Chapter Six:
Wounds Better Closed
[Al]
For the second time, Albus Severus Potter was starting his fifth year.
Al inwardly sighed as he climbed into a horseless stagecoach, not really paying any attention to with whom he was sitting with.
"Oh," said a familiar voice, "you were with Harry in that compartment, right?"
Al blinked and realized that Ayumi Haibara's much younger mother was talking to him from his left, flanked by two other girls. She was, like her daughter, rather nice-looking, but it didn't make Al interested in her. Al had only ever seen her twice- on a Hogsmeade weekend, in front of the Three Broomsticks and drinking Gillywater with Ayumi, and in the Ministry, talking politely about the weather to Harry.
"Sorry?" he asked as politely as he could muster. "You're"- he racked his brains for her name- "Cho Chang, aren't you?"
"I'm glad you noticed," said Cho Chang, as the girls at the leftmost part of the coach began giggling. "This is Marietta Edgecombe and Tallulah Twigg." She had, Al noted with some surprise, a Ravenclaw's prefect badge. He had assumed she would be a Hufflepuff like her daughter. "You seemed pretty distracted in that compartment."
Merlin knows how much Al had been distracted by his thoughts. He had only even looked up when Neville Longbottom, his Herbology professor, had coated them all with some kind of reeking, dark green slime, and when Draco Malfoy had entered the compartment.
To be frank, after that encounter, Al had no idea how Scorpius had ever made friends with Rose. Draco clearly harboured resentment towards 'Mudbloods'. Al had never heard that word before, but it was obviously insulting towards people of Hermione's birth. He supposed it was one of the things about the past that hadn't survived to reach his time.
"Hello?" said Cho Chang loudly. Marietta Edgecombe and Tallulah Twigg giggled again. Al blinked. "Your name's Alexander Prentice, right?"
"No, it's-" Al cut himself off before he could spill, coughing. Your name's Alexander Charlus West Prentice, remember that. "I mean, call me Al."
"All right, Al then," said Cho. "When did you meet Harry?"
"Just this summer," said Al as he watched Draco Malfoy frighten a meek-looking boy to line up at the Black Lake with the other first years.
Cho looked somewhat disappointed. "Oh," she said, before adding in a hopeful tone, "Do you know if he likes coffee?"
Marietta Edgecombe and Tallulah Twigg smiled meaningfully at each other.
Al immediately saw where this was going. "No," he said at once. When Cho cocked her sculpted black eyebrows, he elaborated, "You are not going to go out with him."
Cho's face went cold. "So what if I would?" said Cho, challenging.
"It'll never work out," Al said promptly and certainly.
"Well, for your information, Harry asked me out to the Yule Ball," said Cho heatedly, "and he admires my Quidditch skills!"
"What Yule Ball?" asked Al, nonplussed.
"Oh, right," said Cho, narrowing her already slit-like eyes at Al, "you weren't able to watch the most important competition of the century- the Triwizard Tournament!"
Marietta and Tallulah gasped in unison, as though really shocked that Cho had mentioned it, as they probably called it in their heads, and Al, incredibly irked by these girls, made to leap off the carriage and look for one of the Weasleys', Harry's, or Hermione's own stagecoaches (although he honestly expected them to sit in just one coach). But he was a second too late; the rough rocking of the carriage sent him toppling back to his seat beside Cho as it began to move towards Hogwarts.
And so Al was stuck beside Ayumi Haibara's fuming, teenage mother for the entire duration of the trip towards Hogwarts. Marietta kept sending Al resentful looks and Tallulah spoke in a low voice to Cho- probably comforting words. But Al didn't care anymore: Harry belonged with Ginny and that was going to stay like that as far as he would be concerned.
What troubled him was that Harry and Ginny had been acting only as friends for the past few days and his presence might cause his family to be wiped out of existence.
Al's eyes wandered to the window. They had apparently already passed the pristine Hogwarts gates and the scene flicking by them was now the Forbidden Forest. The forest was James and Fred's favourite spot within the grounds as far as Al could figure. He looked for the lights of Hagrid's cabin, but he didn't see them and so he assumed that they'd already passed it.
Would he be sorted again? He probably would, so as to maintain being realistic. Though he had already been put into Gryffindor, he fervently hoped that he would not be put into Ravenclaw- it would be sickening to deal with Cho Chang everyday- or Slytherin. If anything, he wanted to be put into Gryffindor, where the rest of his family had been and always will be, again.
The stagecoach swayed to a halt in front of the front door and a very relieved Al jumped quickly out of the carriage and ran up the stone steps to the oak doors. They were the first to arrive and when Al pushed open the front door he was very surprised to see his headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, standing behind it.
"Mr Potter?"
"Albus Potter," he said, so quietly that he could see McGonagall making an effort to read his lips. "Does everyone know?" he added, conscious of Cho, Tallulah and Marietta behind his back.
"Of course not," said McGonagall, studying him. "You look just like your father," she remarked.
"I've heard," said Al.
"Entrance Hall, behind 'Perkins, Anita'," commanded McGonagall, "and quickly, if you don't mind, Mr Potter."
Al grinned at her and stumbled into the room with the first years.
"Hello," he said awkwardly as they stared at him. Feeling like a giant, he took his place behind "Perkins, Anita" and ignored the whispers that ensued.
"You're Alexander Prentice, right?" said a girl about one and a half dozen places in front of him.
The whispers stopped.
"Yeah," said Al. "How'd you know?" he asked, feeling more out of place than ever.
"I'm Leila Friare," she said, and now that Al got a better view of her, he saw that she looked incredibly like the Ms Friare that had questioned him during the hearing- same icy eyes and pale but distinctly pretty face. "My mummy's in the lower spots of the Wizengamot. She told me about you. You're an immigrant from America, right?"
