While walking through the empty corridors and up the deserted staircases to the headmaster's office 15-year-old Albus Potter had to admit to himself that he had never wanted to go home less than today. It was the last day before the start of the summer holidays and he dreaded the time at home with his depressed father around. He remembered that it hadn't always been like that. It had come gradually. First, there were only small changes in his father's behaviour and attitude. But as time went on, those changes became more and more prominent. Albus also dreaded the conversation with the headmaster. He would have to respond to many worried questions which he did not know the answers to. At this very moment he wished to be a little more like his older brother James who was outgoing and direct and would not have any problems at all telling the headmaster he was in no mood to drink tea and chat.
There it was: the ugly stone gargoyle. "Mandrake," he said and the gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside. Albus stepped onto the moving staircase that led him directly to the headmaster's office. He hesitated for a moment, took hold of the huge brass knocker and knocked twice.
"Come in," Neville's voice answered. He had been up here hundreds of times. The room looked as it always did, a little untidy and full of all sorts of living plants. The portraits of the former headmasters hung on the wall behind the desk. Most of them were sleeping as usual, except for the portraits of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape.
He had seen those portraits many times before, but could not remember them being awake at the same time. "Take a seat," Neville said in a warm voice, "would you like some tea?" Albus accepted politely. While Dumbledore had fallen asleep again, Snape continued watching him out of dark and unfathomable eyes.
Albus felt uncomfortable. He did not really want to be here. Even though the windows in Neville´s office were closed he could hear the noises of students enjoying their last day at Hogwarts outside on the school grounds. He would have preferred to seize the opportunity of being by himself for an hour or two in the empty common rooms under the lake to brood over things to say, things to do when he would be home. Did he really want to do anything? Maybe it would be easier to just leave it as it was. Only two more years and he would leave school and go somewhere else, maybe even abroad. There had to be some place where people wouldn't see him just as one of the sons of the great Harry Potter. The brilliant Harry Potter - victorious and whatnot – that he looked so much alike. He looked just like his father did when he was his age. But from the stories that were told about the adventures that his father and his friends had had he could only guess that their character was nothing alike. Albus never heard his father tell these stories. Whenever someone got started to tell them, Harry himself just listened. He had never been eager to tell his children of his past. But Albus wanted to know. He wanted to know the reason for his father not being the Harry Potter everybody else knew him to be. His father wasn't this hero that everybody saw, he couldn't be. Defeating Voldemort, marrying his teenage sweetheart, starting a family, and recently becoming the head of the Auror Department, all this should make a man full of joy. But instead Albus would come home to see this depressed man that no one outside their family ever saw.
Neville poured tea into a cup and handed it on its saucer to Albus. He took it and didn´t know what to do with it. It was too hot in here for tea. It had been unusually warm the past week and the old stones of the castle that normally would help to keep the heat outside weren´t able to chill the headmaster´s office. The smell of the tea stung in Albus' nose and made him feel nauseous. He leaned forward and put his cup onto the desk, where there was some empty space between a pile of books about how to grow rejuveniling herbs and a box of almond biscuits.
"What's wrong Albus?" Neville asked sitting behind his oaken desk, several quills lying chaotically strewn over some handwritten pieces of paper. Hardly anyone in the wizarding world used quills anymore since the formalinguluses had come on the market. However, that was typical for Neville. He stuck to tradition. Perhaps this peculiarity of keeping things of his childhood days helped him to cope with everything that had happened. All the losses they had had to take had definitely left scars, if not visible then still locked away somewhere inside of them. Albus knew that he could trust Neville. But what should he say? Why had he asked him to come anyways? Neville, as Albus was allowed to call him when they were alone, was one of his parents´ best friends and there was hardly any holiday he didn't spend with the family. Albus hated the additional attention he got from the other students for sharing this special relationship with the headmaster. He could tell from the looks that they didn't tolerate it as easily as they pretended to do. As if it wouldn't have been enough to be Harry Potter's son. Albus would see Neville the following week-end when the festivities for his father's 40th birthday would take place. Albus liked Neville who, other than his father, never urged him to join the Quidditch team or gave him the feeling of not meeting his expectations. On the contrary, he had the feeling that he stood in for him when Harry got too critical.
"I know it must be hard for you, but one day you'll understand, what your father went through. He..." A sharp sound of something like a firework pervaded the room. A second after the room was seized by a detonation. "Not again!" More unnerved than worried Neville rose from the winged chair he kept as a souvenir from his grandmother who shortly after his appointment to the post of the headmaster of Hogwards had passed away. "McGonagall! Sorry, Albus, would you stay here for a second until I have checked what's going on?" "Sure", Albus answered reluctantly. "What was she up to again?" he thought. He couldn't imagine that she used to be one of the most respected teachers of Hogwards. His mother and Auntie Hermione got upset when James and Rosie made fun of her attempts to fight imaginary Death Eaters. Auntie Hermione told them that directly after the last final battle against Lord Voldemort she became headmaster of Hogwarts. Sadly, she never managed to fully come to terms with what happened the night that Voldemort died. After some years and a couple of magic accidents involving her and her increasing inability to distinguish joke from real harm, the other teachers decided that it was time for her to step down, and let someone else do the job. No-one had the heart to actually ban her from the school grounds, so she stayed here, and the students learned to be careful not to attract her attention. Every now and then still somebody had to calm her and make sure she wouldn´t overreact to a Bang Bang Boggart Banger some student had brought to school. All in all, she was not dangerous.
