her friend Polly Chapman's face.
Well, that was the original intention, but it was quickly derailed to them updating him about what the heck is going on in this world all while Albus wished he had maybe paid a little more attention during History of Magic or at least found more effort to ask his dad about his school days.
Still, they managed to loosely compile a list of rules as to what Albus is and is not allowed to do, which could only really help.
"Rule number one, Snape hates your dad."
"I can tell," Albus whispered as Snape entered the room. It was a little gloomy for his taste. The curtains were drawn, the dark place was lit by candlelight and the walls around them were adorned with gruesome pictures of people in pain, faces contorting, grisly injuries and distorted, dismembered body parts. "Wow this is some heavy shit."
"You love understatements don't you?" Ron snorted.
"I have not asked you to take out your books," Snape commanded as he faced the class from behind his desk. "I wish to speak to you and I want your fullest attention.
"His hair is really greasy," Albus whispered, "He needs dandruff cleaning shampoo."
"Really," Ron snickered, "You have the talent with saying the most irrelevant things at the most inappropriate times."
"So I've been told," Albus said smugly before resuming a semblance of concentration, listening to Snape attentively so as to not give the man an excuse to chastise him.
Snape proceeded to deliver a lecture on the flexible, ever-evolving challenges of dealing with the Dark Arts, likening them to a multi-headed hydra and elaborating extensively on the various gruesome pictures displayed. This was someone with significant knowledge and experience about the Dark Arts. As syllable after syllable rolled out of Severus Snape's tongue, consistently stressing the dangers and strengths of it all, Albus thought the man was almost describing an old friend - perhaps an old friend turned enemy. The level of personal intimacy, the unmistakable wisps of loving caress in his voice gave it all away.
"There goes an insider," Albus muttered to Ron who nodded. "Also, Inferi are creepy as hell. I sure hope I never see one. I heard that they're stopped by fire though, I-"
"Mr. Potter, seeing as you are so engrossed in your private little conversation with Mr. Weasley and so arrogantly believe yourself to be above the rest of the class, why don't you answer the question. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?" Snape sneered, barely concealing his contempt.
"Well, your opponent doesn't know what spell you're casting so it gives you an element of are exceptions to this, of course, if-"
"That's enough Mr. Potter," Snape said dismissively, probably deeming him a show-off. "You are correct, though some lack the mind power and concentration to do so." His gaze lingered maliciously on Albus, who returned it with a wide smile.
The class was then divided into pairs, with one being asked to cast a spell without muttering any incantations and the other being asked to counter it in silence. Most groaned at the task, including Albus, whose only real experience with nonverbal spells had been James clandestinely casting a Jelly-jinx curse earlier in the summer and him being utterly unable to repel it. Nonverbal spells were something Hogwarts students learnt in Sixth-Year. Consequently, as a gaze around the room confirmed, everyone seemed just as frustrated as everyone. A reasonable amount of cheating ensued, with people muttering spells under low breaths. Ten minutes into lesson, (aunt) Hermione, managed to repel (uncle) Nevile's muttered Jelly-legs Jinx without saying a single word, which was impressive. "She's done it!" Albus gasped loudly, pointing at Hermione.
Snape simply swept past them dismissively and lingered on Albus and Ron, which the former found bizarrely unfair - but mostly bizarre. Albus had never been a fan of that trashy muggle movie his sister loved called Mean Girls, yet he was fighting off the desire to quote "Why are you so obsessed with me?" to Snape. They weren't doing too badly, at least not much worse than everybody else, who were also struggling with nonverbal spells.
Expelliarmus. Expelliarmus. Expelliarmus.
No matter how hard his mind directed its focus towards the spell, no matter how hard he tried to muster ever scrap of his mental energy, nothing manifested. He had to be doing something wrong. Snape gazing over his shoulder most definitely didn't help either.
Expelliarmus.
Ron's wand was raised to, attempting to anticipate his attack, which Albus was sure would never come anyway.
Expelliarmus, expelliarmus, expelliarmus.
Any moment, Snape would no doubt come interrupt them and then proceed to make snide comments about their spell casting abilities.
Expelliarmus.
Without warning, red sparks finally flew out of his wand, but nothing else happened. Ron's wand was still in Ron's hand.
"Pathetic," Snape said.
Suppressing any visible signs of irritation, Albus managed to muster a smile. He kept reminding himself that Snape was one of the good guys and that he really should avoid dramatic outbursts. "I try my best, Sir. You gotta start somewhere..."
