Chapter 6
Albus fiddled with his robes nervously as he entered the Great Hall, along with eighty or so first-years. His fears of being sorted into Slytherin elsewhere were somewhat assuaged by his father's words and meeting Scorpius Malfoy - possibly the kindest and sweetest person in existence - on the Hogwarts Express, yet his determination of making it into Gryffindor remained unwavering.
("Scorpius. No, you're Albus, I'm Scorpius. Sorry, I tend to mess up a lot at introductions.")
("I didn't stay for you. I stayed for your sweets," he had teased the blond boy.)
("THANK YOU FOR STAYING FOR MY SWEETS ALBUS!" Merlin, Scorpius was loud. And adorable. And if Rose was right about picking your life-long friends on the Hogwarts Express, Albus was all down for it. Despite Uncle Ron's drunken horror stories about the Malfoys, the particular one sitting in front of him seemed thoroughly unproblematic.)
(And the singing. Sweet Merlin, those songs Scorpius's mother taught him. Oh sweet Merlin.)
(And the rather unsettling array of trivia facts the boy had stuffed his mind with. Ridiculous. All the more endearing.)
(And for a brief moment, Albus Potter didn't care which house he would get sorted in - he would have done anything to be with Scorpius. Yes, even endure 7 years of being clad in green and silver.)
Then he tore himself away from these silly fantasies and forced himself to look at the cold hard realities that lay before him. He had to be in Gryffindor. He had to. He wanted to be there, just like the rest of his family. It was what was expected of him. Even as he saw Scorpius trotting towards the Slytherin table, he felt his heart harden. It was [don't think about Scorpius or how annoying James would be] what he desired. Perhaps they could be friends across different houses. His father imparted him some useful advice, imparted him with the knowledge that one could reason with the Sorting Hat. And he would do it. He would beg, bribe and reason the shit out of that batty old hat, even if it took hours and hours and delayed the entire frikin' feast - okay maybe not. That was too extreme; any option more moderate, Albus was willing to consider.
But oh no. That devious old hat. The only thing it said to Albus - and Albus alone - was, "Hmm there is no doubt, which house you'd belong in," and then proceeded to scream the word "SLYTHERIN!"
(According to Scorpius, it took approximately 3 seconds. James made sure to never let him forget this. Snakey McSnakeface became his new nickname.)
In retrospect, perhaps coming up with threats to toss the Sorting Hat into the fire the next time he laid his hands on it if it did not comply to his wishes was not a wise idea, even if that thought had been subdued last minute and tucked into the depths of his consciousness. Neither was bribing it with sweets. (Not everyone shared his desire for sweets and, as Scorpius reminded him, Sorting Hats probably don't eat sweets anyway.)
Still, Albus winced at the decision and felt his eyes burn ever so slightly. His father had had a choice; he had no choice.
He wanted to rant and rave about the injustices of the sorting process and the nefariousness of the batty old hat, which was probably too senile to make sensible decisions anyway. Merlin, it was as old as the Founders. No way is it still of a sound mind. Yes, that sounded like a good reason. Scorpius had laughed at Albus's conclusion. Seeing Scorpius laugh made Albus smile - and for a moment, for a split second too brief to be documented by devices as clumsy as watches and, everything was alright.
~X~
"Jon — for the last time, Al isn't interested in hearing about how your possibly evil uncle locked your mum out of your grandpa's inheritance!" Hector exclaimed at the dinner table one night, throwing his arms in the air before stuffing another treacle tart into his mouth.
"But he did! And since our friend Al here wants to eventually be a lawyer, I figured out that he could EVENTUALLY be of some help in mother's long-standing lawsuit against Uncle Tobias Travers, who, disinherited mother for being a woman!" Jon protested. "I say eventually because it could probably take decades. That is, unless uncle gets arrested or dies. He's potentially evil so there's still a chance he gets arrested. Well, at least there are allegations that this one time he might have killed a man in Cornwell. Plus, I mean, hey Al, I'll cut you part of the share if you could sneak into your dad's office and meddle with some documents, you know. Maybe I can mother on board on my end… I swear though, he might actually be—"
"Okay but if you do get his inheritance, does that mean we can finally buy that flying yacht we joked about getting?" Lawrence pleaded.