While sitting in the headmaster's office and waiting for Neville to return, Albus glanced at the portraits again. In McGonagall´s painting there was no witch to be seen, just a cat sitting on a table. Right next to her portrait there was Snape still watching him, his lank hair framing his pale face. "Excuse me, Sir," Albus began carefully, "Why are you watching me all the time?"
"You just look like your father,"
Albus looked down onto his knees. "I'm nothing like my father," he said after a while. "I could never have done the things my father did. And he knows that."
"I just said you look like your father." Albus dared to lift his head again. "And it is true, he was brave." Snape paused and examined Albus's face. "You do look very much like him. The thing, is you also remind me of myself at your age. I've been watching you for a long time." "Why on earth should I be like you?" Albus asked a little louder than he had intended.
"I also always had the feeling that I did not fit in and I know how it feels to be the outsider. You know James Potter. He made my live hell."
Albus felt uncomfortable listening to someone talking bad about the person his father always held up in the sky "Stop insulting my family! He was my grandfather."
A smile played around Snape's mouth. "You are wrong there, my boy," Snape said quietly. "He's not family. I never told your father."
"Tell my father what?" Albus began to feel his throat closing as if there was something trying to strangle him.
"That James was not his father, but me," Snape replied. A silence followed that seemed to press in on Albus, taking his breath and numbing his limbs. When he finally managed to make a sound, it was only one word that left his mouth.
"Impossible," he whispered.
He hadn't slept at all last night. First, he had tried to convince himself that the portrait of Prof. Snape just wanted to take revenge, because he hadn't got all the attention and appraisal his father had received since Lord Voldemort was defeated. Then he thought that someone had cast a spell on the portrait to make fun of him. But no matter which explanation he would come up with, there was always this besetting little notion that Snape was absolutely serious about what he said and that he was right with it. What could he do? He wasn't keen on going home anyways. Could his mother really help him? He couldn't rely on his feelings anymore. Why did he think that what he had heard could be true, at all, and why hadn't he asked Neville about it? He had to see his mother. She was the only person in the world he could trust. He wondered if his father knew and whether this could be the reason for neglecting him? He would soon know... only 10 steps that separated him from opening the door and seeing her. She always waited the day they came home. Lily sprinted forward. Of course. Finally she didn't have to bear Albus' unnerving silence. She was all excited about planning something for their father's birthday. How did she cope with the fading glimmer of their father? Probably she didn't realize it as strongly because Harry still tried to hide his real state of mind towards his beloved daughter and could even manage a smile from time to time. Wasn't it obvious? Albus felt sweat on his upper lip and forehead, his legs felt like marshmallow and his heart beat as strong that he was sure that anyone close to him could hear it.
Albus was tired. A small part of him would have liked to just stay in his room to unpack, but he wanted to be with his parents. His mother always looked forward to having all of her children with her - if his father did so, too, he didn´t show it. So he just put his trunk on his bed and went downstairs. His mother was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes with a knife. She was humming a happy tune, and didn´t notice her son watching her. Harry entered the kitchen and filled a glass with water. "You would already be done if you used your wand, Ginny" he said bad-tempered and pointed his own at the bowl standing in front of Ginny. The potatoes rose, their skin came off and landed in a pile next to the bowl. With a small sigh Ginny turned around, but before she could say anything she saw Albus standing in the kitchen and smiled at him. "Honey, dinner will take a bit longer", Ginny gave Harry a sharp look when he snorted, but smiled when she turned back to Albus, "James and Lily went out to meet some friends. Why don´t you join them, we´ll have dinner at eight." Albus really didn´t want to leave, he thought he might have a chance to talk to his mother. "I doubt they would like me to be there."
"Is something wrong?" Ginny began to worry. Harry didn´t say anything, he left the kitchen taking his glass with him. His mother just looked at him, waiting for him to say something. Albus sat down in a little green armchair stained with blotches of dried brown liquid. Ginny sat down close to him on a stool, not caring about dinner any more.
"I know" Albus croaked.
"What are you talking about?"
"He told me. His portrait told me. Professor Snape is Dad´s father?"
For some seconds it seemed as if Ginny wouldn´t say anything at all. She took a deep breath and comfortably put her hand on his. "How can you be sure he didn´t lie?"
"Why should he be bothered to tell lies? He´s dead. I think he was telling the truth." Albus looked at the door his father had just left through, "He said I´m just like him. Maybe Dad knows the truth, and hates me for reminding him of it?"
"Your father doesn´t hate you!" Ginny would never believe that.
"Well, he does act like that all the time."
"Give him some time. He´s been through a lot."
"So have you. And Neville. And uncle Ron and auntie Hermione. And many other people." Albus was not satisfied with her answer.
"Everyone copes with it differently. He does not as well as others." Ginny got up and started to slice the potatoes, "I think it would help if the both of you had a talk, but not tonight, he´s tired from work. I´ll be there with you if you want me to."
Albus got up as well and stood next to his mother, "Thank you," he said as he started to slice some potatoes as well, "Thanks for being there for me."