"You do know, Thomas, that your legs are more important than this," said Albus Dumbledore as he stood next to Thomas' bed in the hospital wing. He'd broken both his legs after falling from the Whomping Willow. Well, maybe falling was a little generous; the Willow had responded less than kindly after Thomas had managed to wrap chains around the branches. All he'd wanted to do was break into the Shrieking Shack. And for all his trouble, the Willow had escaped its trappings just as Thomas was preparing to lock all the chains together. What followed was blinding pain, a little screaming (ok, maybe a lot), and blackness. According to Madam Pomfrey he'd been found by Professor Snape a couple of hours ago. Now, he was being lectured, lectured!, by his dad, though he certainly kept insisting that it was in fact not a lecture. Thomas knew better, of course. He was just like any other nine year-old boy; cocky and headstrong, with a penchant for climbing trees, especially the dangerous-looking kind.

Despite the so-called lecture, Albus had always been an inspiring figure to Thomas. Not fatherly though; more grandfatherly. Mostly due to his appearance, of course. Dressed in crimson robes, and bespectacled by half-moon glasses, Albus Dumbledore, at the proud old age of one hundred and nine, wore his white wavy hair long and down his back, and sported a long white beard down his front. He was often seen walking the halls in his regular lilac robes, but Thomas had given his father the red robes as a gift, so he imagined Albus had seen fit to wear them for him tonight.

Beside Albus, stood Madam Pomfrey, clad in her usual red and white matron's robes; Professor Snape, in his usual black robes; and Professor McGonagall, herself dressed in dark emerald, almost black, robes. Is was Snape who spoke next.

"Professor, might I suggest keeping young Mr. Dumbledore contained in his bedroom. We may very well end up bringing him here in a matchbox next time. "

"Severus, he's a nine year-old boy, surely even you know what that's like," responded McGonagall. "Climbing trees is part of growing up."

"I agree," began Albus. "Poppy, I trust I've no need to tell you to give Thomas the best of your care. Thomas, I'll be in my office if you need me."

Albus lead McGonagall and Snape out of the hospital wing. Whilst leaving he added, "And Severus, lighten up." This was met with a blank face from Snape, however McGonagall stifled a laugh. Whether Snape uttered a retort was unknown to Thomas as the doors closed behind them.

"Here, Mr. Dumbledore, take this; it'll help," said Madam Pomfrey as she handed Thomas a goblet of liquid.

He took a sip. "You're giving me pumpkin juice?"

Pomfrey looked exasperated. "Well what did you expect, Skele-Gro?"

And with that, she retired to her office.


Two months later, and the snow had begun to set in on the Highlands. Only two weeks from Christmas, and Hagrid had already been drafted in to haul the freshly-felled tree from the Forbidden Forest to the Great Hall. All the students were either dressed in their own clothes for the holidays, or were packing for the trip back home to spend three weeks with their families. Thomas, as always, had elected to stay at the castle, eager to have the run of the place. Well, most of it at any rate. His father had just informed him recently that the third floor corridor (and the adjoining rooms) had been made off-limits to all. At first, Thomas thought this to be incredibly unfair, as he'd been allowed in every nook and cranny of the castle in the past. But as the hours ticked by, and the students began to finish packing and lock their suicases, he had an idea. If, given the chance, he could find a way to do so, then he would attempt to gain entry into the corridor next year. Any way he could.

While in the middle of coming up with a suitably audacious plan of action, Thomas walked face-first into four ginger beings, and fell to the stone floor on the sixth tier of the Grand Staircase. "Oh, sorry! Guess I wasn't looking where I was going!"

"That must be the understatement of the century!" quipped Fred Weasley.

"And the not even a year old yet!" remarked George Weasley.

Fred and George Weasley, the younger brothers of Charlie and Percy, were identical twins. Kind of annoying, considering the confusion their mother had been through (according to Charlie, she'd gotten the two mixed up every Christmas and every birthday since they were born). The pair were in the first year at Hogwarts, while Percy was now in his fourth, and Charlie his seventh and final year.

"Come on, give me your hand," said Fred, as he helped Thomas up off the floor. He brushed his hair out of his face, letting it rest naturally around his ankles, then dusted himself down as the elder twin spoke. "We hear that you never go with anyone at Christmas, young Dumbledore."

Thomas nodded. "Yeh, my dad doesn't think I'm ready. Not until next year when I actually start here as a student."

"You know, Thomas," said Charlie. "We can always talk to him if you want to spent the holidays at ours this year."

Really? I'd actually get to stay with someone else? Finally? "Really?" asked Thomas. "I mean, your parents wouldn't mind at all?"