"Well, yes, but the problem is that I have to actually get the inheritance first!"
"Indeed. Sounds like a problem."
As they bickered among themselves, Harry whispered to Scorpius, "Are they literally contemplating about murder or framing that guy's uncle for murder? Is this what you guys do in your free time?" He sounded mildly disturbed. He was rather concerned.
"No, just Jon," Scorpius responded, sounding disturbed as well. "I can positively assure you that this kind of thing does not go on in my mom's side of the family and well, it's just dad and me on my dad's side these days. Actually, overall, it's just usually dad and me during the holidays after mom had passed away… They don't get along with Grandpa and Grandma. That is, unless Aunt Daphne invites us to her villa or when, well, Al invites me to visit him… "
"Oh." Harry suddenly felt bad for Malfoy's son. He empathized with the feeling of loss. He felt it everyday, their absence, all the things they could have done together. Though his parents were murdered when he was but a child there were still faded vignettes of laughter (and the awful flashes of green light) and a gaping whole in his life where they could have been. "I'm sorry, Malfoy… I didn't know."
"It's alright. It's been 3 years. Long enough that I'm mostly used to it," Scorpius said with a sad smile. "You know, when you lose a parent, you don't lose your memories with them. There will always be times when I wished she were there but sometimes when I close my eyes and imagine, her voice… it still speaks to me. I—Right, of course, you know how it feels."
There was a silence between them, in the midst of the rancor of the dining hall, but it wasn't awkward at all. There was a mutual understanding, a sense of empathy and respect. "I know how it feels. You never stop missing them but it does get better."
"I can also see thestrals now. They're not as scary as people make them out to be. They—"
"NO WAY!" Harry was mildly annoyed that Scorpius was interrupted by a shouting Lawrence. "Terrence just sent the note. We're invited to the party! We're supplying the drinks though."
"We're on it," Hector declared, gesturing towards Harry and Scorpius, "And now that the two of you know about our whole venture, you're both helping us prepare!"
Great. Just when he thought things were getting calmer.
~X~
Al remembered the password — still 'acid pops', it would appear — and took a deep breath before stepping into the office again. It was a tough decision when he decided to leave Ron and Hermione out of it. After much contemplation, and after scouring his memories of whatever he could piece together from Uncle Ron's drunken ramblings, he recalled that his Dad has only revealed about the Horcruxes after Dumbledore's death, which must have been at least the end of his Sixth Year. Al was not exactly sure what Horcruxes were but from what he could gather, they were some kind of dark object that helped Voldemort stay alive.
The Locket was ensconced in the depths of his bag as Al erected mental barriers, doing his best to not complete about the object, another instance in his life when Occlumency was of use. He was always quite good at hiding things, but he did feel rather guilty about not telling Ron and Hermione, as well as retrieving it from her trunk without prior notification. He couldn't mess up the past anymore though.
"I brought the Locket," and so Albus Potter announced to his namesake.
~X~
The locket wrapped itself around his left ankle and he fell to the floor. A spirit rose from the Locket— well, not really a spirit but still. Its red eyes gleamed at him and Al felt his blood run cold. His head started hurting and then he realized that it was trying to penetrate his mind. It was forceful, relentless. Al tried to crawl away but the Locket was pulling him back to it.
It bore into him and he could feel his ankle crushing under the wait of its chains. And now he really would be limping… He strove to keep calm but he wasn't sure how long he could contain the panic. Harryyyyy…. Harry….. It hissed. He glared back at it. Sure, it was creepy as hell and sure, it seems to have misrecognized him, but he couldn't let the confusion slip. He winced as he felt the grating against his feet. A loud crunching sound startled him. It was his own bones. It didn't matter how hard he tried to get away, it was pulling him back in. Any moment now. But he had to draw its attention while Dumbledore found the best moment to destroy it.