"Enough, Potter-"
"Sorry, Sir." Albus tried to sound deferential.
"Well Potter, seeing as your so confident about your own spellcasting prowess, why don't you demonstrate for the rest of the class?" Snape said.
"Sure." Albus resisted the urge to gulp. He was truely, royally fucked in the ass this time. What on earth did Severus Snape have against his father?
Snape turned around to face him and waved his wand so fast that Albus barely had any time to react, being scarcely able to conjure a feeble shield charm, the words protego barely making an effect in his mind. Predictably, he was humiliatingly knocked off his feat and fell to the ground with a thud, though he wasn't hit with any spell.
"Absolutely pathetic," sneered Severus Snape.
"Fucking git," Albus murmured maybe just a little too loudly. The whole class chuckled. Well that was mildly humiliating.
"Five points from Gryffindor for you foul language!"
Suppressing the urge to utter a comeback, Albus sighed and resigned himself to fate. At least there was no detention issued, which would have been an inconvenience.
"Rule number two, your father sucked at potions." Ron whispered in his ear as he just finished answering Slughorn's question, beating Hermione Granger to it, much to the girl's mild irritation. "So… be a little less conspicuous."
"But everyone knows what Versiraterum is!" Albus exclaimed under his breath. Okay maybe he was a little biased, the image of the small bottle of Versiraterum - clear and colorless - was forever etched into his mind after the disastrous train journey. "Also, Katie Bell has been asking me about Quidditch. I should let her on the team, right? She has been on the team in the past few years?" Albus diverted the topic of conversation. Really, it was strange that amidst all the trouble of being stuck in the past and trying to figure out how to get back to the present - which involved sneaking into the Forbidden Section at midnight - that the main thing plaguing his mind right now was just how to not screw up being Quidditch captain for Gryffindor. "No, really, I need your help to not blow my cover... Trials. The trials are coming up soon. Oh sweet Merlin's saggy tits, I'm toast."
"And you complain about my foul language," Ron remarked as Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I got my foul language from you," Albus quipped. "Okay this sounds weird but it's true - Sir, it's the Polyjuice Potion." His hand shot up again as he gave another response. The slow-bubbling, mud-like substance looked absolutely disgusting and he was infinitely thankful that never in his life was he forced to take it.
"Excellent, excellent! Now this one here is …?" Slughorn looked bemused as Albus and Hermione's hands shot up concurrently. Ron elbowed Albus viciously in an attempt to send him a message about being inconspicuous.
"She can answer it," Albus said as he put down his hand and pointed to aunt Hermione.
"It's Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world," Hermione explained to Slughorn's delight.
"I'm a slow learner," Albus whispered to Ron.
"I can tell."
As Slughorn heaped praise on the two of them, Albus suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and collapse internally onto himself. It was true that Horace Slughorn had been his potions teacher for the past five years, yet the man's pompous conduct and slavish adherence to elitist impulses never ceased to faze him.
Perhaps times have changed too much since his parents were children, but all this obsession with blood-status, not just the obvious instances of bigotry but the constant use the labels half-blood, pureblood and muggleborn was certainly annoying. (Sometime after the War, Slughorn probably caught on the fact that asking about one's blood status was considered a social faux pas and, being Horace Slughorn, he would have paid slavish attention to details such as this.) Even if Albus was sure that Slughorn was no pureblood supremacist, it was still dreary to hear the man attempting to ask Hermione of her associations with established witches and wizards in the magical community after their extensive conversation on Amortentia. In the corner of the room, Albus could hear faint voices of disdain emanating from Theodore Nott's head, sneering comments about aunt Hermione's blood-status, which made his stomach churn with unease. Really, there were so many other meaningful qualities one can judge a witch or wizard by and people had to pick something as abstract, delusional and inane as blood. It was also strange because Jonathan Nott, Theodore Nott's eldest son, was a pretty good friend of his and the guy was very close to dating Jennifer Brown, a muggleborn witch.
Something else that occurred to him was that much as Nott's thoughts rang outwards, he could hear nothing inside Draco Malfoy's mind. It was as if an invisible barrier had been erected.
"Draco Malfoy is an Occlumens," Albus noted out of the blue, causing Ron to sigh.
"Do you just go around snooping other people's minds?"
"Not really."
"So that's a yes?"
"Only when their thoughts are practically streaming out, which applies to Theodore Nott at the back, who is currently harboring some rather prejudiced opinions about your gir- I mean Hermione."