"That's about right," agreed Al.
"D'you know how we get sorted?" asked Anita Perkins in a whisper.
"Is it true we have to fight a dragon?" added a boy near the very back.
"But I thought you were a pureblood, Yaxley? Why don't you know?"
More whispers. Al supposed they had a right to be scared- this was their first time to be Sorted- but he just couldn't recall the feeling he had when he first was here in this line.
"As far as I know you just have to put on a Hat," assured Al.
"I knew mummy was lying!"
"Shh!" hissed Leila Friare, and they fell silent as they heard McGonagall's footsteps. The door was flung open.
The atmosphere grew denser as McGonagall gave them the pointers on the houses. Al let his attention wander elsewhere. Wasn't he here, as well, when he was eleven? Four years ago, and yet twenty-two years in the future- it was impossibly confusing.
If this is like this, he thought, then I'm also aged negative eleven. He had a feeling he would eventually get used to thinking like this.
He felt his sleeve being tugged. "Hey, Alexander," said Anita's voice. "We're going now." She sounded terrified.
They were herded into the Great Hall.
The Sorting Hat stood on the stool just like Al remembered it. He hardly caught any of its song- just something about unity- and before they knew it, "Abercrombie, Euan" was already hurrying down Gryffindor table.
"Bailey, Charlotte!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Benson, Kenneth!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Bergamo, Pierre!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Chad, Wilbur!"
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
"Dmitri, Gregor!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
"Friare, Leila!"
Leila staggered up the stage and she set her jaw as the hat's rip opened:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Leila palmed her face and laughed as she ran to sit beside Euan.
The line in front of them seemed to deplete until Anita was sitting on a stool waiting for the Hat to decide: "HUFFLEPUFF!"
Whispers were circulating throughout the Great Hall as Al climbed up to the Hat. Al was felt a sense of déjà vu loom over him as he picked up the Hat and set it on his head.
Hello, he told it.
Fascinating, said the Hat. Very intriguing… You've already been sorted into Gryffindor.
That's about right. Could you keep it a secret?
I've never seen a mind like yours before.
And you never probably will again. Until you Sort me twenty-two years later, I s'pose.
Yes… but do you want to change house for the time being? To avoid… let's say… awkward moments?
The hat could really see Al's mind.
Nah- you see, I think Slytherin's common room is too creepy, Cho Chang is in Ravenclaw and quite honestly I can't picture myself in Hufflepuff.
Well then, best of luck to you, Albus Severus Potter, and let's hope you find home in this time in GRYFFINDOR!
He sighed in relief as he took off the hat, then placed it gently back on the stool (he was quite sure it was used to being tossed around by first years), before hurrying down to where Harry was patting a spot next to him.
"They're staring," murmured Harry.
"I'm pretty sure it's just me," said Al, trying not to feel the guilt that broiled in his stomach, "I'm much too old to be sorted."
"Well, you can't help it," said Hermione, who leaned towards them, "it's not like you could go back in time and fetch your younger self to get sorted."
Al made no reply; he merely watched as "Totters, Montgomery" was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Hermione seemed to understand that he did not like the way that she had stated it.
Rose Zeller, with her kind face, was sorted last, into Hufflepuff; Dumbledore had spoken; and finally Hu- Ron's cravings for food were going to be satisfied. Heaps upon heaps of food had appeared on the table. Ron was the first to reach for the food.
"Dishle hitious," Ron said enthusiastically through a mouthful of roast potatoes. Al caught Hermione's eye, and he noticed that she seemed to be trying hard to keep from rolling her eyes.
"I think he's saying that the food is delicious," said Al quietly. Hermione wasn't supposed to act like this; she was, theoretically, the most patient of the Weasleys when dealing with Ron.
"Right, because the only thing that Ron cares about is food," he heard her mutter. This made him grin; at the very least Hermione still cared about Ron.
"Ayton husht cairbout food."
Pointless, thought Al as Hermione turned to Nearly Headless Nick.
"What were you saying before the Sorting?" she asked. "About the hat giving warnings?"
Al turned to his mashed potatoes and began half-heartedly digging into it. Harry glanced at him, rather disapprovingly.
Oh, seriously, Dad? You can look at me like that? You seemed much more patient when James nicked the Marauders' Map from your desk drawer-
The map!
Almost everyone sitting at Gryffindor table turned as Alexander Prentice's fork clattered loudly onto his nearly empty plate.
Al's stomach clenched as he remembered. The map would show his real name and then what? It would be next to impossible to stay here without any awkward moments and then-
"Excuse me," Al said as he rose from the table. He glanced up at the faculty table, and saw Dumbledore give an almost imperceptible nod that meant that he was excused.
Everyone would assume he had gone to the bathroom, of course. The general knowledge that Al was a 'new' student would disguise the fact that he had gone for a short walk towards nowhere in particular.
What was he supposed to do?
Should I tinker with the Map?
No, idiot. You can't do that- the Map is probably protected by spells or something. Besides, they're perceptive enough to realize that 'Alexander Prentice' isn't on the Map and that your name's crossed out, they'll figure out that you're hiding something as quick as you can blink.
What am I supposed to do, then?
Change your name permanently.
That's moronic.
It's better than crossing out or changing your name on the Map!
Only Rose has got the brains to- wait.
Al's mind whirred as he snapped to himself, you idiot! The Map's too big; your dot's too small. Simple, really: they won't see you as long as they're not looking for you. Remember how that rat-
Peter Pettigrew?