There was a shift in tone. It had recognized something else. Ah… So you are not him… An imposter…
He would not be deceived into a reply. Groaning under the pain, Al kept his gaze on the Locket. Whatever entity stored in it had not gone past his mental barriers but it had already sensed he was not his father.
Such a sad, pathetic sight. A young soul reduced to bait. You will be casted aside when you are no longer needed…
Before it could finish its sentence the headmaster had swung the Sword of Gryffindor at the Locket and it was split in half, followed by a loud, shrieking and wailing sound. A skull like wraith seemed to rise and then dissipate into oblivion from its remains.
"It's destroyed," Al said, also stunned. Dumbledore's expressions were inscrutable yet again. He tried to get up but realized that his ankle was sprained and maimed. "Well, on the bright side, I guess I quite literally can't be at the next Quidditch match…"
He winced again as he took another look at the broken Locket, now cleansed of its foulness.
~X~
For the first time in months, scarlet eyes gleamed at him from the dark and surveyed him curiously. That could only mean— no. That wasn't it. This was the future, where the Wizarding World had been at peace for more than two decades. That was what everyone whom Harry had encountered said. Old grudges and conflicts were reduced to a shadow, a curiosity. So why was this happening? No— it didn't feel like it. He backed away from the sight and clutched to his wand for dear life. He was alone, so alone. And alone he would have perished.
No one to save you now, a voice spoke inside and he realized it was his own.
He gazed down at his hands and they had an increasingly translucent quality. He was getting weaker. Something was profoundly unnatural about his surroundings, this whole situation. He gazed back at those slit-like red eyes, which all of a sudden morphed into bright ice-blue eyes. It was unfamiliar, uncanny, yet he was sure he saw them somewhere. A voice, this time a female one, began hissing, the time has come…
The scenes switched, fragmented into shards before giving way to something new. He was back in the Dungeons in a different body, lodged in a different mind, but he could tell it was a familiar sight. He was surrounded by his mates. (Not his mates. Al's.) They were laughing about something anodyne. It was all a blur that he had no ability to decipher. Then everyone else got up and left and only Scorpius remained. The guy whispered something nervously, his eyelashes flickering. Merlin, Scorpius looked so good. Wait- no – that was not him. Those were not his thoughts. That tuft of blond hair. The quickening of his voice. Those stormy grey eyes— shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
The snogging on the train. Suddenly he remembered it all. It was Scorpius all along. He did not hold back and held the guy in an embrace. Their lips touched. It was so soft. Far from, the uncomfortable wetness he got with either Anya, Joanna or any short kissing flings. Scorpius—
Suddenly the background flashed green and the guy in front of him fell to a limp.
Harry Potter jolted out of bed in the middle of the night. His scar was burning.
~X~
Ever since his last visit to the Headmaster's office, Al had charted a more prudent course, worried that he could accidentally set in stone more alterations to the future. (How he wished Scorpius with his infinite brain and knowledge was here with him.) No more 'saving the world heroics' meant for his dad. Nope. He tried to be on friendly terms with Ron and Hermione, attempted to set Hermione up with some dudes, which never really ended well mostly never even got started, and attempted to befriend Ginny more by spending more time with her.
Mostly, this involved obnoxiously shoving Dean Thomas aside or making him mysteriously fall ill during convenient times, but still.
His injuries from the drastic encounter with the Locket had long recovered but it still left him with certain psychological scars. It was indeed traumatizing gazing into the eyes of a nefarious wraith and to forcing its way into your head, even though it was obliterated before it could make any progress. It still terrified him though. What if it had succeeded? Would he have been strong enough to resist it just as his parents probably would have been?
~X~
"Got yourself a limp Potter?"
