Ok! Relief from that horribly torturous cliffhanger I left you on. (I'm not sorry and I'd do it again.) And we're into double digits on chapters in book 2, which is awesome. I'm happy to say that I've written an awesome little short story focusing on some of Harry's time in the Auror Office during Book 1. It's about 2000 words. I will clean that up and edit it to upload for you guys on Christmas because that seems like that's a good time to upload something extra. I actually really, really love that short fic, hope you do too.

Here's a word of caution, by the way... Totally you all should Google original names before you use them in your stories. I was very nettled to learn that when you Google search "Mia Moon" in quotes, you get results on the first page like "Eurobabeindex" and "AssholeFever." ...I feel really bad for actual people with this name. So I told this to Andy, the architect of our Albus Potter series, and he said that he once planned to name a character "Kolza" in a story he was writing because he thought the name sounded beautiful, but was slightly unsettled months later to learn that, apparently, "Colza" is Italian for "Rape." Of course, on further investigation, he found that it was "rapeseed," which is a plant, but still, perhaps not the best choice.

On the flip side, it's always really fun when you can search a name you've created and see your own story come up on Google, by the way. Like "Eftan Griffiths" and "Jonah Baxter-Thornton." It makes me kind of giddy.

Anyways, I'm rambling... but you can deal with it, I don't do it often. Here is the next thrilling installment!

CHAPTER TEN

NIGHTMARE

O

Exo was shrieking at the top of his lungs. Birds were taking off. Albus didn't care. He was lying on the ground, bleeding out, just hoping that someone would hear Exo and come running, hoping that it was a someone and not a something.

He lifted up his wand dully, not really realizing what he was doing, and blasted up red sparks that burst in the air like fireworks. Apparently thinking they had returned to the field, due to the noise and flashes, Exo screamed louder.

Thumping noises heralded the arrival of a living being. Something grasped his arms and pulled him up strongly. Exo was still clutching to his leg and still shouting his throat out; he was prised off, but he wasn't far. Albus could still hear him but did not possess enough strength to look around to see his friend. He was lifted up high and draped on the back of… a horse? Someone had ridden a horse out here to save them; Exo was beside him as they galloped in some direction, Albus didn't really know…

Through the constant noise from Exo, Albus heard a few words exchanged between gruff male voices.

"Younglings…"

"Cannot leave…"

"In need…"

"Mars…"

He was deposited on the ground. The red moon was still present, but not pulsating like it had been doing during the ritual—the ritual, had it really been the real thing, had he really been there just seconds ago? It seemed like infinitely back in the past at this point…

His transport was still nearby, at least for a moment, but when shouts drifted down from a short distance, whoever had helped them now turned and galloped away.

Albus used all of his strength just to turn his head, and his eyes watered and he shook with sobs as he recognized Hogwarts in the distance, and Helio Wilcox charging towards them at top speed.

Wilcox skidded to a stop, and his eyes bulged as he took in the sight in front of him. Exo was still screaming bloody murder, and Albus just stared at Wilcox's face.

Then Wilcox took out his wand.

Albus's heart started pounding faster; he felt like he was bleeding faster. Wilcox narrowed his eyes, and looked like he was about to speak an incantation—

From the air dropped a pure white bird-like creature, which warped and twisted until it became a man—Professor Desulgon, who took one look at the sight in front of him and yelped almost as loud as Exo was continuing to scream.

"For heaven's sakes, Helio, put down that wand, what are you doing?" bellowed Professor Desulgon.

"Are they truly the children?" said Wilcox in a shaky voice. "Not imposters?"

A glowing white light sailed out of a castle window, and soared towards them; landing, it formed into a small human-like creature; squinting his eyes, Albus made out the form of a small primate, a spider monkey…?

"Mr. Finch-Fletchley, in response to the disturbance, claims that Albus Potter and your son are in the Forbidden Forest," came Professor Westerling's voice from the monkey, as if to answer Wilcox's question. "Confirm or deny, as soon as possible; a rescue mission may be necessary. Mr. Finch-Fletchley is in clear distress."

