"What! What does that have to do with anything!" His father's voice was indignant. Albus could imagine him almost on his feet, but not quite, like a beast ready to spring.
"This isn't his first offense, Mr. Potter. I just think we need to realize there's a bad apple in every barrel."
"Malfoy! He hangs out with Malfoy's kid, she put him up to it."
He cringed. It was just like his father to stamp the blame on someone else. Especially an easy target like Necrophilia Malfoy. She wouldn't hurt a fly, but all his father would ever see in her was Draco Malfoy. The likeness was startling, but it stopped at the external.
The headmaster actually laughed aloud. "Necrophilia Malfoy? If anyone's putting anyone up to anything, I'm afraid it would be your son, Mr. Potter. You need to talk to him about it. We won't tolerate many more marks until he's suspended."
"Suspended! What do you mean, suspended! He makes perfect grades, he's nearly head of his class. He just has – extra energy. I was just like him when I was in school; it's just restlessness."
"Yes, Mr. Potter, I am well aware of your escapades here. However, sneaking out at night and throwing around a few jinxes are one thing; defacing school property and harming classroom subjects are another. There is a dark streak in your son, Mr. Potter, and if you don't clean it up, I'm afraid I will have to."
Shame wriggled in his belly. A little magical graffiti wasn't that bad, he didn't think. But scorching Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts had been cruel. It had been easy to cap their tails, so the heat reverted inward. He had been morbidly curious. Maybe his father was right; maybe he was too restless. Or maybe something was wrong with him. It couldn't be normal, these almost overpowering urges to harm things. Maybe he had some sort of sick mental illness that would only be exasperated with time.
The office door swung open and he sprang to his feet, standing rigid, his head down as his father emerged. There was a long moment of silence before his father's disappointed sigh filled the silent hall.
"Albus. Skrewts? You blew up the skrewts?" He heard a hint of humor in his father's voice, and knew he was more amused than angry. It was pretty funny if you thought about it abstractly. Then the humor disappeared from his tone. "You heard Master Ellwood. Suspension if you act up again. Look at me, Albus!"
He raised his head, his eyes meeting his father's. He saw a flicker of shock cross his face, and knew all too well what had caused it. People had always said he had dark eyes. Deep brown, with the smallest hint of red. Dark russet he supposed the color was called. But sometimes he knew the reddish tint stood out, in the right light, or – more prominently and strangely – if he was emotionally upset.
But his father hid his disconcertion well. "Albus, I know you don't want to leave school. Do you?" He jerked his head, no. "Then you're going to have to try harder to follow the rules. Maybe there's something you can do to – to constructively let out extra energy, or magic, or whatever it is that's bothering you. Maybe a sport. I know you're not much for Quidditch, but maybe another sport, or some sort of club that interests you. You're good at potions, and I know you have high marks in the Dark Arts class, why don't you look into that?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. I will. I'll try."
"That's good." His father started to turn away, and Albus followed him. When they were out of hearing distance from the headmaster's door his father spoke again. "Are you still – you know – the dreams?"
He shook his head, his eyes riveted on the floor. He'd had nightmares for as long as he could remember, but none so vivid as the ones he'd been experiencing almost nightly for the past two months. Always different, but still always the same. The same dark, tall figure, shrouded in death's cloak, slits for nostrils, burning red eyes. Sometimes there was a snake, an enormous, twisting, suffocating serpent. Always there was fear, terror that woke him up and left him paralyzed in his bed until, finally, he remembered where he really was.
But his father didn't need to know. Albus knew it worried him, scared him. Because he knew who the figure in the dream was; a figure he had never seen. The same creature that had scarred his father's face and left the wizarding world in ruins.
He felt his father's eyes on him, pressing. He forced himself to look up, to briefly meet his eyes, so his father would believe. At last he nodded, looked away, lay his hand on Albus' shoulder.
"Alright. That's good. Just – be careful." Albus nodded. "Ok then. I'll be going. Stay out of trouble." He gave him a stern look, then a teasing smile flickered over his face and he turned and headed off down the hall. Albus went the other way.
Hogwarts was dark, the halls empty. It was pretty late, after seven. He'd always thought the castle eerie at night. Despite what everyone told him – teachers, other students, his father – he had never really felt safe there. Not at night. He knew strange things happened at night. Strange things always happened in darkness.
He headed down to the Hogwarts underground, down to what had been the dungeon when this had still been a real castle. Old magically burning torches lit the walls along the stairway. The air down here was cold, damp, heavy. It didn't seem right to him, that they were put down there. He reached the bottom of the stairs and began to pass down the rows of old pens. They were empty now, the gates left open and rotting. Just to the end of the row and then he would make the common room and there would be life and light again.
