A/N: I haven't written anything for fanfiction for a loooong time. But I've set myself a certain challenge and I feel like the time is right! I've missed you guys! I just spent the whole of last week reading fanfiction stories and feeling 14 again. (That being said, I also found my old fanfiction account and was highly embarrassed - apparently I thought "placatory" was the same as "platonic". It is not.) I sincerely hope my writing has improved since then, but I leave you to be the judge!

I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter and I don't make any money off this (do we still say that?)


"Al!"

Al kept walking. He was going to talk to someone important, he didn't need this. The Minister of Magic himself would be at this meeting!

"AL!"

His mother's voice was shrill in the crisp morning air. The entire neighborhood could hear her, it was all very embarrassing and Albus wanted it to be over. He ducked into Bathilda's backyard and knocked on the glass of her garden door.

The glass was ripply, but he could see a dark shape approaching through the panes.

When the door opened, little Bathilda Bagshot stood there, appraising him with a keen eye. She smiled.

"Are you supposed to be somewhere else, Albus?"

Albus smiled sheepishly. He knew Bathilda would not turn him in.

"Well, come in then."

Albus tried to rearrange his face so his expression would not look too triumphant. Bathilda's sitting room was spotlessly clean, as always, except for the many towers of books adorning every surface. Her office, he knew, was neither so clean, nor so relatively tidy, but she tried to keep her sitting room ready for stranger's eyes, except for the books. Albus wondered if she was blind to them by now. An historian must always be reading, or at least, that's what Bathilda claimed.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

Albus smiled. "Actually, I was wondering if I could use your fireplace? I'm off to a meeting at the Ministry of Magic."

"And why would your mother try to stop you from doing that?" she asked, as she strode to the bookcase in the corner, also stuffed with books, many large and ponderous. She pulled out a small, silver snuff box and offered it to Albus. When he opened it, he saw the glittering green Floo Powder and took a pinch, handing her back the box.

"It's not so much she wants to stop me from going to the meeting," he admitted, "As she needs help with – my sister."

"Well, Albus, I know you can't miss a meeting with the Minister. Would you like me to pop in on her?"

Albus felt his heart fill with relief. "That would be quite a kindness, Ms. Bagshot. I should hate to impose."

"Not at all, darling boy, not at all. Go on, into the fire now, you mustn't keep the Minister waiting!"

Albus dropped the pinch of Floo Powder on to the lone log in the fireplace. Emerald green flames shot up six feet high in an insant, the warm breath of the flames lighting his face.

"You know, I heard from my nephew again. He's really quite curious about you."

Albus looked at Bathilda, one foot raised and ready to go into the fire. She was constantly doing this. You thought the conversation was over and then she'd start up again as though goodbyes had not been exchanged.

"He sounds like quite a chap himself," said Albus, not really caring about some boy far away. For goodness' sake, the meeting would start without him at this rate and he had something very exciting to share, something he had been working on all during the Christmas break. Nicolas Flamel would be there as well, and he desperately wanted a word with him before the meeting started.

"Yes, well, he might be coming up during the summer. Quite a boy, quite a boy." Finally sensing some of Albus's irritation, Bathilda said, "Well, off you go then. I'll introduce you if he does come up. Good luck, Albus."

"Thank you so much, Bathilda." And he stepped into the fire and shouted, "Ministry of Magic!"

He spun around, careful to keep his elbows tucked in and saw many flashes of other wizarding fireplaces. He closed his eyes, going over his notes in his mind's eye.

When he finally stumbled into the Ministry of Magic Atrium, he chanced a glance at his watch. A quarter to. Well, he might not get as long a word with Nicolas Flamel as he had hoped, but there was nothing for it at this point. He handed his wand over to the security wizard and was given a badge to wear on his lapel, which he simply slipped into his cloak pocket. Everyone who was anyone knew who he was at the Ministry, there was no reason to make a display.

He walked over to the lifts and cried out with relief when he saw Nicolas Flamel in the same lift.

"Mr. Flamel!" he yelled, stepping in and closing the golden grills. He pulled the lever himself so they began to ascend to one of the meeting floors. "I'm so pleased to see you, I was dearly hoping you would look at my notes before the meeting, perhaps confirm a few figures?"

Nicolas Flamel's face looked weary, and well it might. The man was nearly 600 years old, after all. Albus could barely dream of such advanced age.

Still, he had a bright smile for Albus. "Check your facts and figures boy? Perhaps you ought to check mine before I open my mouth and embarrass myself."

