His voice was unusually soft, like the swish of an owl's wing. Even with his ears strained, he couldn't make out the words the beggar was murmuring, again and again, endlessly. His eyes followed the stone, side to side, entranced. The crystal, a big blue jewel that seemed to throb in the dingy alley, he wanted it desperately. It was important, unbelievably important, and the man knew it. And still he sat in a pile of rags, swinging it back and forth, mocking him. His mind boiled with questions, with rage and he struggled, but the man was far away. Close enough to smell the sour, stale alcohol. A million miles away. He reached out far, straining his arms until they ached and his fingers encircled the jewel. The man didn't move, his crooked, humourless smile frozen in place. Victory was close, so close… He drew his fist tight and felt nothing, saw the alley explode into a million shards of light.
***
Albus yawned, reaching clumsily for his glasses. With a grunt, he banished the alley from his mind and replaced it with thoughts of a far more pleasant place: Hogwarts. Today, of all days, was not the day to be late. Rolling out of bed, he attempted to pat down his hair and had no luck at all. He blamed Dad. It was always Dad's fault: his hair, his eyesight, from the colour of yesterday's socks to last night's pesky dream. Dad was to blame for everything, he always had been. Everyone always gave him credit when things went right, but say bad things about Harry Potter the Very Important Person? Never. He had never understood quite what his father was so popular for, but it was bloody annoying. There were only so many comments about saviours by catty little playmates Albus could take. His father hadn't been capable of saving a goldfish, never mind all these people! He needed a critic. And so, last year, Albus had taken over that little job.
Dad was also in charge of many things, chiefly driving the family to King's Cross. If they were late, Albus would be very angry indeed, if he had the spare emotion. And he honestly didn't know if he would, since it looked set to be a nastily emotional day. Even pulling on his best Batman t-shirt for the last time in months was bittersweet. Mum had banned the thing, saying it was scruffy. As far as Al was concerned, it was fashionably worn. James had said so, and he was always right. Always.
« Al! » Ginny Potter's voice echoed up the stairs and Albus winced. All Quidditch players seemed to have strong voices, and hers hadn't weakened one bit.
« Coming, coming… » Taking the steps two at a time, he thumped his way to the kitchen and came face to face with a girl. It wasn't an ordinary girl, one who he could handle, like Rose or Lily or Maddy-Next-Door. This was a strange girl. He backed away. « Mum, what's she doing here? » He used his whiniest, most effective voice. Sadly, to his surprise, it didn't work.
« Eating, » came a grumpy reply.
« Shut up and hurry, Al, we're running late! » He nodded meekly as his mother rushed past and stuck out his tongue at her back.
« Not my fault! Blame Dad!» James stormed in, muttering. « Who in Merlin's flipping name does she think she is? » Al shrugged, smiling through a mouthful of cereal, pretending not to notice the strange girl's expression.
« Your Mum,» he replied thickly, gulping down tea and a stolen biscuit. James snorted through his toast, spraying crumbs, and the girl rolled her eyes.
« Do you lot have any manners at all? » Her voice was sharp and piercing, full of prim annoyance. Albus disliked her already.
« Yeah, » her replied, deliberately muffling his words with toast. « Who the hell are you, anyway? »
« Yeah. » James backed him up, swinging backwards on his chair with a cheeky, cat-like grin on his face. The girl seemed to swell, and Albus' grin grew to match James'.
« Lillian Vera James! »
A/N: so, I felt like writing something and came up with this on a whim. Worth continuing? Got advice to offer? Review, please. I know the speech marks are messed up: it's a French-settinged keyboard and a computer-illiterate girl.