Helio turned his wand behind him; some sort of giant fish burst its way from the tip and swam through the air to the castle. He then directed his wand back at the two boys, but this time, he produced bandages out of the air and with a twirl, wrapped them around Albus's leg. It didn't matter to Albus's mind; he couldn't feel his leg at all. But he knew it was important to staunch the wound; he'd lost a lot of blood already. His whole body was feeling light, as if he'd lost weight. He shivered and his throat contracted.

"—happened?"

Albus was losing his hearing. He looked up in distress, lifting his head up slightly, but the effort involved sent waves of pain radiating through his entire body, except his leg, which he could not feel. Professor Desulgon conjured stretchers, and Wilcox lifted the boys onto them. Someone else had run to join them, and was calming Exo; the screaming finally stopped. Darkness was closing in around Albus's eyes. Someone was talking, but he couldn't tell who; it was muffled, all was becoming dampened and distant.

"—Potter, explain, please explain, what were—"

His head sank limply onto the stretcher, and he blacked out.

O

He woke in the hospital wing. Dimly he was aware that this was his first visit.

"Oh, thank goodness," came a soft, breathy voice; Albus looked over to see Madam Birchbaum standing just across the room. She had kind eyes and rugged brown hair and big, red lips that were pursed in trepidation.

She rushed to him and stuck some strange instrument onto his forehead. She nodded and mumbled to herself as she checked various parts of his body.

Albus glanced to his side, and saw Exo, plainly awake, but staring blankly at the ceiling and still without color in his face.

"He's all right," assured Madam Birchbaum. "He still had to be contained for the rest of his transformation, but following the rising of the sun, he was transferred here, and I gave him something to help him sleep. Sleep he did, for quite a while, but ever since he's woken up he's just been staring at the ceiling, not reacting to any movements. I believe he'll be fine after the shock wears off, we've given him tonic for that, too, but for now, we had to expect him to be sick anyway… it's the night after the full moon."

Night? thought Albus vaguely. Did I spend the entire day here?

"You have visitors sitting just outside the door," she said. "They've been waiting there for hours. Missed all of their classes in favor of waiting. They insisted I let them know as soon as you were awake. Do you think you could handle visitors?"

Albus nodded.

Madam Birchbaum walked towards the door, but her eyes remained on him. She turned just before she reached the door and opened it, gave a quick nod and a wave of her hand towards the inside of the room, and then leapt out of the way as a distressed-looking Aidan, Alec, and Eftan burst into the room, sprinting towards Albus's bed.

"Do NOT touch that bed!" crowed Madam Birchbaum, but Albus's three visitors stopped short of the bed anyway and knelt down at his side so that their heads were level. Albus let his head fall to the side and smiled weakly at them.

"I… absolutely should not have done what I did," mumbled Aidan, tearing up. "I'm so sorry. We could have all been there to help."

"Don't… don't worry about it," said Albus. "You were trying to stop this from happening. It could have happened to all of us."

"What did happen?" asked Alec nervously.

Eftan bumped him with an elbow. "Quiet, maybe he doesn't want to talk about it," he said as quietly as possible, but Albus could still discern it. It was as if his senses were still heightened from the adrenaline rush during the terror."

"No, it's fine," said Albus, shifting in his bed. "It was…" He swallowed. "It was guns. Guns all around us."

"Gunfire?" sputtered Eftan, thunderstruck. "It was Muggles?"

"I think it was," said Albus, and then he was suddenly transported in his mind back to the incident and his entire body seized up.

What was this? He didn't understand—he knew he was safe, but he was stiff and sweating and afraid for his life as if he was back in the field, lying on the ground with Exo clutching his leg, and he could still hear the screaming—

"OUT, OUT NOW!" bellowed Madam Birchbaum. Albus snapped back into reality to see that his friends were backed halfway across the room, his sheets were all over, and tears were streaming down his face.

"What—what—?" stammered Albus.

"OUT OF THE HOSPITAL WING, AND DON'T YOU COME BACK!" she roared, advancing on them, and she slammed the door behind them as they retreated.

"What happened?" said Albus, realizing he was out of breath.

"You were screaming," said Madam Birchbaum simply. "Screaming and thrashing."

Screaming and thrashing?

But—he hadn't screamed and thrashed at the festival when it had happened… He had kept his mind the entire time, even thought to grab the Invisibility Cloak—

Albus's breath caught, this time for a different reason. He hadn't picked up the Cloak when he left the forest.