-yes, whatever, Peter Pettigrew, stayed as a rat in Uncle Ron's bed and went unnoticed for five years while Uncle George- and Fred- had the Map?
Whoa, that sounds wrong.
I know.
Al found himself in the courtyard, which was bathed by moonlight. An owl hooted in the distance, and Al turned back to retrace his steps towards the Great Hall of 1 September 1995, where the students were busying themselves by tucking in pudding. Even Draco Malfoy was cutting up a portion of a palet d'Or with considerable enthusiasm.
"Hello," he said a little too airily as he sat beside Harry.
"Where've you been?" said Harry somewhat suspiciously as he set aside his fork.
"Er- bathroom," Al fibbed. "I got lost."
"You got here just in time for dessert," said Ron as he stretched his arm for a magnificent cheesecake halfway across the table.
Hermione was cutting up some flan in offended silence. Ron seemed to remember something, and didn't speak for the rest of the meal; rather, he gorged himself with the cheesecake. Al rolled his eyes and reached for the treacle tart in unison with Harry. Al quickly drew back his hand.
"Were they bickering?" Al asked Harry sympathetically.
"Yes," said Harry as he held up a tart to his mouth.
Déjà vu was threatening to swallow up Al again; he was all too familiar with Rose and Hugo's parents' quarrelling. He reached for a chocolate éclair and, like Ron, succumbed into silence.
He looked up at the staff table to take note of the year's array of teachers, so that he would not be embarrassed the next day. There was Dumbledore and McGonagall, whom he presumed would be teaching Transfiguration (he didn't know whether being in the same class with his Dad or being taught by his headmistress would be more awkward). He recognized his namesake, Severus Snape, from the portrait in the Headmaster's office. Al had been told that Snape was an exceedingly brave man, but he did not fancy the way Snape stabbed at his chocolate cake. A witch with flyaway hair and dirt on her fingers was enjoying lemon meringue pie. Al supposed she was 'Professor Sprout,' whom Neville had mentioned back on the train. There was Professor Vector and Professor Sinistra, who still taught Arithmancy and Astronomy in Al's time, and Charity Burbage, whose name was on the War Memorial under Personally Killed by Voldemort. There was Sibyll Trelawney, whom neither of his parents ever discussed, Grubby-Plank, who often substituted for Care of Magical creatures, Professor Flitwick, and an exceptionally familiar witch-
"Hey!" Al exclaimed, "Isn't that-"
"That's the witch beside Fudge during that hearing," said Harry, nodding. "Umbridge, I think her name was."
"Rings a bell," commented Al.
"Yeah, I think they mentioned her name during the hearing."
But Al was definitely not thinking about the hearing; he was thinking of Ron, who would say the name Umbridge with disgust.
"She's going to be a terrible teacher," said Al without a doubt. "What's the Minister thinking, putting her here at Hogwarts?"
"Oh, Fudge doesn't think," said Harry distastefully.
Al blinked. "What?"
"You're not reading the Daily Prophet, are you?"
"No," said Al. Then, hesitantly, he added, "Should I?"
"Definitely not," said Harry as he offered Al a considerable portion of his plate of treacle tarts, grinning.
Al woke facing the scarlet-and-gold canopy of his four-poster bed. No sunlight bathed the Lion emblem and Al, seeing that it was still very early in the morning, turned and buried his face into the pillow and closed his eyes, trying to remember what he had been dreaming about so he can get back to it. It was a strangely intricate dream and he was sure that what had happened in it had been quite strange as well. For some reason, he had been riding in a carriage with Ayumi Haibara and then got sorted again, and ate treacle tart with his inexplicably young-looking father.
Al shut his eyes tighter, straining his memory. What had happened?
"Oi, Al…."
That'll be Benjamin, thought Al as he struggled to pull himself to the land of the awake. He and his siblings, James and Lily, were quite fond of the younger Thomas son.
"Al! Wake up! Today's the first day and if Hermione catches us late we'll be slaughtered!"
As Al's drowsy mind laboured to understand what he just heard, Al managed to croak out, "What?"
"Get up!" Al assumed that the voice was Hugo, but why would Hermione be at Hogwarts? Another thing to puzzle over: Hugo never called his mum 'Hermione,' since Rose would kill him if he ever did.
Why was Hugo in the fifth year dormitories?
Hugo Weasley was in the third year right along with Lily. Because he valued his life, he never broke rules or at least was never caught doing so, lest Rose's prefect badge be put into jeopardy. He certainly would never go into the fifth year's dormitories, since Al was the other Gryffindor prefect. Of course, Hugo knew that Al would never grass out on him; Al valued his family's lives.
As Hugo shook Al's shoulder, Al wondered vaguely whether Hugo knew that Rose was at the very least trying to practice Legilimency, just because she was awesome like that. Actually, it was because she wanted to know when Slughorn was planning to ambush the Weasleys or the Potters. Each of the Weasley cousins knew that they had to avoid Slughorn and only ever interacted with him during Potions time.
This time, a different voice came out at him. "C'mon, Al-"
Al sat bolt upright. That wasn't James! That was Harry, and Al's current situation came crashing back down on him like a tsunami.
"But it's still something like five in the morning," he protested.
"Er, no," said Ron. "It's a quarter past six, actually."
Al groaned and sat up. "But they should at least cut us some slack- it's the first day!"
"Not Hermione, she won't," Ron said as he pulled on his socks. "Apparently, the first is the most important." He said the last part in a weak imitation of Hermione's snappy tone.
Snorting, Al pulled himself up and shifted his body so that he could reach his trunk from his bed. It wasn't the most comfortable option, but it was better than standing up- to Al, at least.