Albus couldn't help the deepening of his grin. He tried very hard to remember he was only sixteen and had a lot to learn from those around him. He wasn't stupid enough to believe himself the smartest man in the world. However, he was sharp enough to recognize himself as the smartest man in the room. Any room.

Still, he wanted Nicolas to look at his work. One misspelling and the room would laugh him out of the Ministry.

When they reached the meeting room, everyone hailed the pair. Branson Efferness, the Head of Magical Theory sat at the head of the table, while Garret Umsted was in the middle of a deep conversation with what looked to be a teapot. Albus was never sure if the Head of Experimental Charms was having an off-day (like the time he came in to a meeting crying at every spoken word, having experimented too much with extra-sensitive hearing charms) or had actually charmed something near him, instead of himself. As no one was worried about this tea pot conversation, Albus decided the teapot itself was charmed, and an enthusiastic conversationalist.

He and Nicolas Flamel sat at the foot of the table, near the drawing board Albus would be using shortly. He pulled his notes out of an inside cloak pocket and flipped to the pages he was most nervous about.

Nicolas stretched out a liver-spotted hand and picked up the papers, scanning the equations. He promptly dropped the pages.

"Merlin!" he cried, his withered cheeks reddening with excitement and a little embarrassment at his reaction. He began shuffling the papers together, but his old hands were not nimble and they kept scattering the parchment about.

"Allow me, Nicolas. No harm done," said Albus. Once his notes were back in order he resisted the urge to lean back in his chair and smile smugly. Instead, he looked at the table, hoping he looked modest and knowing he was failing fantastically

"So," he finally said when he'd regained his composure. "What do you think?"

Nicolas shook his head, laughing silently.

More people trickled in and finally the meeting began. The Minister of Magic looked down the table after the minutes from the last meeting had been read out. Albus was up first. The Minister nodded to Albus, an approving look on his face.

Albus stood up and walked over to the drawing board. He tapped his notes and they suddenly appeared on the board. There were a few gasps around the table as the theorists and magical zoologists and other -ists understood some of what they saw.

"Gentlemen," said Albus, suppressing a grin. "I have discovered, unless I am wrong, and I do invite you to show me how I am, twelve uses of dragon's blood."

Applause broke out around the table.

The rest of the holiday passed in a blur of handshakes and letters from all across the wizarding community congratulating Albus on his startling find. His mother was, of course, very proud, which tempered some of her crossness that he had ignored her the day of the meeting. His brother, Aberforth, spent an increasing amount of time in the goat pen until his mother actually had to go magic him up to bed, for he'd fallen asleep on the pellet-strewn floor. He positively stank up the upper floor as he drifted past Albus's bedroom door.

He was about to return to Hogwarts, but he had to do one thing more. He had to go and see Ariana.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see his sister. He loved her, of course. Of course he did. And he didn't blame her for their father being in Azkaban, no one did. Still, it was hard to see her – barely able to lift herself off the couch or screaming obscenities and carving up her skin with anything sharp – and not feel a small amount of disgust at her pathetic state.

He knocked on the door to the basement to announce his arrival but it was only perfunctory. She could not go up the stairs unless she was accompanied by their mother, a charm Albus had come up with his first year back from Hogwarts. She could no more open the door to the rest of the house than she could leave the house, the poor thing.

"Ariana," he said, as he made his way down the stairs.

She was in a quiet type mood today. Her candyfloss blonde hair stood in its usual matted cloud around her head, somehow looking rather angelic. Her big blue eyes were sad and knowing. Albus sat beside her and she took his hand.

"Mother tells me you'll win all sorts of awards this year." She looked up at him. "Will you write to me?"

As he looked into her sweet face, he knew he wouldn't. And what was worse, he could see that she knew. "I'll try. School is awfully busy, you know."

She nodded. "Ab finds time to write, but his marks are nothing to yours. I suppose to get marks like yours you must study an awful lot."

"I'll send you the books we're reading in school when I've done with them," he promised.

Her face lit up. She threw her arms around his neck. Albus tensed and hated himself, but she felt it and withdrew. "That would be wonderful, Albus, thank you."

He drew her back into a hug and this time she lingered.

"I'll see you soon," he said, standing. "There's not much school left. I'll be back for a few days before Elphias go on our grand tour. Oh, I can't wait to show you the things we'll bring back, Ariana." Remembering himself, he cleared his throat. "I shall write this semester. I'll make a point of it."

She smiled sheepishly and he departed.

Aberforth did not sit next to him on the train.


Poor Ariana.

Please review and let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is just as welcome as glowing praise!