"Oh, relax, mate," Fred said. "Mum and Dad already know who you are."

"Besides," George chimed in. "They'd love to actually meet you at some point."

"Well, if you're sure, guys," Thomas said apprehensively. Then he smiled at them. "Thanks."


"Password?"

"Ursula major."

The Fat Lady, a portrait that had guarded the Gryffindor Common Room since the 1960s at least, swung open to reveal the passageway into the Gryffindor's area. Thomas walked through, and lounged across the expansive rug on the stone floor in front of the crackling fire. Grateful for their assistance with persuading his dad in allowing him to leave the castle, Thomas had agreed to help the Weasley boys with their packing before they left for London in the morning. The boys, like the rest of the school, were down in the Great Hall enjoying the meal, so Thomas had a free half hour to nose around the common room undisturbed.

As he gazed into the fire, Thomas found himself feeling appreciative toward Peeves for keeping him abreast of all the castle's passwords. Somehow he didn't quite get how or why Filch, the school's caretaker, showed so much animosity toward the often misunderstood ghoul. As gradually as day turned to night, Thomas allowed himself to fall into the deep throes of sleep.

He was woken the next morning by the familiar voice of Fred Weasley, telling him to get ready else the train would leave without him, and that he didn't want that to happen. Twenty rushed minutes later, Thomas was washed, dressed, and anxiously clutching his suitcase as he and the Weasleys made their way through the Entrance Hall, out the great oak double doors, across the Viaduct Courtyard, and across the Viaduct. The air was crisp, and their footsteps made the typical crunching sound in the snow that continued to fall all around them.

The trip from the castle to Hogsmeade train station took all of twenty minutes to hike. During that time the light snowfall had turned into an all-out blizzard, leaving Thomas and the Weasleys crammed in with dozens of other students in the waiting room. A few minutes ahead of eleven o'clock, the Hogwarts Express arrived, its red paint gleaming and its headlamps baring through the copious amounts of snow. Five coaches were attached to the rear of the tender.

It took a full five minutes for the students to huddle their way onboard. The Weasleys' group passed through the front two coaches, all the compartments being full. The third coach, however, afforded the group an empty space, and they took it without preamble. Charlie and George hefted their luggage onto the racks above, and soon they were all snuggled comfortably into the soft seating.

"So," began Percy. "I guess Oliver Wood's not going to be getting much Quidditch practice in today."

George looked up to see a dark-haired boy walk into their space, "Speak of the Devil, brother."

Oliver Wood, a Scottish boy in Percy's year, was the Keeper and Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Thomas had only ever seen one or two of the Hogwarts matches, but was gradually being persuaded to see more as Charlie, Fred, and George were also on the Gryffindor team. He wasn't particularly surprised to hear that the entire Weasley clan were fanatical about the Wizard sport. Apparently, Madam Hooch, the Quidditch instructor, had high hopes for the family, once stating to Thomas that she would personally see to it that the Gryffindor team was entirely made up of Weasley children. Well,, thought Thomas, at least their hair will match their robes.

Oliver looked slightly nervous, with his skin almost paling, and hands were clammy as they fumbled with each other. "Shouldn't you be coming up with a new plan so we can finally take down Slytherin?" Charlie asked as nonchalantly as he could.

At least this got Oliver's attention. "With this white-out, I don't think so. Besides, I can plan just as well from home as I can here." He saw the empty seat next to Thomas, "Is anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full."

"Oh, sure, go right ahead," replied Thomas. As Oliver sat down, Thomas took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Thomas Dumbledore."

Oliver smiled, "Oliver Wood. You're Dumbledore's son? Oh, of course; you live at Hogwarts permanently, don't you?"

"Well, I do have the whole castle to myself. Even areas that are out-of-bounds to you lot," he winked.

"If that's the case," started George.

"Then you can tell us the best location for a shop," finished Fred.

Without miliseconds, Thomas' mind recalled the right space, "As you're leaving the Gryffindor Common Room, there's a tapestry on the left-hand side. If you cast expulso on that tapestry, it'll open to reveal a secret passageway, and down that passageway is a large-ish room. Well, I doubt it'll be large enough for you two when you get settled in and stuff."

The twins looked at each other, then turned to Thomas, their faces filled with awe. "Blimey," they both said together.

"To think we'd decided not to use you..." said Fred.

"It seems this Map has been holding out on us," came George.

"Yes, George. Much better than that other Map."

Thomas, as happy as he was for helping the twins in their monetary schemes, had no clue as to what map they were possibly referring to. As such, he simply smiled and sank back into his seat. Two minutes later, the train departed. A moment after, and Thomas was once again asleep.