Harry and Ron left the common room together, with Al half a step behind. Hermione caught them in the common room.
"What's the matter with Harry?" she asked Ron. "He looks absolutely- oh for heaven's sake."
She had spotted a dominant sign pinned over the rest of the notices, announcing something about George and Fred hiring testers for their Skiving Snackboxes.
Al grinned, reminiscing about the large array of prank supplies that George had been able to think up over twenty years. He had not been aware that Fred had helped George with the Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.
Breakfast hurried quickly after. The sound of owls entering the Great Hall to deliver mail to their owners comforted Al as he settled down and began working his way through his toast. He did not see Hermione shoot a curious glance at him.
Luckily though, Hermione did not have much time to ponder on Al's reaction, or rather lack of, to the arrival of the mail owls. A barn owl bearing a close resemblance to Al's own owl- Aurum- had fluttered down in front of her. Al noted that the bird was dripping and looked up to see that the sky above the ceiling was a stormy grey.
Al looked expectantly at Hermione for a few minutes before realizing that she was going to read the newspaper from front to back. Sighing, he returned to his ham sandwich and began picking away at the bread's crust.
By the time that Professor McGonagall handed him his schedule (with a knowing expression in her eyes), Al was already hurrying to eat the last chunks of the sandwiches that were on his plate. This was highly inconvenient, since as soon as he saw the class for third period for Monday he began choking on the bread.
After hurriedly gulping down several mouthfuls of orange juice, he managed, "Why exactly do I have Divination?" He shook his head disbelievingly. Al studied Ancient Runes back in his time and hadn't he mentioned that to Dumbledore? He racked his brains yet could not recall ever talking about Hogwarts classes to his namesake. How could I have been so stupid?
"What's wrong with Divination?" said Parvati Patil protectively from a few spots farther up the table. Al had not realized he had spoken so loudly.
"Er- my Mum never taught me Divination," improvised Al, "I took Ancient Runes."
"Good choice," said Ron gloomily. "The professor's an old fraud," he added under his breath.
"Definitely," said Hermione as she emerged from behind the newspaper. Ron blinked at her.
"Nothing," she added at Harry's questioning look. "Nothing about you or Dumbledore or anything. Stroke of luck, isn't it?"
Apparently it would be the only stroke of luck Al would have the entire day, what with a schedule with History of Magic, with Binns, the ever-boring, Divination, which Al had no idea about, and Defence Against the Dark Arts, which Al normally enjoyed but was sure would be hell what with that Umbridge woman teaching. Al, though, had high hopes for double Potions, which was stationed on second period.
But of course, before Potions there would be History of Magic. There were few occasions that Al- or any of the Weasley cousins, inclusive of Rose, for that matter- listened to History of Magic and that only when the Second War was being discussed, and since there was no chance of that happening, Al would have been pretty happy to sleep. That is, if Hermione Granger was not there.
Contrary to popular belief among the members of Wizarding Britain, the Weasley cousins did not know more about the Second War. In fact, they were all in unspoken agreement that they knew marginally less than the average person. After all, whilst anyone else could pick up a random book about the War, the Weasleys couldn't without any awkward moments with their parents. After all, how are you supposed to answer "What's that you're reading?" with "Oh, it's a book about how your brother Fred lived and died"?
Bad thoughts, Al….
His luck did not tip up much after History; rather it seemed to droop lower than the Floor.
Al had been lingering near Harry, Ron, and Hermione, just because he had no idea who else he would hang with. His mouth was actually tilting upwards at the corners because of the familiarity of Ron and Hermione's bickering, when he spotted someone familiar but did not make him want to grin wider.
Cho Haibara- Chang for now- rounded the corner and Al felt his mouth twisting into a scowl.
"Hello, Harry!" she said brightly. Al was despising her more by the nanosecond.
"Hi," said Harry, flushing, and Al thought, Dad, are you nuts?
"You got that stuff off, then?" And she doesn't even know what Stinksap is called!
"Yeah," said Harry. Al knew enough about the faces of the Potters to see that the grin on Harry's face was forced. "So did you… er… have a good summer?"
"Oh, it was all right, you know…."
"Is that a Tornadoes badge?" asked Ron. Despite his obvious tactlessness, Al tossed him a credit in his head. "You don't support them, do you?"
"Yeah, I do," said Cho. Al wondered (in a tone that would have been considered rude if he did not use it only in his head) how this girl was ever sorted into Ravenclaw. With her evidently sinister motives, Slytherin would have been much more fitting.
"Have you always supported them, or just since they started winning the league?" The Tornadoes actually won the league once? Al wondered. Back home, the Tornadoes were considered something like sissies, a thousand times more so than the all-female team, the Holyhead Harpies, who his mother had once played Chaser for.
"I've supported them since I was six," Cho said unkindly. "Anyway… see you, Harry." With a curt nod at Al and a small smile to Hermione, she turned on her heel and Al decided that he would much rather have Ayumi around than her disagreeable mother. At least Ayumi was a thousand times kinder, friendlier, more understanding… and basically every good value that was out there, as opposed to Cho.
For some reason Hermione and Ron were bickering again by the time that they were in front of the Potions dungeon. Slughorn handled Potions as Al knew it, and Al was usually able to cook up an Outstanding, so that he had a good impression on the subject. In fact, he was bounding on his heels as they waited for the door to open, even if no-one else was doing so.
He soon witnessed exactly why they seemed so gloomy by the time he had entered the classroom.
The dungeon was dimly lit, but that wasn't it. It was more of an unexplainable aura that radiated from everything, particularly the front desk.