"What - so that's definitely a yes," Ron scowled.
"Felix Felicis!" Albus gasped.
"Very good, Mr. Potter, though I do not recall asking a question," Slughorn chuckled.
'Sorry, Sir, I was just a little surprised to see it here; it's pretty hard to procure, I hear," Albus replied, desperately trying to blend in normally.
"It is indeed!" Slughorn chortled happily. "And can you tell me what it does?"
"It makes you lucky," Albus answered, "Though taking it in excessive amounts can cause problems. They're banned from a lot of Quidditch matches."
"They are!" Slughorn was pretty much leaping with joy at the moment, all while Ron's dug his face into his palms in annoyance. Way to go. "That will be another 10 points for Gryffindor!"
"Sorry," Albus mumbled in Ron's ear, "For, you know, not staying in character - and also for that raggy old book you got. You're the best."
Ron was doing meticulous breathing exercises, Albus could tell, which made him want to chuckle with amusement, even though he really shouldn't. His uncle was never exemplary at concealing frustration.
At the end of the class, Ron Weasley miraculously earned himself a bottle of Felix Felicis. It was a close call between him and Ron, whose new raggy old book contained surprisingly informative instructions on potions - and some strange spells apparently. It belonged to someone by the name of the Half-Blood Prince. Ron was no longer pissed at him for taking the neater book, which was good being Ron had been evidently concealing his frustration at Albus all day. Hermione was evidently a little peeved at how the situation turned out, unused to being beaten by Ron in any form academically whatsoever.
"Rule number three, stop reading people's goddamn minds!" Ron threw his hands up in the air as Albus collected a bag of dungbombs from a disappointed second-year.
"I'm helping you do your job," Albus quipped with a satisfied grin. "That kid would have gotten away."
"Fine, fine," Ron groaned.
"By the way, do you ever frequent the Prefect bathrooms? They're great."
And they were. It was one of his favourite perks of being Prefect; it made all the hours of patrolling worth it. Plus, it could theoretically fit in multiple people for a small-sized party. Lawrence had suggested it earlier last year, though they never got around to doing it. Albus, after hours and hours of convincing Scorpius, finally got the guy to take a bubble bath with him - in adjacent tubs, of course. It wasn't as if they were intimate in non-platonic ways, in spite of incessant teasing from James, who was an uninformed git.
"I've realized that you do like to divert topics. It's more obvious than you think it is. You know what, just go ahead and do your job. Privacy is dead," Ron bemoaned.
"You wound me," said Albus with a sigh, to which Ron responded with another sigh. "You know, at first, I hated being Legilimens," Albus finally stated after moments of silence, "You hear a lot of things you can't hear. And when you're my father's son, that sort of stuff tends to come up a lot. People say one thing and then they mean another. But it does come with perks and I figured I might as well use them. "
"Without regard for privacy," Ron added.
"I don't just go around poking into people's minds. For the record, I would never do it to you or Hermione or any of my friends or siblings. You have my word."
"Rule number four, Draco Malfoy is an ass."
"That much I agree." Albus nodded at Ron As the pointed at Draco Malfoy moping around the corridors, doing something secretive. "I think he's also up to something." Then he added, "There's a 90% chance he's a Death Eater now."
"What?!" Ron was loud when he shouts. (Lesson learned.) "And how would you know that?"
"Well, by virtue of speculation," Albus explained, doing his best to appear nonchalant.
"And, can you explain that?" Hermione's eyes narrowed.
"Well, I'm sort of friends with his son in the future," Albus said to the wary gaze of Ron, "And now I know what you're thinking, but Scorpius is possibly the nicest person ever - no don't look at me like that!" He held his hands up high. "Anyways, Scorpius told me that his dad took the Dark Mark and technically became a Death Eater. Okay, look, people change, families change and, after the War-"
"There was a war?"
"Aren't we in the middle of one, Ron?"
"Well, it's - I suppose so-"
"Point is, at some point in his life, before the end of his Seventh Year - that is, also, dad's Seventh Year, when he defeated Voldemort - Draco Malfoy took the Dark Mark because, apparently, he wanted to save his parents. That's all I know." Albus finished. Dread suddenly filled him: was he even supposed to tell them all this? What if this ended up altering history?
"Let's rewind this - you were friends with that git's son? That bigoted blond ass?" Ron growled.