The feeling that he was being watched made his skin crawl. He shoved his hand into his wand pocket. His steps faltered. Suddenly a shadow rose out from one of the cells. He pulled the wand out, but he had learned by now to identify before he struck. It was only Necrophilia.
"Albus," she whispered, her voice soft and melodic even in one word. "It's just me. What happened?"
He lowered his wand and shrugged. "You know. My Dad just told me to straighten up. Ellwood mentioned suspension."
"Suspension? That's ridiculous. They were just skrewts!"
He pulled in a long breath. "And defacement of property and improper use of magic and the occasional physical altercation. It just adds up." He paused, looking at her through the flickering light. Her pale eyes seemed enormous, ghostly. He held his breath. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Phily." It rushed out in a shuddering sigh. "I'm afraid. It's like, sometimes, I can't control myself. Not like I lose my temper, but like I'm not myself. Like it's someone else pulling the strings."
She was silent for a moment. When she spoke again her voice was almost gone. "Are you still having the nightmares?" His head jerked up then down again, his gaze falling from hers. Her hand closed around his, cold, assuring. "I don't think your father takes you seriously. I think he isn't comfortable around you."
He shook his head. "No, he never has been. Not since I came here."
"You are different, from the others."
"I guess." He shrugged, attempted a smile. "I can't stay on a broom."
She laughed aloud, the sound of it ringing through the empty room, making it almost bright. "Hey, let's go to the astronomy tower. I don't want to go to bed and I don't have any homework."
He grinned at her. She knew him like her own heart. "Sure."
The stars were wheeling above him. He was flying, free flying, no broom beneath him. His robes flowed about him, his hand, long and white and bone-thin, stretched out before him. His laugh, cold and cruel, burst into the night air. Then the gleeful command, the flash of green, the thrill of success. But no. It was ruined. His wand exploded in his hand, burning his dead flesh. He screamed in agony and hatred, tore away. He would kill him! He would –
"Albus!" Her voice hissed in his ear, jerking him up. His heart was crashing against his chest so hard it hurt. Something was digging into his palm; he felt hot blood. He gasped, uncurling his fingers from his wand. His eyes flew to Necrophilia's. Her face was even more pale than usual. "Albus," she whispered, her wand brushing over his palm. "Episkey. You're eyes."
"What! Dammit! How – What happened?" he whispered. "What did I do?"
"I don't know, you just sort of went blank, like staring off, like you weren't here. I don't know."
He looked down at the paper before him, at his own scrawling handwriting. Confusion washed over him. What was this? "What are we doing?"
She looked at him, worry creasing her face. "Inferi, Albus. We're studying Inferi. Just the basics, you know, defense. But there haven't been any for nearly twenty years. It's no big deal."
He looked again at his notes. Necromancy. Inferius reanimation. He didn't know this, he didn't know how to create an inferius. But he did. He flipped the page over and his stomach twisted sickeningly. The rest of the page was full. He glanced at Necrophilia. She didn't seem to have noticed. He shoved the page into his bag and pulled out a clean sheet.
"Are you ok?" she whispered. He nodded hastily, taking a glance at her notes to see what he had missed. Not that he needed to. He knew everything about Inferi. "You look sick. I think you need to see Madame Pomtre. Your eyes are – you know. They're really, really bright, Albus. I've never seen you like this."
"No I'm fine, really." Suddenly a flash of red crossed his vision, his own reflection cast back by a mirror on the wall. His eyes were vivid, blood red. He gasped, his heart lurching in his chest.
"Albus, you've been cursed!"
"No, no, it's always been like this. If I'd been cursed my dad would know; he's the best auror there is."
She fell silent and he stole a glance at her; her face was set with worry. But there was nothing to worry about. Still, he couldn't dispel of the anxiety that squirmed in his gut. She was right. This wasn't right, it wasn't normal.
She sighed, shaking her head. "I just – I have a bad feeling. I mean, you've never been this bad. I'm just – just be careful."
"Ok. I will." Slowly he looked away. A moment later the bell rang for next class and they began to file out into the hall.
"See you," she said, attempting a smile, and disappeared into the growing crowd of students. For a moment Albus watched her go before he turned away to head to his next class. Something prickled in the back of his mind, something on the tip of his tongue. His hand slipped into his robe, curled around his wand. It tingled against his skin, hot, alive. He shook his head, let go.