He returned his mind to what had happened afterwards. He was lying on the forest floor—he'd been gripping the Invisibility Cloak with one hand, but after he'd landed and he knew they were out of harm's way, his mind had pretty much shut off. Where was the Cloak now?

And who had rescued him? But the answer to this came quicker. Considering that he had been in the forest, it probably wasn't a person riding a horse. It must have been the centaurs. But why would they have left, why wouldn't they have let Wilcox know who had saved the life of his son and a friend? And, more importantly at the moment, would they have seen the Cloak? Would they have thought to pick it up if they had?

"Here," said Madam Birchbaum, exiting her office with a bubbling potion in a very large container; it probably would have given Hagrid a run for his money to finish. She was using her wand to hover it, rather than carry it, because it was bubbling over the sides. When it hit the floor, it hissed.

"What's this going to do?" asked Albus nervously.

"It's going to calm you," she said. "You will be able to relax. You'll drink half of it now, half of what's left in an hour, half of what's left of that in an hours, and so on until twenty-four hours after you started, when you should just finish it off. Your brain will calm itself and begin to organize itself rationally again."

"It doesn't look like a very calm potion," said Albus skeptically as a large bubble burst and Madam Birchbaum leapt aside to avoid it landing on her shoe.

"Would you rather allow your brain to continue transporting you back to that nightmare?" she asked. "Or would you rather settle your brain so that you realize that you're safe right now and avoid nearly kicking your friends in the face when you flash back and think you're in the middle of a gun fight?"

"I guess I'll take the potion," said Albus as it was placed down at his side, wondering how he was expected to drink this concoction without it burning a hole in the bottom of his mouth and escaping.

He lifted it to his lips, with Madam Birchbaum's help (it was extremely heavy), and tilted the glass a fair amount. It tasted like the smell that comes with fresh rain, and it felt like a massage in his mouth. Pleasantly surprised, he kept drinking until Madam Birchbaum pulled it away from him.

"That's half," said Madam Birchbaum. "I'll tell you when you should take it again. Tomorrow, Professor Wilcox would like to ask you what happened. He's not getting much out of his son." She glanced over to his bed. "You may go back to sleep if you wish, but I'll have to wake you up in an—"

Madam Birchbaum was cut off when the door burst open and Holly Glissendale ran in.

"NO, ABSOLUTELY NOT!" came Madam Birchbaum's shout.

Holly let out a little "Eep!" and darted back out, but she seemed somewhat more relaxed to find that Albus was conscious. Albus felt really happy that Holly came to see him. He felt really happy overall…

Why was he in the hospital wing, again? He couldn't remember… It was too long ago… years, probably… how old was he? Wait, where was he?

He was on his bed, at home, but also by the ocean, and also staring at the night sky, and also sitting in front of a crackling fire, and all he knew was peace.

O

Waking up an hour later to Madam Birchbaum shaking his shoulder, he realized with a jolt what the potion had done to him, and imagined that would probably be what dying in one's sleep would feel like.

"More potion, dear," she said, tilting the container back towards him.

"No," said Albus, shaking his head firmly, "I don't want it. No more."

"I'm going to force-feed it to you if you don't take it," she warned.

Albus sighed and sipped the potion again. Exactly the same effect took place, and the entire day was spent by drifting into a paradise-like peace and being sharply awakened to the dreadful realization that all those horrible things had really happened. He'd rather have done without the potion, but he trusted the professional when she said that it would help in the long run.

The next time he woke up, James had come in to visit, and unfortunately seemed to be unable to stop himself from investigating what Albus had been doing. He didn't inquire about the fate of the Marauder's Map or the Cloak, though. And he brought Gimmick, who seemed to know something was wrong with Albus; he rubbed his face against his owner's, and settled down on Albus's chest to sleep, purring.

The potion process continued long into the night, and at some point, Exo had started on the potion as well. Albus felt bad for Madam Birchbaum—she had to keep setting her own alarms every hour throughout the night. By morning, Albus had expected her to look utterly exhausted, but she looked fine until the afternoon came around—then she looked and acted like death.