"Yeah, best friends actually," Albus uttered briefly, before realising that it was probably for the best if he had explained things in more detail. For some reason, he had this nagging notion that trust levels between him and Ron and Hermione were at an all-time low since the day. He saw that the two were exchanging surreptitious glances, but having promised that he would not peer into any of their minds, he was left to speculate. (Furthermore, he was sure that at least Hermione would have immediately detected him.) "He's actually nothing like his dad, you know. But you won't understand it and I get it. Times have changed. This place is just so, so different from twenty-six years later. The world is so, so different and you'll see what I mean when you get there. I mean, it's really strange because a lot of the problems you guys think are problems are - well, not perfect - but significantly better."
He took a pause. Neither of them looked particularly reassured, which was fair given that anyone so easily convinced was probably an idiot. Still, it was a little wounding. Then he continued: "It's considered weird to ask for people's blood statuses, for example. And Scorpius, believe it or not, helped me so many times when I was feeling down and he was just always there for me. More than that, he is the loveliest, geekiest, most harmless person you would ever meet. Yeah, that's all I have to say. He's nothing like his father. " Albus wasn't normally easy to rile up, yet right now, he was indeed feeling a little peeved, as he always felt when his cousins questioned the character of his best friend. Damn it, he was a decent judge of character. Why couldn't they just believe him?
But he knew he was being ridiculous at the moment. Hermione and Ron would have no way of knowing. It didn't matter, it shouldn't matter. It was he, Albus Severus Potter, that did not belong in this era. "So as I was saying," he resumed after taking a deep breath, "Draco Malfoy is probably a Death Eater and he was probably up to something. He looked rather shifty during the Opening Feast."
"How sure are you of this?" Hermione asked; Albus hoped that she was at least giving him the benefit of the doubt.
"Somewhat."
"Rule number five, in Gryffindor, we don't give people boils on their face for no reason!" Hermione chided Albus after he cast the Furnunculus curse on Pansy Parkinson on their way to Herbology.
"She had it coming," Albus said, shrugging. "She was being absolutely insufferable in Charms, which you have to agree. She made fun of you and your looks, which I personally can't tolerate. She ended up giving birth to Susan Goyle, who I personally can't stand and who almost broke my knees by sitting on my lap once - long story. And plus there's not much of a difference, given the profusion of acne on her face, no offense."
"Albus!"
"Rule number six, firewhiskey is forbidden in the Gryffindor dormitories-"
"Too late." Albus cut Hermione off, swishing his bottle while handing another one out to Seamus and Dean. He was simultaneously trying to goad a bunch of Fifth-Years into trying them out. Cormac MacLaggen was downing a bunch all by himself. Even some Second, Third and Fourth Years were trying it out. Ron looked like he was on cloud nine. Neville Longbottom, however, was adamantly refusing Albus' attempts, sadly. ("No thanks Harry, Grandma would never let me" would be responded by "Well she's not here, isn't she?" and the cycle would go on and on.)
He knew, from his days at Hogwarts, that Slughorn kept a whole stash of firewhiskey near his office in the dungeons. They were unguarded and fairly easy to access. Add a bunch of willing co-conspirators and then suddenly alcohol was in your hands.
"Albus Potter!" Hermione muttered viciously into his ear. "This is really, really inappropriate. You shouldn't give First Years Alcohol!"
"Not First Years, Second Years," Albus corrected her sheepishly. "I wouldn't dare do this to our innocent youngsters."
"Oh that makes all the difference," Hermione said sarcastically as Ron bumped into her and then into Lavender Brown, who giggled flirtily.
"Hey, it's Gryffindor, the Land of the Brave, where it's never too early to try anything."
Hermione shot him a dirty look before scowling as Lavender appeared to make another move on Ron.
"Jealous?" Albus whispered.
"Ugh! Just shut up!"
"I'm thinking of sneaking into the Forbidden Section to do some research on time," Albus said, changing the topic. "Gotta start somewhere."
"I'll come with you," Hermione said. "And Ron would, too."
"You were named after a constellation," Albus teased. "A fucking constellation."
"Swear jar," Scorpius reminded his friend and Albus complained, handing over a few coins. Swearing was a habit he had - much to his mother's and father's disapproval and James's delight - picked up over the summer. Watching vulgarities in muggle television had its side-effects. Not that Al minded: swearing, he decided, was cool. He was at the age when a profuse application of expletives raised your social status in front of your peers.
"But still," Albus continued. "A constellation. Merlin, that's amazing!"