"Bugger off Malfoy," Al put on his best sneer as he responded to Draco Malfoy in the corridor. It was between class and people were still walking around. He knew his father and Mr. Malfoy didn't get along in school, from all the anecdotes he could gather from his parents, from Mr. Malfoy during his rare talkative moments but mostly from Uncle Ron when the guy was hammered during Christmas gatherings. It was a little strange, nonetheless, because Al mainly remembered him as Scorpius's slightly antisocial but doting dad who would bring them to cool places and host him in Malfoy Manor, which was an intimidating but impressive compound where him and Scorpius got plenty of space to themselves. One time, he even joked about switching places with Scorpius when Scorpius mentioned the idea of siblings sounded wonderful. (They were, but still.)
"Missed the last Quidditch game, I see. Scared, Potter?"
"So did you, Malfoy. And you didn't even have a limp," Al fired back. He reached for his wand in his pocket. "Guess you just weren't good enough or maybe you're just a pussy. You sound like you're the one that's actually scared."
Draco seethed. This was actually kind of fun. The guy was much easier to rile up than Scorpius — who never actually does get riled up. Not even James could rile Scorpius up, which was really saying something. "You wish Potter."
On one hand, continuing to pile on snarky comments on a younger would— indeed — be funny. On the other hand, it wouldn't necessarily be prudent. It could very well escalate into a duel that derails history. Who know what sort of spells the guy had up his bag. And what if Al had accidentally hit the guy in his balls and inflicted permanent erectile disfunction, thus erasing his best friend from existence? "I'm not scared," Albus retorted, "Just amused."
"Rictemsempra!"
"Protego!"
"ENOUGH!" Their spells and wands were suspended all of a sudden. Someone had casted a powerful Finite Incantetum.
They turned around to witness a fuming Professor McGonagall. Al gulped. One does not simply mess with Professor — or in his time, Headmistress— McGonagall. "Potter, Malfoy, what is going on?"
"Ma'am Draco Malfoy started it," Al explained, "The surrounding witnesses, I'm sure, can attest." There were a few tentative nods in the crowd surrounding them, although most of them had dissipated. The rest just seemed simultaneously confused and entertained.
Draco Malfoy protested, "Miss—"
"But I do not begrudge his actions, Professor McGonagall. I simply, um, mindfulness. Although if you were to give us detention, may I suggest we have separate detentions so they don't devolve into further duels?" Al cut him off smugly with a stream of suggestions.
Scorpius' dad glowered as McGonagall shook her head. "10 points! From both of you!" She chastised.
~X~
Now the whole school knew about his 'duel' with Draco Malfoy in the corridors and it was buzzing with gossip. Ron thought it was hilarious and patted him on the back like any good mate (Uncle Ron was a pretty cool dude when he was young all things considered), while Hermione was most displeased (someone had to rein in Uncle Ron and it needed to be Aunt Hermione for the sake of cosmic balance). He had hoped it would finally get people to start talking about Draco Malfoy's potential status as a Death Eater and how he's totally up to something shady and underhanded — even if he was certainly upset over his family and father. But come on. There were limits to where sympathy would extend and the guy had gotten someone killed and Katie badly injured. Even if no jail sentences were involved, someone needed to do something.
Unfortunately, while there was some talk about Draco's apparent urge to use the Cruciatus Curse, something Al had made up and made sure to spread vociferously, a lot of the conversation focused on why 'Harry Potter' would challenge the guy to a duel. The reasons proliferated, from ordinary beef over their status as their Quidditch team's seekers to the 'honor' of Katie Bell in the first place. People really were stupid. Some even speculated that Harry Potter himself was crushing on his Quidditch teammate and was absolutely devastated at her current state and so lashed out at Draco Malfoy (who may or may not be responsible for it), which was just ludicrous but also embarrassing. What's Ginny going to think now? This would make things awkward between him and Katie too, because he'd have to pay a visit to her in the Infirmary and explain things clearly and elucidate that, no, he did not have a crush on her. Well, at the very least people were talking about Katie Bell?
(He had other objects of interest in terms of romance; regrettably, none of them live in the past. Some of them may be blondes, however.)
"You cost us 30 house points! I hope you're happy!" Hermione huffed the next day in the Common Room.