But finally, after he had gotten to the point where taking half the potion was just a matter of taking tinier and tinier sips, he was told he could finish it. An hour after that, Wilcox walked into the hospital wing for the first time—or at least, the first time since Albus had been awake. He may have come in the previous day when Albus was asleep.

"Exorian," said Wilcox, kneeling down next to the bed. "How do you feel?"

Exo twirled the bed sheet around his finger. "I'm… okay."

"Did the potion help?"

Exo nodded.

"Do you think you can talk?"

Exo shook his head.

"Oh—I don't mean about the eclipse festival," said Wilcox in a very low voice. "You can talk about that. There was never any curse carried by your signature on that pamphlet—we confirmed it. That was just a ruse to scare you, to prevent you from talking about it, but it was a bluff."

Exo looked up. "I can talk about it?"

"Freely," said Wilcox. "You won't die."

Exo's head sank back to stare at the sheets.

"But you don't want to, do you."

Exo shook his head again.

"I understand," said Wilcox. "It's okay."

The Headmaster stood up, but continued to look down at his son.

"I'm so, so sorry," he breathed tremulously. "If anything I've done drove you to this… I am so, so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

Exo looked up; the back of his head was to Albus, so he couldn't see his friend's face, but Exo nodded, and then leaned off the bed to give his father a hug around the waist, which was returned graciously.

Wilcox then strode over to Albus in a much more businesslike fashion.

"Albus," he said gravely. "Do you think you could talk? I'm extremely sorry to put you through this, but… we need to know what happened."

"I can talk," said Albus, eager to take the pressure off of Exo.

"Thank goodness," said Wilcox, and he took Albus's hand. "Can you walk? We can provide transport if necessary; I'd like to talk in my office."

"I can walk," said Albus, retracting his hand from Wilcox's grip, determined not to be coddled. He lifted Gimmick up, swung his legs around over the side of his bed, out from under the sheets, and for the first time since the incident, he saw his left leg—

It was absolutely fine. It looked as though nothing had happened to it.

"It wasn't a magical wound," said Madam Birchbaum, walking out to meet Albus. She had very dark lines under her eyes. "So it was actually rather easy to fix up. Remedying the blood loss was more difficult… But we got you all better in the end. You should be fine to walk, if not ever so slightly shaky at first."

"Cynthia, you are a goddess," said Wilcox. "Thank you so much for everything you've done for us. The last potion…?"

"Make sure a day is taken to decide," said Madam Birchbaum under her breath, handing Wilcox a bottle wrapped in cloth. "Don't want rushed decisions causing regrets."

Giving no explanation for this, Wilcox waved Albus along, stowing the bottle in his robes. "Come on, then. Are you sure you won't need assistance?"

Albus stood up, and steadied himself with a hand first, as the world seemed to tilt. He waited a few seconds to get his bearings back, and then started to walk, feeling no peculiarities in his leg or anywhere else.

"I'm fine," said Albus as he followed Wilcox out of the hospital wing.

"Ah, 'I'm fine,'" sighed Wilcox as they exited into the hallway. "If I had a Sickle for every time I heard my son say that… It's one of his favorites. Funnily enough though, it's usually never true when he says it."

Albus paled, suddenly realizing that Wilcox probably blamed him for assisting his son's escape from the castle… which was true, to an extent…

They passed some people walking the other way, who pointed and whispered at Albus. It sort of reminded Albus of the beginning of his first year, when everyone in school felt the need to discuss with everyone else in school how Albus was the son of Harry Potter. This time, though, they were talking about him, and not about his father. He was wrong. Being the subject of whispered conversations was consistently unpleasant, regardless of how he was identified, as the son of the famous Harry Potter, or that kid they found lying in the Forbidden Forest with his leg torn open. He wondered how much the school knew.

"Here," said Wilcox, noticing that Albus was looking at the people staring at him. He directed Albus into a small, empty, circular classroom.

"I thought we were going to your office," said Albus, frowning.

"We are," grinned Wilcox. "My office."

"This isn't—" Albus was about to say, and then the walls started to spin.

The floor stood steady, but the circular wall turned halfway around them. The open door moved along the wall until it stopped to reveal a different opening. The sound of rushing wind filled the room.