"Weren't you just teasing me about it a second ago?"
"Mhmmm..." Albus hummed as he drummed his fingers on his lap.
It was the time of the year when the temperature was starting to cool exponentially, but when the surroundings were not yet freezing. The two had decided to sneak out at night under the Invisibility Cloak Albus stole from his brother. (Because it really wasn't that difficult, getting into Gryffindor tower, especially when the vast majority of your family belonged there.) Albus rather liked the cool wind blowing in his face and his hair had always been messy and untamable anyway, so it didn't matter if the wind churned it even further.
"You should brush your hair more often, you know?" Scorpius joked.
"Not worth it." Albus's grin widened. "It's genetic."
"That's nonsense," Scorpius scoffed.
Before Scorpius realised anything, Albus jumped onto him and began mercilessly tickling him. "Hey, Albus! Stop!" Scorpius protested under fits of laughter. "They're going to hear us! Okay - I love you but seriously -"
"Fine." Albus slouched, pouting again.
Silence broke between them as they absorbed the breathtaking night skies. Albus felt himself peculiarly overwhelmed by calm. Whatever woes that plagued Albus Severus Potter, son of the Wizarding World's Savior, brother of Hogwarts's most notorious pranksters, failure at Quidditch, champion at all things involving gambling, burgeoning Second-Year Slytherin, they didn't matter now.
Squinting a little, Albus thought he could see an array of constellations unfolding before his eyes. Then something familiar, perhaps the one thing he managed to memorize from his Astronomy charts. (What can he say? It was a dull class.)
"Look," he whispered towards Scorpius with a low voice as he pointed towards something. "It's your constellation."
"My- oh. Yeah, it is the Scorpius constellation," Scorpius gasped, piping up with excitement. "That's so cool Al! Thanks for coming with me and for that Invisibility Cloak."
"No problem. I'm fucking amazing and you know it!"
"Swear jar," Scorpius reiterated, grinning a little as his resigned friend gave him a few more coins. By this rate, the jar beside Al's bed, a testament to the boy's increasing inability to control his use of profanities, would be full before Christmas. "But thanks, I really appreciate it."
And then they heard voices voices, voices coming from downstairs.
"Shit, let's get under the Invisibility Cloak now," Albus whispered surreptitiously.
"Swear jar."
"Later."
All in hushed voices.
The two quickly scrambled under. It was a false alarm though, for the figures that emerged were merely two sixth-year Ravenclaws, boy and girl, looking for some privacy. They proceed to snog furiously. Then the guy started unbuttoning his shirt; the girl tore off her tie and sweater.
"Let's go...?" Scorpius found himself whispering awkwardly.
"Yeah," Al agreed.
As they quietly descended the stairs and made their way towards the dungeons, Scorpius swore he could hear Professor Flitwick scolding the two other students. Something about being out past curfew and something else about decorum and desecrating the Astronomy Tower.
They, however, arrived at their dorms in safety.
"Rule number seven, when sneaking into the Forbidden Section at night, you will not look at inappropriate contents," Hermione lectured exasperatedly as Albus was once again enticed by some tome pertaining to spells and rituals of an erotic nature. He couldn't help it, there was a huge section of the shelf dedicated to it and it wasn't like it was something evil so his curiosity was, in his humble opinion, completely benign. He was a teenage boy after all - with his raging hormones and all - at the cusp of discovery.
For some reason, he was reminded of Anya Graywater for the first time since he landed in this godforsaken period. It was true that, as of now, he hated her guts for giving him a shitty reason in dumping him - studying for OWLs has got to be the lamest excuse ever - but, nevertheless, they had a year's worth of memories that were made. He had lost count of the number of times he sneaked into the Ravenclaw dormitories, or the occasions during which he feigned attention as she insisted on re-teaching him the contents of Professor Bing's positively sleep-inducing lectures, on the grounds that everyone needed to learn it, or the times when they danced together at a party, lips locked and holding each other up close. Maybe their personalities were simply that incompatible and maybe they could not even be friends anymore, yet it was still good while it lasted. She was his first after all.
"Inanna's Innuendos!" Albus took out the book excitedly. "My first girlfriend showed this to me. It was hilarious, it had a bunch of recommendations on how to communicate sexually and how to have-"
"Albus," Hermione forcefully interjected, her vexed demeanor apparent, "I am doing this to help you. Ron here is also doing this to help you. Be serious."