"I am," he replied with a singsong tone and — to his utmost surprise— Hermione actually hexed him. A small stinging hex but still. "Ouch! Okay, okay, maybe not. People now think I'm in love with Katie bell, that's going to be soooo awkward!"
Hermione snorted.
He saw Neville passing by. He always liked his godfather, who was always pleasant to his students. (And totally unaware of Al's theatrics.) It almost made Al regret not taking Herbology for NEWTs. "Hi Neville! What's up?"
Before Neville could reply, Hermione glared and interjected, "Don't you dare divert the topic!"
Neville gave them both a friendly nod before backing off. This irritated Al. "Hey I genuinely wanted to—"
"This is serious!" She gave him her most authoritative sounding tone she could muster. "You can't just go around—"
"I know, I know, I'll stop — okay? Happy?"
He wished Ron was there to lighten the mood.
~X~
Operation Befriend Ginny Weasley was going on smoothly— well, not really. Operation Befriend Ginny Weasley, sure, but Operation Get Ginny Weasley to Fall In Love With Dad was in a precarious state. He was now mostly able to function and interact with his Mother like a normal person and she was nice enough about it — but she persisted with dating Dean Thomas. It annoyed him to no end.
"She's still dating him!" Al complained to Ron at breakfast.
"Will you let it—"
"No, no I absolutely won't!" Al threw his arms up in the air. "My existence is on the line!"
"Oh give it a break!" Hermione chimed in, rolling her eyes at him, which becoming a perpetual staple.
She was also still mildly peeved that he concealed his visit to Dumbledore's office, only disclosing it after much interrogation. It was as if she thought he enjoyed hiding things! Well, perhaps he did at times. But not this time.
"Guys I know this is crazy, but—"
They both groaned as if on prompt.
"—You guys haven't heard me finish what I'm saying yet! But lookk Ginny and I are like friends now, right? I mean especially after she caught the Snitch last game and we threw a pretty nice party in the Common Room—"
"You mean chaotic?" Ron added. "Fun but chaotic."
"—Yes, of course. Fun and chaotic. The party, that is. But anyways, what if I just invited her to the next Slug Club meeting. Maybe… as a date? Not a real date but a friend date?"
"Al, we are not going there!"
~X~
It started as a small, insignificant throb that could be brushed away as a minor affliction, the result of a long day's work, but quickly escalated into a searing pain. Harry rubbed his temples as he perused through the most updated documents on the case. Time dust. Suspicious actors from Hogwarts. Surprising omission of Al's housemates (they really were merely involved in a bizarre illegal potions trafficking ring that may or may not have involved unwitting muggles.) He took a deep breath as he surveyed his surrounding office. 25 years. It had been a quarter of a century when his scar had not hurt but—
He resisted the urge to yell. This time the hurt was really palpable. He could feel it burning. No, no it could not be! Streams of blood trickled down his forehead. A bitter, metallic taste wormed his way into his mouth. He sought to spit everything impact was unmistakable.
All of the sudden, everything came together. The reason, the cause of this commotion was apparent. It wasn't really about his son. It wasn't really about his past self either.
It was what –who—16 year-old Harry brought with him.
~X~
"So Ginny," Al approached her one morning when she was noticeably Dean Thomas-less. "How's it going?"
She seemed rather glum, not her usual confident and cheery self. In fact, Ginny Weasley seemed almost peeved at being approached. A break up. Al could not resist the urge to peek into her brain. She had broken up with Dean Thomas. (Thank the heavens! His future existence was secured!)
"Oh… hi Harry," she replied striving to sound upbeat. "Ready to return to Quidditch practice?"
"Yeah. Yeah mostly," Al replied. He was dreading the direction of this conversation. All this time he had successfully concocted various scenarios in his brain on how he should proceed with his future mother, yet Quidditch was the last thing he wanted to chat about. "Actually, Ginny, errr…. I think I'm a little out of practice with Quidditch. What with all the injuries and all the things going on in my life… I…"
He had to do it.