Of course, Al dismissed all these. If Harry respected a man enough to name one of his sons after that man, Al reasoned, then that man ought to be kind.
"Before we begin today's lesson, I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'acceptable' in your O.W.L., or suffer my… displeasure." Al froze and involuntarily flicked his eyes in between Harry and Professor Snape. What, in the name of Merlin's beard, was going on?
Al had always known that Harry Potter was not one person who was predictable, but this younger version of Harry was defying Al's expectations frighteningly often.
"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Al looked up at Professor Snape's face, hoping for some sign of sarcasm or even a sly wink, anything that would indicate that this was not who Severus Snape was, but after a steady examination Al's green eyes dropped back to his desktop. He refused to believe what his senses- sight, hearing, observation, logic, and even humour- were telling him. "I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye."
Al's eyes were flickering from Harry to Snape and back again once more, as he tried to figure out what the bloody hell was going on. This had to be some kind of prank, some kind of setup. Al glanced at the door; he was half expecting that James would be there, grinning slyly at him, because judging from the way that Professor Snape and Harry were staring at each other, Severus Snape was the last person that anyone would expect Harry to name his second son after. This was not supposed to be like this. Harry had told Al that Severus Snape was the bravest man he ever knew.
He had half a mind to shout out, All right, this joke's over! It's not funny, blimey, because it had to be a joke. Harry Potter respected Professor Snape enough to name his child after the man, so why were they glaring at each other? If this was James's prank, it was probably the most elaborate executed since the beginning of the universe- how did James provide doppelgangers for all people in the past, send dementors, and even get the Ministry of Magic to join in?
Al struggled to keep calm while making the Draught of Peace. He had enjoyed making it the first time around- it provided a challenge, and Rose had betted she would get higher marks than Al, so that there was competition- but it now seemed too tricky to have a good time making it.
Al pounded irritably on his moonstones, even after they had been reduced into the finest powder possible.
Al had of course expected that his first encounter with Severus Snape would be the worst thing in the day.
But of course, something dashed his hopes.
Lunch was okay. Al was a step behind his father's heels as they entered the Great Hall. Harry was sulking, as Professor Snape had given him a mark of zero for his potion, which wasn't that bad, really, as compared to Seamus Finnigan's, which ended up blowing up large red and green bubbles which floated to the ceiling and released an originally pleasant but later irritatingly repetitive couple of notes, or Pansy Parkinson's, which filled the dungeon with the horrible stench of dying roses as she scraped the paste that had formed on the bottom of her cauldron off. But Al knew better than to try and comfort Harry, as he understood that he would rather be left alone to feel sorry for himself, as Al would want the same if he was in Harry's situation. And besides, he reflected as he speared a chunk of his shepherd's pie, I've got plenty of problems of my own. For one, he was stuck eleven years before his birth, and he had just witnessed his father and his namesake pouring hate on each other.
"That was really unfair. Your potion wasn't nearly as bad as Goyle's, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire," said Hermione.
"Yeah, well, since when has Snape ever been fair to me?" Harry said, scowling at the table.
All four of them succumbed into silence; Ron and Hermione knowing that Professor Snape and Harry had never gotten along and Al because he never expected this sort of statement.
"…I did think he might be a bit better this year. I mean… you know…" Hermione dropped her voice. "…Now he's in the Order and everything."
"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," said Ron, sipping his pumpkin juice in what was obviously supposed to be dignified silence. He put down his goblet and said, "Anyway, I've always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where's the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?" Al blinked before he remembered that Voldemort was not a name commonly used in 1995.
"I think Dumbledore's probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn't share it with you, Ron," said Hermione, her voice lifting in irritation.
Al lowered his eyes and chewed on the last piece of his shepherd's pie.
"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," Harry said seriously. Hermione and Ron stopped, with an insulted look on their faces, Ron with his mouth open and Hermione with her arms folded over her chest. "Can't you give it a rest? You're always having a go at each other, it's driving me mad." And with that, Harry picked up his bag and stomped away.
Al glanced at the two shocked- he didn't really know what to call them. "I didn't expect him to be always so angry." He frowned, then picked up his schoolbag and slipped the strap onto his shoulder. "You know, you two do bicker a lot," he said frankly, before hurrying away to find Harry to ask him for the directions to the Astronomy Tower, as he didn't have the stomach to stand Ron and Hermione's quarrelling either.
Behind him, Ron went back to his food, but Hermione kept staring after him, her eyebrows furrowed.
Apparently, Al didn't need to ask for the directions, as Harry seemed to be heading straight to the Divination classroom. Harry hurried up the spiral staircase with Al on his heels. Al was beginning to worry that the staircase may never end when happily, it did.
"Hello," he panted. Harry raised his eyebrows from his spot under a trapdoor in the ceiling- to the attic where the class would be held, Al presumed. "I thought you might want some company that wasn't always bickering."
"Ron and Hermione aren't too bad," said Harry. Al wasn't sure if he was talking to him or was simply thinking aloud. "But yes, some company I could actually talk to would be welcome." He appraised Al. "Why do you know me so well? You only met me this summer."
Frost, frost spreading over his face- Al was paling. "It could be I can just relate to having no-one look out for you," he suggested, hoping Harry couldn't hear the strain in his voice.
Harry looked away and stared at the window. "That would make sense."
"Well, actually- actually, you do have people looking out for you," Al corrected himself. "You have the Weasleys, and Dumbledore, and Sirius-"
Harry sent him a warning look.
"Sorry," apologized Al.
"Dumbledore's looking out for you," said Harry absently.