"Sorry," Albus said, feeling rather guilty, "It's just… never mind." He didn't think that they'd react to well to him talking about his ex-girlfriend. In fact, he'd wager that their opinions of him have been plummeting consistently as the day went by.
So far their searches have been completely and utterly fruitless, hence why Albus began scrolling through pornographic tomes the first place. Not a single book, not a single page on extended time traveling or alternative dimensions.
"Here's something on time-turners," Hermione urged him over as she flicked through a large, worn book.
"But nothing on, well, being randomly beamed back in time." Albus sighed.
"I'm beginning to think we're doing this all wrong." Ron frowned.
"The Department of Mysteries?" Albus suggested. "We can go there and see the Time section and see if anyone has done any meaningful research on time travel. Or we can sneak in there if we're not permitted."
Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous, wary gazes and replied: "Yeah, we're not doing that."
"But surely, I mean - "
"Albus, we broke into the Department of Mysteries last summer and ... things didn't end well, to put it mildly."
"Oh, I see... someone died, right?" He wanted to punch himself in the face for forgetting this. His mother had told him the story alongside his father when cautioning him against being reckless, an exaggerated example but one that stuck. Sirius Black had perished when he fell through the veil. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to bring back any memories."
"It's okay," Hermione said, "You probably had no idea."
"I did, actually. My parents told me stuff," Albus replied. "It wasn't easy for my dad, losing Sirius." He bit his lip, waiting for a response.
"I'm tired," Ron said, yawning for the tenth time, "Any progress being made?"
"Nope," Albus and Hermione said at the same time.
"Well, do you guys foresee us making any significant progress tonight?"
"Nope," Albus said.
"Some breakthroughs are done when all seems lost," Hermione suggested, contradicting Albus mildly.
"It's late guys," Albus muttered, sighing, "We'll continue this later. There's no point in tiring ourselves. But thanks for the help, I really appreciate it. I'm leaving. This place," Albus added as he gestured towards the entirety of the Forbidden Section, "Is usually packed at night with... lustful teenagers. I know, I've been there. Okay maybe not packed at night, but Anya and I certainly weren't alone when we sneaked in her in my Invisibility Cloak. I... I don't know. I kind of miss home. Everything's just been so strange. There are all kinds of things I needed adjusting to. I- I'm just hoping I don't screw up."
Albus normally considered himself an emotionally controlled person, barring moments of inebriation. Not in the sense that he repressed his feelings or despised crying itself, but he could usually hide what he was thinking pretty well, make everyone think everything is alright, put on a decent facade. Not now. Not here. The dam had already been breached and Ron and Hermione could discern the small wells of tears in his eyes. They weren't flowing down - they probably never will. But they were lodged up there for people to see.
"Look, I just don't know what to do anymore. I don't know anyone here, not really. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm scared that I'll be forced to - you know - do things my dad were supposed to do, I'm scared of facing the Death Eaters, I'm scared I'll make mistakes that'll end up compromising the future. More than that, I - I've been a shitty person and I can't be like my father. I could never match up to him. I'm a big fat coward, a big fat petulant coward who parties too much."
Silence. Albus was panting.
"Sorry for the outburst, guys. It's late, I don't want to inconvenience you guys even further. Sleep is important. Don't pull all-nighters until absolutely necessary." He tried to smile it all off and pat them in the back, but they looked unconvinced and very concerned.
"Albus... Are you okay?" Hermione inquired sympathetically.
"I will be. Tomorrow's another day." He gave her a good-natured smile. Smiling was one of the first things he learned as a kid when he fell off a tree and his agitated parents rushed to the hospital to see if he was okay. Smiles dispelled a lot of troubles. Smiles made people feel better and feel that everything would be okay. "So, Quidditch trials..."
Fourth year. Winter.
On Christmas Day, Albus received a present from his father. It was light, judging from its packaged state and as Al tore down layers of wrapping, his suspicions grew, burgeoning into excitement –
"- The Invisibility Cloak!" He gasped, turning around to his dad in amazement. "It's … it's mine now?"
His father nodded and said the words "use it well."
He grinned sheepishly. "James will be jealous. He wanted to steal your cloak, you know?"
"Be nice to your brother," his dad then chided, as per usual.
Al pouted again. He knew that soon enough, he would be too old to pout and indulge in other forms of childish antics. His expressions faded and, alone with his father in the room, he felt the need to ask the man something that had been nagging at the back of his mind.
