Albus stood, transfixed, in front of the mirror. It reflected back at him not an image of himself, but that of Hogwarts. The castle in its magnificence, its turrets glowing with light, the sound of laughter emanating from the courtyard. The Forest remained silent, unmoving.
He wasn't sure how he found this mirror, but it had been his solace since the middle of his fifth year. Sometimes he saw different things. Him in Gryffindor, Scorpius next to him, holding Rose's hand. Him in the Slytherin quidditch team. Him surrounded by a crowd of admirers.
Sometimes the images were dark. Sometimes they gave him that icky happy feeling. But this newest image was just... confusing.
He didn't particularly like Hogwarts. He had a nice, steady home. He had friends he could meet outside. The castle was a fixture in his life that blended into the background.
The mirror resolutely remained this way for the next three weeks, even into Christmas holidays. He refused to go on the Hogwarts Express, at a relief to McGonagall, who was not even sure if the trolley witch would allow him back on.
Instead, he was given special privileges to Floo home for Christmas Day. He would come back on Boxing Day, as he was not particularly fond of his brother shoving his superior gifts in his face.
Christmas Eve dragged. He had visited the mirror last night, and it still refused to change. He retired to the dungeons in the wee hours of the morning, getting little sleep and setting him in a crappy mood. Scorpius and Rose were gone to their respective homes, Lily and James with them. Hugo was nearly left behind by his sister, attempting to cram in an extra tutoring session with Professor Flitwick.
The poor man was too feeble to even come down to the Great Hall, and so Albus was in charge of bringing him meals. He was surprised that most of the professors were even alive, being ninety plus years old. Dumbledore was a man of exceptional power, and had lived to the ripe age of one hundred and fifty. McGonagall was about eighty. Flitwick was around sixty-three, but the man had been affected by a goblin disease from his mother's side. His old classroom, 2E, had been abandoned for a more functional class with a larger office for a proper bed.
Albus drew open his curtains around his bed and stood up, immediately sitting in an uneven chair a few steps away. He pulled the chair in, situating his legs below a desk he conjured, with much better effects compared to the chair. He began tinkering with his contraband, a small Muggle device called an "MP3". His father had recovered it from one of Uncle Dudley's old boxes in the attic. After his Uncle moved to the thick of London with his family, Harry searched through the storage boxes, managing to find a fairytale book for Lily and a miniature Hungarian Horntail replica for James. The dragon took one look at James, nearly burned his nose off, and slunk into Albus' room under the door. The dragon now slept beside the gadget he messed with.
Albus knew it was essentially futile to try and get the device to work, yet almost wanted to prove something to himself. The machine worked fine outside of school (with a change of batteries), yet always died inside the wards. Albus bought a stack of 300 batteries from a small Muggleborn shop in Diagon Alley, storing it in the small drawer he added to the desk.
His grades had exponentially improved after the resolution of the fallout between him and his father, placing him at the top of the fifth year, to Rose's distaste. McGonagall and Flitwick began giving him private lessons at NEWT level, convinced he would pass the OWLs with ease. Albus really didn't care; he did magic for the fun of it. He was promised by his potions teacher, Professor Crespo, that he would surely begin to learn more complex potion making after the break. Polyjuice Potion and Felix Felicis we're at the top of his list. Strangely, his father had still not replied to the letter Albus had sent detailing the information.
He gave up for the day, setting the device back on his desk, pulling his arms up and into the air. He checked the time on his alarm clock, and prepared to head upstairs. He brushed and changed, leaving his Horntail to sleep.
Coming down to the common room, he spotted someone asleep on one of the couches. The person in question was a seventh year he only knew from passing. He pushed past the entrance and made his way out to the dungeons, following the familiar pattern of turns to reach the Charms corridor rather than the Great Hall. He popped behind a suit of armor, stepping into a small alcove that had been carved out sometime after his dad left school. Pulling his wand out and muttering a few words, he pushed gently on the wall, which swung back. He walked through the passage, shutting the rough stone door behind him, and continued on for a good two minutes.
Through some form of magic, Albus ended up in the back of the Hogwarts kitchen, immediately greeted by multiple elves jostling for his attention. He waved them off with a polite "no thank you" at their offerings of food, moving to the fireplace, where a happy looking elf sat, gazing into the flames contently.
Winky had become much better in terms of personal hygiene, and greeted Albus cordially, passing him the tray that had been preprepared for Professor Flitwick, who highly disliked having the elves in his office. "I never supported them in the first place," he would say. "There are much better jobs to be had than a menial one here."
With the passing of Aunt Hermione's new house elf laws, with the express permission of both Scorpius' dad and his own father, the elves were now paid, although a very small amount. The DMLE had also been much more functional under the reinvigorated Harry Potter, who had been taking days off in the light of constant urging from his mum. The department had cracked down on crime on a new level entirely, capturing even Theodore Nott, who was still attempting to continue in the production of illegal Time Turners. According to his dad, the job had actually become "quite boring", since there was no one else to catch.
Pushing back through the wall, Albus levitated the tray a small ways behind him, so as to prevent any mishaps or spillage. Re-emerging from the alcove and into the Charms corridor, he walked over to the professor's classroom/office, opening the back door quietly. He found the man reading a book that seemed as if it were alive. It growled as Albus approached, drawing a chuckle out of Flitwick, who rubbed its spine and set it aside.
"Come closer," he said. Albus approached him, setting the tray on his bedside table. Flitwick stopped him and whispered.
"It's not real."
The man disappeared in a flash of lightning and thunder. Albus' vision went black.
The body of Albus Potter was recovered later that day, charred beyond recognition. Flitwick was nowhere to be found.