Al thought about it. "No," he said, shaking his head. "No, he's not, not really. He's just making sure I'd…." That Al would what, exactly? That Al would survive, exist, not ruin anything, or simply fit in? "He's just making sure that I'd be able to adapt to Hogwarts," Al finished lamely, "whereas he's really looking out for you."
Harry shook his head. "He hasn't even spoken to me this year."
Al was too resigned to argue, even though he thought that his other namesake might actually be on good terms with Harry. "Well, you have the Weasleys and the Dursleys-"
"The Dursleys wouldn't care if I lived or died," said Harry shortly.
Al shoved the image of Vernon Dursley's sausage-like fingers from his mind's eye as he maintained, "But they raised you!"
"Raised me? Well, if you call giving me enough shelter and food to survive raising me, well then, they raised me."
"Well, you still have the support of the entire Wizarding World," reasoned Al.
Harry rolled his eyes. "You do have no clue what's going on right now, have you, Al?"
Al spotted the chance to ask what was going on and nearly smiled. "I'm an immigrant from America, remember? I have got no clue about what's happening in England right now."
"What do you know last happened here?"
"Er… the Triwizard Tournament. I heard about it in passing." It wasn't even really a lie. In fact, all he really knew was that Viktor Krum, who Uncle Ron harboured resentment to for some reason, Aunt Fleur, and his Dad and Cedric Diggory had been sent by Durmstrang, Beauxbatons and Hogwarts respectively to vie for the cup. That, Al thought, remembering something Uncle Ron had told him, and the fact that they had a psychotic teacher who manipulated Harry that year.
Harry's eyes flashed, but he said "Well, then, my friend, would you like me to fill you in?" in a mock courteous voice.
Al snorted. "Thank you for the offer, kind sir, I would most appreciate it," he replied in an identical tone.
He caught Harry's eye and they both had a short burst of laughter.
Harry stopped first, for some reason Al couldn't fathom. He had a strange look on his face.
"Last year, there was, as you said, the Triwizard tournament," he said, his face expressionless. Al could easily see through it to the pain behind- he was, after all, Harry's son and had spent most of his fifteen years with him. "I was in tie with the other Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory. The cup was a Portkey, and it took us to a graveyard, where we saw Voldemort rise again." His arm twitched as he inspected the look on Al's face. "What, no flinch?"
"It's ridiculous to be afraid of a name," said Al, thinking about how everyone in his time would say the name easily enough- or at least those who had only come around after the war.
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Hardly anybody believes he's back. They're dismissing it as just a publicity stunt."
Al didn't exactly know how to react to that. "Er… I'm sorry?" he offered tentatively.
His father shook his head. "You have enough problems without mine," he said as the bell rang. Harry tilted his head as the trapdoor opened and a ladder cascaded down. He looked expectantly at Al.
"You first," said Al.
As Harry ascended the ladder, it struck Al that he just had a halfway ordinary conversation with his fifteen-year-old father. Not only that, but he had laughed with him. He was actually adapting to 1995. He wasn't really sure if that was good, or bad. Just to be sure, he sat a chair away from Harry.
It didn't take five minutes for the rest of the class to arrive. Ron was among the first batch that arrived. Al was surprised to see that Hermione was not with him.
"Where's Hermione?" he blurted.
"She doesn't take Divination," said Ron as he took the seat between Al and Harry. "Oh, and Harry, Hermione says she thinks it would be nice if you stopped taking your temper on us."
Harry looked miffed. "I'm not-"
"I'm just passing on the message. But I reckon she's right. We've stopped arguing, you know."
"Well-" Harry began, but was interrupted by Sybil Trelawney's vague voice, saying "Good day."
Al was beginning to think that maybe this day was playing a cruel joke on him. "Good" was the last thing this day was, he reflected as they dragged their feet towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
As the last people sat down, Al first noted the number of people in the class. There were far fewer people than there were in his Defence class in his time. He supposed that he hadn't noticed this because he had been half-asleep during History of Magic and he had been too concentrated in the conflict between Professor Snape and Harry to notice much else in Potions, and Divination wasn't a regular class.
"Well, good afternoon!" said Umbridge as she gave them a sickly-sweet smile.
There were a few scattered mumbles of "Good afternoon."
"Tut, tut," said Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.' One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"
"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they said dully in unison.
"There, now. That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."
Al extracted from his bag a couple of pieces of (rather crumpled) parchment, the first quill he got hold of that wasn't broken, and a bottle of ink that was leaking slightly. He wished that self-inking quills be invented soon.
Umbridge held her short wand and rapped the board sharply. The words below appeared there at once, in a large, stereotypically neat cursive:
Defence Against the Dark Arts
A Return to Basic Principles
Umbridge then began blathering on about some dumb thing about the Defence curriculum; Al tuned her out. It was not until she made them copy down several course aims that he actually did something.
"Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
"Oh, no, we were idiots enough to come to Hogwarts without one of the requirements," said Al sarcastically under his breath.
In front of him, Ron sniggered.
"I think we'll try that again," said Umbridge loudly. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply 'Yes, Professor Umbridge' or 'No, Professor Umbridge.' So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"
"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the class said in a singsong voice.
"Good. I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners.' There will be no need to talk."
Al flipped to chapter five page one- wait, no, page five, chapter one and tried to read it.
It was boring. It was amazingly boring. Eventually, Al found himself rereading one sentence again and again. Al found himself rereading one sentence again and again. Al found himself rereading one sentence again and again. Al found himself rereading one sentence again and again. It was almost as if the author meant him to read that one sentence over and over. His eyes strayed from the book and to the people in front of him.
Ron's eyes were fixated on one point of the page and he was fiddling with his quill. Right in front of Al, Harry was in the same state Al had been in, repeatedly reading the same sentence. Al turned to Hermione and suddenly felt like clapping his hands.