"Dad… am I a disappointment?" The words came flooding out before he had the chance to erect the dam. "I'm nothing like you dad," Al couldn't stop speaking. "I can't ride a broom properly, I'm not smart like Rose - I mean, I'm not top of the year when it comes to grades, I'm not popular like you were, I was sorted into Slytherin… I can't – I just want you to be proud of me."
I've also cheated on a couple of tests and played a little too much Wizard Poker with my mates and recently started foraying clubs went unsaid. Flickers of adolescent rebellion, perhaps. Sometimes, Albus couldn't help but feel that he would never measure up to his father and that, as a result, he was not a worthy son. Maybe it was an irrational thought and he certainly was prone to occasional outbursts of irrational thoughts, as Scorpius so astutely pointed out after he spent an hour engaged in a screaming match with the Fat Lady when she forbade him from entering the Gryffindor Common room to visit Lily, during which he called the portrait a fat-sow-who-was-so-fat-she-got-stuck-in-a-painting. (It had been, in retrospect, a highly amusing experience. Ridiculous too. And none of his housemates ever let him forget it - neither did James and Lily for the matter.) But still, for a moment, Albus experience a spasm of deep-set insecurity.
"Albus," his father held him up close. Green eyes met green eyes. "I will always be proud of you – no matter what happens."
Al wanted to snort, to make some snide, snarky comment like he usually would, but words deserted him. All he could muster was, "Really?"
Harry's smile – at least for this brief, fleeting moment within time and space and notwithstanding the emerging tumults of the future– was Al needed. An embrace passed between father and son.
"Rule number eight, during Quidditch trials, one must not give away one's inexperience with the game," Albus muttered to himself.
He wasn't completely inept at strategising per se, given that he did watch a lot of Quidditch matches, both professional, Hogwarts-based and between his family. Still, on a personal level, he had ever minimal experience with playing. (Which basically meant he was fucked.) However, he had a few inklings, mainly from his aunts and uncles stories, on who were the decent Quidditch players and who weren't. Katie Bell was definitely in: she had been on the team for six years. Ginny Weasley, also known as young mum, also someone Albus tried avoiding because he was really not sure about mum and dad's relationship status at this point and did not want to make things weird, would also be in. Ron was a decent Keeper, so another likely addition. Two Chasers and one Keeper - and technically one Seeker, albeit Albus was seriously thinking about finding a reserve Seeker and then bailing out on the day of the match. That leaves two Beaters, one more Chaser and one (reserve) Seeker. And plenty of options to choose from.
In fact, Albus Potter would even wager that the entirety of Gryffindor House showed up. A gigantic crowd amassed on the field, way too many for him to process in a day.
"Are tryouts usually this popular?" Albus asked Hermione, frowning.
"It's you that's popular - well, Harry," Hermione explained, completely overlooking Ron's presence. They were in a bit of a silly fight. They were obviously into each other and Albus couldn't resist rolling his eyes at them both. Hermione was into Ron, Ron was sort of into Hermione but also flirting with Lavender, Hermione was jealous and Hermione was being passive-aggressive to Ron, who returned the sentiments. "You - him - have never been more fanciable."
"Does this have anything to do with him being the Chosen One? Or the Ministry of Magic treating him like shit? Or is he popular with the ladies in general, being good-looking and all that? I mean, I'd consider myself-"
"Yes, yes and, partly, yes. Does that answer your question?" Ron said.
"Yes," Albus said. "Now, let's do this. Also, good luck Ron! I know you'll make it!" He patted the guy on the back.
He cleared his throat. Right before he was about to speak, someone by the name of Cormac MacLaggen stepped out of the crowd and shook his hand. "We met in the train, in old Sluggy's compartment."
"Did we?! Well, that's good to know," Albus said as he gave MacLaggen a feigned smile of amicability.
He purposefully walked towards Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan in an attempt to shake MacLaggen off, ignoring Ginny Weasley, who was happily chatting with her friends. They exchanged greetings before Albus announced to a pitch of excited people that tryouts had officially begun.
He had divided people into groups of ten and asked them to fly around the pitch, testing their basic skills. This had to be a reasonable step.
The first group made Albus feel good about his flying abilities, which is to say that only one of them managed to hover in the air for more than 10 seconds.
The second group was filled with ridiculous giggling girls who were giving him flirtatious glances. They had scant knowledge of flying kept laughing and clutching each other tightly. Albus promptly sent them off, which they did not seem to mind at all.