It was now or never.
"Oh, well, if you need help, we could practice together. Do a couple of rounds, you know, before team practice?" She offered.
Oh wow. She never needed much asking.
"Perfect! Say tonight? I mean evening. Before dinner, you know."
"Hmm." She folded her arms, but she was smiling now. "Deal!"
Al mentally punched the air in triumph. A brief glimpse into her mind showed that she seemed pretty excited too. Now all he needed to figure out was how not to ruin any future romantic prospects between her while not making any outward romantic overtures to her, which was a daunting balance. Ah the woes of ensuring your existence!
As he stayed with her for the rest of breakfast, offering a mix of comfort and platitudes and chatting about various interests they shared - (it turned out young mom, like his own mother, possessed a surprising amount of trivia knowledge on the Brazilian National Team) - Al couldn't help but perceive and piece together, from fragments of her memories, that this time round, Dean Thomas had broken up with young mother because it was strongly likely that their… sexual orientations were not compatible. He always knew Mr. Thomas' relationship with Mr Finnegan was not platonic. After all, they had been roommates for 20 years.
~X~
Luna Lovegood, it transpired, was as much of a conspiracy theorist back in the 90s as she is in his time. A forever icon and legend. Wanting to leave Ron and Hermione to enviously gaze at each other and simmer in unresolved sexual tension, stringing along their unwitting dates, Al had wandered to the other side of the room with Luna and Ginny.
It was weird convincing Ginny to go to a Slug Club Party as his date – very weird. Scratch that. He did not even want to consider the implications of how weird it is. That said, he did make it clear that they were really only going as friends for now. (Tell her the full truth—No. Not yet.) Well, actually – and this sounded even more outlandish - but it was sort of his idea to go with Ginny and Luna. As a friend-trio. Ron's eyes had narrowed when Al informed him of the arrangement and Hermione called polyamory the stuff of degenerates, to which Al defended himself that they were really all going as friends. Really. Ginny had just gone through a break-up, Luna was single and Al was a confused time-traveller. It made perfect sense!
"… An Auror, yes. I've been thinking about becoming an Auror after I graduate," Al said in polite-speak. In truth he was more personally interested in pursuing a career in magical law. When he was still a young, idealistic wizard on the cusp of going to Hogwarts, Al was indeed interested in becoming an Auror. It sounded like the right job to do. Aurors kept people safe in the Wizarding World and Al grew up in a time of peace, something that seemed worth preserving.
"I don't think you should be an Auror, Harry," said Luna unexpectedly. Everybody looked at her. "The Aurors are part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They're working to bring down the Ministry of Magic from within using a combination of Dark Magic and gum disease."
"Sure, sure, I hear that the Wrackspurts are also involved," Al quipped, taking a sip of the firewhisky he surreptitiously took from the adults table.
"It's very likely that they are," Luna nodded airily.
"And also, the Gringotts European branch is really just a money laundering department. Very lucrative but very immoral business practice," Al noted.
"Hmmm… interesting." Okay maybe Aunt Luna was less familiar about conspiracy theories in the world of wizarding finance. All the more for Al's esoteric theories to shine.
"The Wizarding Bank of France sells love potions to muggles with a 500% marked up margin," he added. "No one wants to admit it but it single-handedly reduced their debt by half."
"How do you even know about such things?" Ginny found it very bizarre.
"I pay attention to things," Al admitted, shrugging. "Also, I mean, there are actually no laws in France, and indeed most countries, in terms of regulating sales of Amortentia to muggles. So if you're really short on cash—"
"Harry are you cooking up some illegal business venture?" Hermione interrupted. Somehow he was so caught up in the conspiracy conversations that he didn't notice her throwing off Cormac MacLaggen and making her way to them.
"Most certainly not!" Al defended himself. "It's merely a preposition. But it would be very lucrative. Also not illegal, unlike money laundering."
"Unbelievable!" Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Hey I was just playing devil's advocate!"
"I hate that sentence so much."