Hermione's hand was stuck into the air. Her jaw was set and she was determinedly staring at Umbridge. The book on her table remained untouched.
Several seconds later, Harry was also looking at Hermione, in his case questioningly. Hermione gave a nearly unnoticeable shake of the head. Harry was not the only one. As more minutes passed, the number of people opting to observe Hermione instead of reading their books swelled so rapidly until Umbridge seemed to decide that she couldn't ignore her any more.
"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" said Umbridge.
"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione, shaking her head.
"Well, we're reading just now. If you have any other queries we can deal with them at the end of the class."
"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione as Umbridge turned back to her table.
Umbridge turned back to her, raising her eyebrows. "And your name is- ?"
"Hermione Granger."
"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully." Umbridge smiled at her sweetly.
"Well, I don't," Hermione said brusquely. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."
A short pause.
"Using defensive spells?" Umbridge gave a laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"
"How are we supposed to learn if we're not going to use magic?" Ron interjected in a loud voice. Al was somewhat pleased he was standing up for Hermione.
Umbridge nearly scowled. "Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr- ?"
"Weasley," Ron said as he shoved his hand up.
Umbridge ignored him. Harry and Hermione raised their hands at once. Al followed suit.
"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"
"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?"
"No, but-"
"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class-"
"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Professor?" interrupted Al. He so badly wanted to say that Hermione was the one the Ministry asked for advice when confronted with anything related to education- in the future, he added.
"I did not call you, Mr Prentice!" Al gave a 'humph' and insistently raised his hand. Umbridge, as she did with Ron, disregarded him. "As I was saying," she continued in her fluttery, girlish voice, wizards much older and cleverer than Miss Granger here"- a few people made a sceptical noise at the word 'cleverer'- "have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-"
"What use is that?" argued Harry, "If we're going to be attacked it won't be in a-"
"Hand, Mr Potter!" trilled Umbridge.
Harry threw his fist up. Umbridge turned her back on him, only to face quite a few other students with their hands also in the air.
"And your name is?" said Umbridge to a boy who looked remarkably like Al's Quidditch captain before Colin Creevey and then James, Joseph Thomas.
"Dean Thomas." That makes some sense, thought Al.
"Well, Mr Thomas?"
"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it? If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free-"
"I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," interjected Umbridge, a wide smile spreading on her mouth that suggested otherwise, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed- not to mention extremely dangerous half-breeds."
Half of the class made an angry noise.
"If you mean Professor Lupin," said Dean Thomas hotly, "he was the best we ever-"
"Hand, Mr Thomas!" growled Umbridge as Al's mind processed Dean Thomas's statement. Teddy's dad taught Dad Defence! "As I was saying- you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group-"
"I don't think the Unforgivables are appropriate for any age group!" seethed Al.
"- and potentially lethal," continued Umbridge as though she had heard nothing. "You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day-" This is war! It is likely, Al almost snapped until he remembered it was 1995 and not 1997.
"No we haven't, we just-" began Hermione.
"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"
Irritation was now noticeable on Hermione's face, as she resolutely raised her hand. As expected, Umbridge turned her back on her.
"It is my understanding," said Umbridge, "that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you-"
"He was a sociopathic Death Eater, wasn't he!" exclaimed Al. "But even if he was I think they"- he gestured to his same-age-but-twenty-six-years-older classmates around him- "still learned lots-"
"Your hand is not up, Mr Prentice!" sang Umbridge. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she nodded at Hector Song's mother.
"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.? Aren't we supposed to show we can actually do the countercurses and things?" Parvati Patil raised her eyebrows.
"As long as you have studied the theory enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions—"
"Without ever practicing them before?" asked Parvati Patil disbelievingly. "Are you telling us the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"
"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough—"
"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" demanded Al's dad, his fist raised in the air. Al had never been prouder of his family before that moment.
Umbridge scowled. "This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world."
Harry looked at her defiantly. "So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"
"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."
Al turned to his Dad, hoping that he might apply logic to the situation, as he usually was pretty good at. But Al was disappointed: Harry seemed to have a shorter fuse than his Dad.
"Oh yeah?"
"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" Umbridge raised her eyebrows as though asking concernedly.
"Hmm, let's think…" Harry said in the same voice Al used when he was dealing with a particularly reckless James to make him see sense- a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe Lord Voldemort?"
The reaction was plain silly: people screamed, gasped, flinched, and Neville Longbottom, Al's herbology professor, who was perhaps the best teacher that they had in Al's time, fell off his stool. Al looked at Umbridge, hoping that she had done something of the same nature, but she only had a look of satisfaction on her face.
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter."
Al carefully scrutinized the expression on Harry's face and saw that there was virtually nothing underneath the anger.
"Now let me make a few things quite plain.
"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead-"
"He wasn't dead, but yeah, he's returned!" said Harry indignantly.
"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-po ints-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Umbridge without pausing to take a breath. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."
Al only had enough time to think, That was a bad move before Harry burst out, "It is NOT a lie! I saw him, I fought him!"
"Detention, Mr Potter!" said Umbridge, her eyes shining like a crow's. "Tomorrow evening. Five o' clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend." Al scowled at the lie. "And now, will you kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"
Umbridge sat back down, but Harry, as Al had speculated, was not yet finished. He stood right up, and Al didn't know whether to warn him to sit down or be exceedingly proud of his dad.
"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" said Harry in a shaking voice as all of the eyes in the room fixated on him.
The class breathed in in unison.
"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," Umbridge snapped.