"Whoa," said Albus, as Wilcox put a hand behind his back and guided him to the new exit. Beckoning him, Wilcox stepped through the threshold, and was sucked upwards as if through a straw.

Albus smirked, impressed, and also stepped through the door. Instantly, he felt the effects that he associated with Floo Powder; he hurtled through a tube and plunged downward suddenly, landing surprisingly lightly in a small room with just one door. Wilcox was standing just in front of it.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Wilcox smiled and opened the door, revealing the Headmaster's office.

"Wow," said Albus, admiring the quick route across the castle.

"A Headmaster needs to get around," said Wilcox, shrugging. "Come, now, I need to cross-examine you."

Albus walked after Wilcox, who casually flicked his wand; a chair slid itself across the floor, stopping right in front of the Headmaster's desk. Wilcox walked behind the desk as Albus took the chair.

"We should wait for a moment," said Wilcox.

"Why?" asked Albus; right as he finished his question, the door opened. He turned around and gasped.

Immediately, he rocketed out of his chair and bounded across the office, throwing himself into a tight hug with his father, who had just entered.

Harry laughed and tousled his son's hair. "Hello, Al. I've heard some… interesting things about you recently. I think you've inherited my tendency to meddle around with things, haven't you?"

"He certainly has," said Wilcox humorlessly. "And I'm not so sure 'interesting' is the word to be used here… 'Bone-chilling,' perhaps. We're dealing with a genocide on our hands. Two days ago… we lost half of our nation's population of unfortunate wizards afflicted with lycanthropy. Half. I'm hoping your son can enlighten us on some of the details with which we are fuzzy."

Harry nodded and guided his son back to the chair, then stood close by with a hand on Albus's shoulders.

Wilcox took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck.

"There really isn't anything better to ask than, 'What happened?'"

Albus took a deep breath, too, and then delved into the explanation. He left out certain parts—the things that Exo had said about his father, mainly, and the fact that Aidan, Alec, and Eftan were also supposed to come. Other than what would incriminate someone, he relayed the entire story to Wilcox, who nodded with glistening eyes as he finished.

"What about Mr. Finch-Fletchley, then?" asked Wilcox, his eyebrows settling. "What was he doing out of his dormitory, how did he know where you'd gone?"

"He was responsible for waking me up," said Albus quickly, which was true. "And he was our lookout to make sure we wouldn't get caught." Not as true, but he did distract Boderight so that Exo wasn't in danger of being apprehended…

"I see," said Wilcox. "I believe you, that you found that flyer among Exo's belongings—Exo wouldn't have talked about it to you or let you have the flyer, because of the curse he believed it carried…"

"How do you know it didn't carry a curse?" asked Albus.

"We had the letter examined," said Harry, looking down at his son. "We used all the methods at our disposal to analyze it, and we are one hundred percent certain there was never any contract to the signature. Even if there was some curse we didn't know, we still would have been able to detect it, if not identify its effects. But our analyses did turn up something rather noteworthy."

Albus paused, and then realized his father was waiting for a response. "Oh. What?"

"The letter had traces of the properties of the Fidelius Charm, first of all," said Harry. "So you couldn't find the Portkeys unless you were in on the secret. Whoever was behind this ordeal wrote the letters with their own hand. You said you're certain it was Solomon that you saw?"

"I recognized him from pictures," repeated Albus.

"So Solomon gave the secret of the Fidelius protection to anyone who read the letters," said Harry, "but only the signature of someone carrying a Transfection could unlock the letter. That is, someone who was a werewolf… but it could also have been unlocked by a Metamorphmagus, or an Animagus, or a Botanimagus. Solomon must have been hoping that no one in those categories would by coincidence find a letter. It still disturbs me how they managed to circulate the letters to only werewolves, though."

"But the Fidelius Charm wasn't the worst part of what we uncovered on that flyer," said Wilcox dangerously. "Not slightly. Nowhere near it. Albus, after you read the pamphlet, were you absolutely convinced, against your better judgment, that what you read was true; that this festival was not a hoax?"

Surprised, Albus gave a quick nod. "Yes," he assented. "I was."