It was warm outside, perfect spring weather, as though the earth were breathing its relief at the end of winter's long reign. Students milled around the courtyard and lawns, soaking up the sun's rays and the fresh air, knowing that such a reprieve from the season's rains could not last long. The sun was lowering over the lake, and an evening breeze rustled across Albus' Dark Arts notes. Pages and pages of them, all in vivid detail. Fiendfyre, petrification, horcrux, Unforgivable curses, the list went on. Most of these things he had no memory of, he knew they hadn't gone over in class. They were far too advanced for even most adult wizards. But he knew it all. He didn't know how, but he did. It was impossible, but frighteningly real.
"Albus." He gasped, jumping at the sound of his brother's voice behind him. He shoved the pages into his book bag and looked up. James stood over him, leaning against the trunk of the tree that was supporting Albus' back. The physical similarity between James and his father was startling. The same dark hair, bright green eyes. They even sounded the same.
"What are you hiding?" James laughed, and slid down along the tree next to him. Albus shoved his book bag to the side. "Love notes to Malfoy?" That same assurance too, the same cockiness. He was in his sixth year, two years older than Albus. They had never really been close, but James had always been there. A shadow over him, whether of protection or superiority he wasn't sure. Maybe both.
"No," he muttered.
"I'm just kidding, Albus." James elbowed him teasingly. "I hear you blew up some skrewts. That's great," he chuckled. "What did Dad say?"
Albus shrugged. "The usual. Stay out of trouble. Don't get expelled." He paused. "They've threatened to suspend me."
James' eyes widened. "Suspend you? Jeez, it's not that bad. A few pranks."
"Yeah, that's what Dad said."
"Well it's ridiculous. Besides, they wouldn't suspend Harry Potter's boy."
"But I'm Slytherin. Most people don't even remember I'm his son. If they do, they think it's odd, like I'm some sort of screw up."
"Ah, that's dumb. You know, like Dad always says, one of the best wizards he knew was Slytherin."
Albus cringed. "Severus Snape. I'm not sure how much I appreciate my namesake."
James laughed. "Ah don't worry about it. If people don't want to get to know you for you, well their loss." He stood. "It's getting dark. Coming in?"
Albus rose. The lawns were almost empty now, the sky graying. James walked a little ahead of him, his strides naturally longer. But he glanced back, casting Albus an encouraging smile.
"Chin up, Dumbledore."
He laughed at the nickname. Only James and Lily called him that.
"Albus! Albus Severus Potter! Albus, no – " James' face was gaping, wide with a horror Albus could not understand. For a moment he tried to wrap his mind around it, to understand what was wrong. Then he was gone. Light – brilliant green flashed across his vision. It tore through him, searing cold. The words shocked through his veins like a knife along their edges. He couldn't even comprehend them. They were meaningless to him. But he was gone.
The earth was hard and cold beneath his back. He grimaced, pushing himself up. His ears rang, the edges of his brain stung. Something burned against the skin of his palm. For a moment he saw only the light, only the flash brighter than looking at the sun. Then he saw James.
How he lay, spread out like a limp doll. His eyes, slitted, rolled back. How his teeth clenched too tight for life.
There was no air. Darkness popped along the ends of his vision and he ground the heels of his hands against his temples. He gasped, once, choked, again, shuddered. No. What had happened? What had he done? What – No. What? He lurched forward on his knees. The ground reeled beneath him.
Sudden agony ripped through him, driving him to the ground again. The wand dug into his chest. He fought against it but it would not move. Sound finally caught up.
"Petrificus totalus!" People running, shouting, fear, shock, horror. Shadows passed over his vision, sometimes the edge of a body. But he could not move to see. "He's dead! He killed him!"
"What happened?"
"It's James Potter! God, he's dead!"
"Did you see it? Killing curse, straight at him. Who did it? Albus! Albus Potter!"
Professor Gillian – the Dark Arts teacher's – voice. "No! What happened? My God! Step back, step back! All of you, go to your halls. You, run for Ellwood." He felt the wand pull from between his fingers. "Finite Incantatem!"
He gasped, jerked, curled inward. "No! What – "
"Get up, Potter," Gillian snarled. Albus staggered to his feet, seeing for the first time. Students stood on the fringes of the lawn, gaping. Gillian stood between him and James, as though he feared Albus might attack the corpse. His wand was leveled at Albus' chest. "What have you done?"
"I don't know." His breath hitched. "Please, I don't – Oh no." He'd killed him. He'd killed James Potter. He'd killed his brother. His stomach lurched and he staggered back, the ground reeling beneath him. Someone caught his arm, steadying him.
"You're wand, Gillian." Professor Longbottom's voice quivered in his ear. Gillian didn't lower his wand, but Longbottom didn't seem to notice. "What happened, Albus?" He shook his head, his teeth clenching against nausea and fear. "Come on."