Harry was trembling visibly as he said in a flat, firm voice: "It was murder. Voldemort killed him, and you know it." Al blinked. He had never actually thought of it that way, using that word. He had, after all, never really known Cedric Diggory- Cedric Diggory, who had been there when his father had watched Voldemort rise again, who had died twelve years before Al was even born.
It occurred to Al that there were more people he owed his existence to than he even knew.
Umbridge's voice broke through. "Come here, Mr Potter, dear."
Harry kicked his chair out of his path and paced to the front desk. Umbridge had taken out a roll of (disgustingly) pink parchment and was scrawling on it. A minute or two passed with the classroom silent. Umbridge then rolled up the parchment and sealed it.
"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear."
Harry wordlessly grabbed the parchment and stomped out of the classroom. For about ten minutes all were silent and still, until Umbridge said, "Well, I would appreciate it if you carry on reading!" in an irritated voice.
All of them went back to Defensive Magical Theory, but Al, whose mind was still wandering elsewhere, could have sworn that he heard a faint, angry yell from a floor or two down.
…back with family, at home, safe….
Al was struggling to do his stupid dream diary homework. Why Dumbledore had assumed that he took Divination, he didn't know.
He looked over at Ron, who had recently arrived from what Harry assumed was his solo Quidditch practice for tomorrow evening and noted that his uncle was snoring lightly.
"Oi, Ron, you might want to go to the dormitory now… Ronald…." Al reached over and pinched Ron's arm, trying not to make it so hard.
His attempt failed. Ron yelped and looked around wildly as Al dropped his quill and raised his hands Muggle movie-style.
"Sorry!" Al apologized. "It's just… Quidditch is exhausting, you might want to go to the dorm and get some actual sleep in a real bed." Ron shook sleep out of his eyes and mumbled thanks, picking up his Cleansweep Eleven, weaving his way through the crowd of Gryffindors, and ascending the stairs to the Boys' Dormitories as Al went back to his homework.
Now, what could being back home with my family mean? Al thought sarcastically. Ooh, this is a hard one. Maybe it means I'm going to drown in a chocolate fountain or something.
Al scribbled on about his not-really varying dreams: they were all generally about being at home. He'd found it somewhat funny- he'd read somewhere that if you had a dream about time travelling, it meant that you wanted to be out of your current situation.
It was the reverse for him: he had actually time travelled, and he wanted to be back where he was- which was why, he guessed, his dreams were about being back at home. In his ordinary life maybe, it would have meant nothing and he certainly wouldn't remember it, but here- aside from the fact that it was the only dream he's had since he'd magically appeared in 1995, it was the thing he wanted the most. It was strange, that a dream about laughing with Lily and James could be so memorable, or failing miserably at his first scrambled eggs when his Dad had tried to teach him how to cook so comforting, or suggesting ideas for his mother's sports column in the Daily Prophet be familiar.
And when he woke up, in his four-poster bed, he would spend a few minutes pretending that in the other dorms would be Lily and James and Hugo and Rose and Molly and Lucy and Fred and Roxanne, until he the fact that he really wasn't would slowly sink in and he would be forced back to 1995.
Minutes passed, then hours. The common room gradually emptied, until only Al and four seventh years trying to catch up with their homework were left. Al had partly given up on the thing, only scrawling a few words when they made it through his other thoughts.
The portrait hole swung open; Al and one of the seventh years looked up. Harry stood there, his face sour. Al suddenly noted his uncomfortable position- why did he use his left hand to push it open?
"Hey," said Al setting down his quill.
"Hello," said Harry, walking over. "It's late. You're doing homework."
"I tried to finish all of them, D-" Al had to bite his tongue to ensure the rest of the word didn't come out.
"What about you, then, Harry? Why were you outside?"
"I had detention, remember?" Harry raised his eyebrows.
It had, Al was ashamed to say, slipped his mind. "What did she make you do?" he asked suspiciously.
"Lines," said Harry, his right hand twitching.
That twitch brought a memory of a conversation Al had had with his Dad, right after he had received his prefect badge.
"Well, now Malfoy certainly won't be dating Rose. Not as long as I can dock points off him, anyway," Al joked, tracing the gold design on the badge.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," said his Dad, smiling as he shook his head. "I'm pretty sure Scorpius would also be a prefect, you know."
Al laughed. "Well, there's always James, I suppose. James has a talent for getting anyone into trouble. It just usually backfires on him. And then I can report Malfoy and hopefully he'll be given detention- lines or something."
Harry's right hand twitched as he shook his head. "No, not lines. Hopefully he'll have to do something actually useful."
What was so special about his father's right hand? Well, thought Al, it was his wand hand. Harry used it to write. He had scars there-
Scars!
The ones that Dad would never talk about. Al breathed in. Could now be when he got them?
"Show me your hand," Al commanded. Harry's eyebrows jumped. Al vaguely wondered whether that was how he looked like when he was surprised as he took Harry's right hand.
Raw skin was the first thing he saw. And then he saw the words the red skin formed, in his father's handwriting: I must not tell lies.
"Blood quill," breathed Al. He knew virtually nothing about it, just what it did, when he was studying how Transfiguration and Charms overlapped, under the bodily section.
"Yes, that's what it's called I think," said Harry. Al had an impulse to ask Harry what a blood quill looked like until he realized that would be tactless on his part. "It heals pretty quickly though," said Harry. "I bet it'll be gone by tomorrow."
Al looked up and made eye contact with him.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you," slipped from Al's lips before he could stop it. He hurriedly looked down to gather his things and headed to the stairs. "Aren't you coming?"
Harry didn't reply. He stared after Al for a few minutes until he shook his head and followed his son into the dormitory.