"That's because the letter was given the Siren Song Charm," said Harry grimly. "Anyone who read it was given extreme convictions that they were reading the truth, and total confidence in those convictions. Effects from this charm are dimmer on more intelligent people, and it's not foolproof, but you can see how that worked out. They lured so many werewolves into this trap."

Albus felt his blood heat up, and he stood up from his chair to face his father.

"That's not true," he protested angrily. "This wasn't a trick! There was an ambush!"

"The people who coordinated the festival orchestrated the ambush themselves!" said Harry. "Haven't you thought about it? We're after a murderer who is targeting werewolves, Ivan Siobor, and suddenly, at about the same time that Siobor is at large, this happens. Siobor might even have strategically murdered just enough people to scare the rest into going! Al, I know you believe otherwise, but this is the effect of the Siren Song Charm. You don't realize that you're still swayed by the tweaking they've done to your perceptions of reality!"

"I was there!" shouted Albus. "I was at the festival—John Solomon was doing it, he was really doing it—"

"He was putting on a special effects show, making pretty visuals to distract the werewolves from their surroundings," said Wilcox seriously.

"He had half his hand shot off!" refuted Albus. "I don't even know if he made it out alive!"

"If he did, we'll find him," said Harry. "We've got everyone going after him."

"What—how can you—?"

"He killed hundreds of people, Al, we're not going to presume innocence with the mass of evidence against him!"

"This is—"

"The Fidelius Charm, Albus, the Fidelius Charm!" growled Wilcox. "They used the Fidelius Charm to prevent anyone from stumbling across the Portkeys, but also to protect the field! No one, especially not dozens of Muggle ambushers, could have found them in that field without having been told, and I hope you're not going to suggest that any of the werewolves asked Muggles to come and mow down their brethren!"

"I know what I saw, and it's not just because of what I read!" said Albus.

"Then what of the Siren Song Charm?" blustered Harry. "You really think that was with good intentions?"

"Yes!" rebutted Albus. "Yes, I do! Solomon really wanted to cure as many werewolves as he could, and he wouldn't have had nearly as much attendance if no one believed him! Of course he would have wanted to ensure that his readers knew that he WAS telling the truth!"

"Al, I know you want to believe that there's hope for curing your friend," said Harry, "but a cure for lycanthropy simply does not exist. Not only does it not exist, but it can not exist. Solomon—or someone controlling Solomon, or disguised as Solomon—just tore apart hundreds of families last night. Those are the facts. There is no arguing it."

"But—"

"There is no arguing this," repeated Harry sternly.

"You're being so unreasonable!" cried Albus. "Just because you personally believe that there isn't a cure—you're going to assume without any proof that Solomon is guilty, and you're going to lock away a person with much more noble intentions than you! How could you do this? Of course this is why Solomon made the festival secret!"

"Secret, when he could have had the protection and the scouting power of the entire Auror office behind his efforts?" asked Harry, glaring. "I'm sorry, Al, but I'm just not buying it at all. And you know what? It shouldn't have been secret. You knew about it when I asked you over Christmas, didn't you?"

Albus nodded slowly.

"Harry," said Wilcox softly. "I think we've gotten enough out of your son for today. We shouldn't stress him."

"I agree," said Harry, settling down again. "Al, you need to get back to your dormitory and sleep. You'll have to try to get back into a normal routine for tomorrow—"

"You're going to leave it at this?" yelled Albus, looking back and forth between his father and Wilcox. "You're going to leave it at a bounty for Solomon's head, dead or alive, even though he was trying to do something to ease the suffering of hundreds of people?"

"Yes, except the last part," said Harry. "I'm not saying it was Solomon—it could have been someone controlling him, or disguised as him, which I've already said—but whoever it was could not have been in the dark to the ambush; they must have been in on it. It's just what happened. It's something that we know—in fact, it's pretty much the only thing we know. It's time to let this go, Albus. You don't know anything about this."

"I KNOW WHAT I SAW!" burst out Albus again. "I SAW AN INNOCENT MAN WHO COULD HAVE DIED WITH THE PEOPLE HE WAS HELPING!"

"You need a calming potion," said Harry, placing both hands on Albus's shoulders and pushing him back down into the seat. "You're losing control."