He kept his eyes on the ground as he was led up the lawn, past staring, whispering classmates, back into Hogwarts. The walk to the infirmary seemed endless. But at last they reached it and at last his legs gave out from beneath him. "Steady," Longbottom murmured, lowering him onto a bed. Madame Pomtre stood beside him, her wand ready. "What happened, Albus?" He shook his head again.
"I – I – " His voice shrank. "I killed him. I – " His stomach lurched upward and he vomited on the tiled floor. Longbottom's hands closed around his shoulders as he retched again and again until he could no more and sank trembling and sobbing back against the bed. Madame Pomtre whispered something and he was gone, his thoughts dark and empty.
The room was dark, cold, heavily silent. He wondered where he was. He ached. His stomach felt raw and his head pounded sickeningly with every beat of his heart. He groaned, tried to roll onto his knees, but toppled off balance. His hands were bound behind him.
Fear shot through him. He jerked his arms against the ropes to no avail. Again he struggled to right himself, this time managing to stay on his knees. His fast, panicked breath echoed in the silence. He edged forward until cold, rusty bars stopped him. He was in the dungeon then. Now his eyes were beginning to adjust to the near total darkness, broken only by the weak flickering of a lamp far down the hall. The horrible thought that they had left him here, to die, made his heart jolt in horror. But no, they would never do that. They couldn't. They must just be keeping him here until they could get him to Azkaban.
He felt sick again, cold sickness creeping inside him. He curled against the wall, shutting his eyes against the darkness. Azkaban. They would send him to Azkaban. He would stay there forever. He would die there. A terrified whimper escaped from his throat.
"Albus." His eyes flew open at Necrophilia's voice. Her pale face floated ghost-like in front of the bars.
"Phily! What – "
Her wand flared. "Alohmora! Diffindo!" The gates swung open and the ropes fell from his wrists. "Come on, hurry. I drugged the guard, but I don't know how well it worked."
He raced after her up the winding staircase, expecting at any moment someone to jump at them, to drag him back to the cell. But no one came. At the top of the stairs Necrophilia stopped and grabbed two brooms from where she had leaned them against the wall.
"Two, Phily – "
"I know you didn't do it, Albus!"
"But I – "
"I think you've been cursed. I don't know how, and I know your dad's an auror, but – " she shook her head. "You wouldn't do that. But they won't think that. They have all this evidence against you, the marks, the Dark Arts notes – "
"What?"
She stammered, "I – I've seen them, Albus."
"And you still think – "
"I know. I watched you write the inferius notes. That wasn't you. It was like – like you were writing without thinking, like you were doodling. I can't let them send you to Azkaban. I just can't. I couldn't stand it, I couldn't live with it."
"But two, Phily. I only need one."
Her eyes met his, determined, begging. "I'm coming with you, Albus."
"But you can't – I can't come back, Phily. I'll be – I'll be hunted. You can't come. They'll think you were part of it."
"I don't care! I need to go with you. I – " Suddenly she moved, her body against him, her lips crashing into his, her hands twining behind his neck. It was a heartbeat before he responded, almost too late he knew. Then he was with her. She fit perfectly, inexplicably. But too soon her lips smacked away. He was suddenly aware of his own self again, his pulse exploding through him. Her eyes were huge and ice blue.
"Because I love you. So I'm coming." She held out her hand and her broom shot upward. He mounted his own, fighting to keep his balance as it swayed beneath him. He leaned forward and it shot away after her. They swept up, out into the Great Hall, hurtling toward the window at the far end. With a jolt of horror he realized what she intended, but he knew it was the only way out.
The glass shattered around him like a wave, the contact nearly jarring him from his broom. He shut his eyes tight against the flying shards and fought to keep his balance. He heard Necrophilia calling to him and forced himself to look ahead. She was veering off over the lake, southward. He shot after her, his broom shuddering beneath him. The air was sharp and hard against his face. He had never flown this fast in his life, but still faster, still higher they climbed. It seemed an eternity before they leveled off. Necrophilia floated alongside him, her glowing wand quivering as it magically led the way south.
"Where are we going?" he asked at last, suddenly embarrassed that he had know idea, no plan, no imagining of where they could be headed.
She looked at him, her face shocked, and he realized that she didn't know either. "I guess – I guess away. Far away. Out of the wizarding world, at least."
"Out of – but I've never been in the muggle world, what besides the train station. I have no idea where to go."
She was silent for a moment. When she spoke, for the first time she sounded afraid. "I know. I don't know. We'll – we'll figure it out though."
He wondered.