"Alright, alright. Selling love potions to unknowing muggles is bad. Money laundering is also bad," Al admitted and took another sip of the firewhisky.
"But Wrackspurts are real," Luna interjected.
"Yes, yes, indeed they are."
"And Rufus Scrimgeour is a vampire," Luna continued, matter-of-factly.
"What?!" Ron almost choked himself as he overheard the last part of their conversation.
"I have no idea what is going on in their heads," Hermione sighed.
"Me neither," Ginny added. "But it is quite entertaining."
He exchanged conspiratorial glances with Ginny, whom he had recently roped into his whole 'Ron and Hermione are actually meant for each other' bandwagon. When he explained their dynamics and jealous antics, her eyes lit up and Al knew he had a fellow partner-in-crime. Besides, helping two people get together through all means necessarily was quite a good distraction from a breakup, not that Ginny really needed any. She seemed happy to be single again. The fact that Dean Thomas was rumored to have been spotted with Seamus Finnegan alone in an empty class, possibly in a compromising position, might have helped.
"Anyways Ginny, I think I'm going to get another one of those salmon rolls. Fancy coming with me?" He offered.
She got the hint and pulled Luna with her too, leaving a befuddled Ron and Hermione.
~X~
On their way to get more food, Al encountered several professors. First was Professor Trelwaney, who questioned why he was not taking her Divination classes. It was reassuring that some things never change. She was still as discomfort-inducing as ever. Then came Slughorn, who guffawed and then praised his abilities in Potions. Again, some things just do not change, Al thought, being rather pleased. He was top of his class in his time, although Ron had beaten both him and Hermione repeatedly in this timeline. And then, to Al's horror, Slughorn threw out an arm and seemed to scoop Snape out of thin air toward them. By now Al had gotten the message that Professor Snape did not like his father and did not even attempt to tolerate the man. Thus, he simply offered to nod and stare politely. He realized casual friendliness did way more to rile the man up than straight up combative confrontation.
"Funny, I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all."
"Professor Snape was a good teacher," Al said simply for the reactions he would get from the man.
"Oh?" Snape's eyebrows may have been twitching.
"Yeah we learned about Inferi the other day. Who knows? The knowledge could be useful someday. Like if I decide I need to run away from a horde of reanimated dead bodies. And I do great in his classes in general. I always feel like I'm learning and growing."
He could feel Snape seething on the inside.
"Potter, you are as talented as you are humble."
"Thank you, Professor."
This was way more entertaining than it should be. (He hoped that Snape never learned about the time switch. Snape's head would definitely explode upon learning that Dad had named him after the man.)
Out of the blue, they were interrupted by a taciturn Filch dragging a totally-not-guilty looking Draco Malfoy into the fray.
"Professor Slughorn," wheezed Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection shone in his bulging eyes, "I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?"
Malfoy pulled himself free of Filch's grip, looking confused. His grey eyes were wide open with horror.
"All right, I wasn't invited!" he defended himself. "I was trying to gate crash the party! But- "
"Silence!" said Filch, a statement at complete odds with the glee on his face. "You're in trouble!"
That voice.
It wasn't Draco Malfoy.
Taking a step back from the scene, Al took another sip of the firewhisky. Reality was stranger than fiction.
Scorpius?!
Their eyes met and he knew in an instance. The father and the son bore strong resemblance to each other but Scorpius's grey eyes were softer, his voice more excitable, his face had a sweetness about it that made one want to hug him and never let him go. The guy looked absolutely wretched, with palpable dark circles, red-rimmed eyes and unwashed, tousled hair. Al wanted to mutter something, anything, or even simply mouth a few words, but they were in front of other adults. Still, an understanding passed between them.
How the hell did you get here?!
"I'd like a word with you, Draco," said Snape suddenly.
"I- Professor I-"
"Oh, now, Severus," said Slughorn, hiccuping, "it's Christmas, don't be too hard —"
"I'm his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be," said Snape curtly. "Follow me, Draco."
They left, with Snape leading the way and Scorpius looking utterly terrified.