"He doesn't need a calming potion," said Wilcox as Albus was about to explode again. "What he needs is to forget."

"What?" said Harry and Albus together, turning.

Out of his pocket Wilcox extracted the bottle wrapped in cloth which had been handed to him by Madam Birchbaum. The cloth had frosted over.

"It's a potion to make you forget the most impactful memory of your recent life," said Wilcox. "In this case, it would be the slaughter you witnessed. With a drink, you won't remember any of the pain—and you'll forget these ridiculous presumptions you have about the innocence of the head of this assault."

"That's just what he needs," agreed Harry.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" thundered Albus.

"Come on, Al," pleaded Harry. "You'll forget all about your incorrect reasoning, and you won't remember that you've done it. These people have altered your thoughts, ensuring that right now, you are saying exactly what they want you to believe. They hope it will help them escape prosecution. We can't let that happen; they need to pay, whoever they are. And you declaiming their innocence, noble as it may seem to your addled mind, is just absolutely nonsensical and probably even detrimental to your recovery… but you can escape that, Al."

"I won't," hissed Albus, snorting like a bull. "I won't take that potion."

"Helio, please give it to him," said Harry, moving on Albus. "I'll make him drink the potion, just administer it to him while I hold him down."

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" raged Albus, twisting in his chair, aiming a kick at his father's hand, throwing a punch at the severe-looking face.

"Don't make me Body-Bind you, Albus," growled Harry harshly, taking out his wand.

"NO!"

Albus used his highest volume possible, and struggled against Harry's grip as Wilcox walked towards him, unwrapping the potion. It was belching vapor as the outside of the bottle slowly became encased in ice, now that it was free of the frosted cloth.

"NO—MADAM BIRCHBAUM SAID YOU HAVE TO TAKE A DAY TO DECIDE! YOU CAN'T GIVE IT TO ME NOW!"

It was a desperate attempt to stall for time, but it caused hesitation; as Albus sat there, breathing heavily, staring at his father, he pressed his advantage.

"You may be able to make me forget that incident," said Albus, "but you can't make my friends forget. They'll remind me if I ask. And you can't make them forget, you're not their father." He paused. "And no matter how much I forget about the festival, I will never forget that I will never forgive you if you do this to me right now."

Harry, after a long silence looking into his son's eyes, glanced at Wilcox, and shook his head in disappointment. "Helio… put it away. He can decide if he wants it or not tomorrow, after he's spent a day dealing with the after-effects of his experience."

Wilcox nodded and stored the iced potion in a cabinet under his desk.

"I'm sorry for putting you through that, Al," said Harry quietly. "I'm sorry you had to go through any of this. I'm just trying to do what I think is best for you; please understand that."

It sounded remarkably like something Wilcox would have said to Exo.

"You can decide later," said Harry. "Please get to your dormitory now. I insist you go to classes tomorrow; you've missed two days, and from what I've seen, you appear to be okay. I'll be back tomorrow, I still need get Helio's input on what other actions we'll need to take in the wake of this tragedy. If you need me, just come to this office and I might be there; if not, I will be soon."

Albus nodded.

"Then I'll be off," said Harry. "Helio, you can have the final words with Albus; there's something I assume you still need to say?"

Wilcox nodded.

"I'm going to tell the Aurors what I've heard here. I will see you again soon, Al. I love you."

"I love you, too," said Albus quietly as his father exited.

"Albus?"

Albus turned again to Wilcox, who was leaning with his elbows on his desk, hands clasped in front of his face.

"Thank you for saving my son," he whispered.

Albus started.

"Oh—you're—you're welcome, Professor."

"Nothing I do will ever be enough to repay you, but I will try."

Oh, I'll take your Soundsplitter, then, thought Albus, and he wondered if he should actually say that.

"You may go back to your dormitory now," said Wilcox. "Have a good night."

O

"Where do you think you were?" asked Eftan as they trudged through the forest.

"I think this way, and keep your wand up," said Albus. "I don't know what else is in here with us. The Portkey wasn't too far in, but… still, something could still happen."

"This is so cool," whispered Alec excitedly.

"This is utterly terrifying," whimpered Aidan. "Why couldn't we have gotten Wilcox or someone to escort us into the Forbidden Forest, why do you think it's a good idea for the four of us second years to go in here alone?"