The third group forgot their broomsticks much to Albus' chagrin.
"Is there anyone else here who didn't bring a broomstick?"
A dozen hands shot up.
"Okay please leave - or find a way to get one from Madame Hooch before your turn is called, thank you very much!" Albus bellowed the instructions.
Goodness, gracious.
The fourth group were Hufflepuffs.
"Is there anyone else here who isn't from Gryffindor?!" Albus yelled, barely concealing his annoyance and incredulity. "Leave immediately!"
There was a pause before a bunch of grinning Ravenclaw girls ran off the pitch, roaring with laughter.
This was going to be a long day - and by the looks of it, his would never need to demonstrate his aptitude in Quidditch - yet - given the sheer incompetence and unseriousness of everyone around here. Now all he'll need to do is keep note of a few reserve players that could be made to substitute for him once he finds a convenient excuse to not play Seeker.
Crisis averted, temporarily.
Good lord.
"Rule number nine, we don't randomly confund people. I saw what you did with MacLaggen," Albus whispered in Hermione's ear before winking at her. "Though, to be honest, things probably turned out for the better and since I'm lax on rules, I'll applaud your marvellous act. Oh and also, rule number ten, if you like someone, go for him."
After Ron had been successfully chosen as Keeper, Hermione could barely suppress her excitement and ran towards them from the stands, congratulating Ron.
Hermione rolled her eyes in his direction and promptly decided to ignore him. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller as usual as he grinned at the new team and Hermione.
They weren't together yet but Albus could definitely sense a budding romance growing. Or alternatively, it may simply have been the benefit of the hindsight. Either way, he was not object to playing matchmaker when destiny calls.
He was jostled awake by a group of boys, who had been consistently shaking him for the past few minutes, much to his confusion.
His head hurt, his nose was still bleeding, he wanted to punch Draco Malfoy in the face and curse-
"Get off me, Malfoy!"
Harry James Potter shoved Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy away from him as he hastily stood up.
The Hogwarts Express was still rolling - which was something good - and he was surrounded by a bunch of Slytherin boys who were about his age, which was most definitely cause of concern. Though he didn't really recognise the majority of them, there was no mistaking Draco Malfoy's grey eyes and odiously blond hair and pale skin.
"Has he lost it?" Someone - with dark thick hair, light brown skin and whose name he did not know - asked tentatively.
"I know he drank a lot but I wouldn't imagine that he's drunk that much," came another whisper.
"As much as we appreciate you introducing us to aspects of muggle culture, it is a bit weird to see you 'cosplaying' your dad-"
"Guys, that's enough, let him have some slack," Draco said again. And was he looking at Harry with a gaze of understanding and concern? No, that was impossible.
"Oh please, he'll be fine in no time. This isn't the first time he's been like this. Albus, remember that one time when we all crashed over at Scorpius' house and threw a massive party and-"
"What on earth is going on?!" Harry said, louder than he - and everyone else - expected.
"Albus-"
"Who the hell is Albus?" Harry interrupted Scorpius's question.
"He's lost it." A whiff of sadness from someone Harry still had no idea about. "2007-2023. Here lies Albus Severus Potter's sanity.
"Here, I got your robes from your trunk. There's still time to change into them before your meeting with the other prefects," Scorpius said as he handed over a set of dark robes.
Frowning, Harry took them and then almost balked at the appearance of the green and silver Slytherin crest. "These are not my robes..." He muttered to himself.
He took another look around the room. The guys around him were surprisingly good at feigning concern, as all of them looked rather worried about his current state of being. Especially Draco, who did not exhibit the slightest sign of snark or nastiness - or remorse at stunning him the first place.
"Albus," Draco said again, "Let's go for a glass of water before anything. You'll need to hydrate yourself that way because Cornelius, being the smart and considerate person he is, used up the final bits of our Hangover Potion."
"I'm sorry - I didn't know-"
"That's fine, what matters is that Albus ends up sober enough for the start of the year," Draco waved off a guy's defenses. He put his arm around Harry before Harry jumped back in alarm.
"Draco Malfoy, just what the hell are you playing at?" His tone was accusatory, but also incredulous.
"Draco? That's my dad's name! I'm Scorpius Malfoy!" Now maybe-not-Draco really looked alarmed, perhaps even plunging into a state of panic.
Harry felt dizzy.
Just where was he? Just who are these people? Just who is Albus? And just what the blood Merlin is going on?
He collapsed onto the ground.