"Because we can't let them see the Invisibility Cloak," said Albus. "I don't want more people to know that James has that apart from the people who already do."

"Wilcox already knows," whined Aidan. "Why couldn't we have taken him?"

"It's more fun without an adult," said Alec. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I traded it in for a sense of self-preservation," snapped Aidan.

"You mean you traded it in for a sense of being a stick in the mud," muttered Alec.

"I heard that!"

"You were supposed to!"

"I think I remember this," said Albus breathlessly, as he stepped forward into the smallest of clearings, the light from his wand flickering on the far trees. "I think this is it. This is where the Portkey was. We took the Portkey back… Would it necessarily go to exactly the same spot?"

"Not necessarily exactly the same spot, but probably somewhat close," said Aidan. "All right, let's look around."

"We'll cover more ground if we split up," said Alec.

"NO," said Aidan.

Eftan shushed Aidan. "No, I think Alec is right—just nobody go too far. As much as we don't want to be defenseless and on our own, we also don't want to spend any more time in here than necessary."

"And we want to get back quick, so that nobody finds out I'm out here," said Albus; it hadn't even been an hour since Wilcox sent them back to the dormitories.

"Why couldn't we have done this while it was light?" grumbled Aidan, casting the light from his wand around.

"Because the longer something as valuable as an Invisibility Cloak stays out here, the better chance it has of being picked up by something furry and hideous and wrecked," shot back Alec.

"Keep calm, and be quieter, guys," said Albus. "And for Merlin's sakes, get along!"

"Hey, er, it looks like blood here," said Eftan, a little queasily. "I think this is where you landed!"

Albus, Alec, and Aidan charged the spot, gathering around the small space where it looked like two bodies had displaced a lot of leaves, and many of them had dried blood all over.

"No," moaned Albus. "Then this is where the Cloak was… so where is it now?"

"We'll keep looking, it could have been blown away," said Eftan reassuringly.

"Or—" started Aidan, but he cut himself off and his eyes widened.

There was something moving in the distance, rustling leaves, and after a moment, it became clear that they were not alone out here.

Aidan backed away, but jumped back as something else moved in the direction towards which he was backing. The four friends formed a small circle and held their wands up, and then Albus's heart leapt into his throat as several dark shapes emerged from the tree line—

It was centaurs.

This was, of course, more agreeable than, say, Acromantulas, but even though Albus knew he had been saved by them yesterday, their presence was still unnerving: ten towering, muscular human torsos over ten strong equine bodies. Their glares caused him to instinctively back away, and his friends all did the same until they were pressed up against each other, eyeing the bows on their adversaries' backs, knowing they were dead in a second if the centaurs decided to attack—

"What are you doing here?"

The closest centaur, silvery-blond with deep blue eyes, spoke gruffly, and when none of them responded, he repeated himself.

"What are you doing here?"

"S—sorry," stuttered Albus. "We—we were looking—for something we lost—"

"This?"

The centaur held up the flowing Invisibility Cloak.

Then he smiled.

"It is yours," he said, tossing it to Albus.

Albus caught the Cloak and looked it over very quickly to make sure there were no damages; it was perfect as ever. He wrapped it around himself, and everything but his head vanished.

He took it off and looked up at the friendly centaur. "Thank you," he said earnestly. "Thank you so much!"

"Though the universe at large is not affected by something as simple as whether a lost item is returned," said the centaur, "it is never negative to introduce a little kindness into the world. There is no need to thank me."

"Enchanting, Firenze," said a bored-sounding centaur next to him. "But we really must insist that they leave now."

"Yes," said Firenze, turning back to them. "Unfortunately, this is the case."

"Why?" asked Albus, a little worried again.

"Because we cannot be certain that the forest is safe," said Firenze. "I am reminded of the days when the Dark Lord Voldemort stalked our forest. This time it is not a body, but a presence. An Invisibility Cloak will not protect you—only departure."

Albus rushed to a conclusion, surprising even himself as he pulled it out of his memory, and jumped on it—he had to ask, now that he'd thought about it.

"Is it Dismiusa?" he blurted.

The forest was absolutely silent.

"Dismiusa," replied Firenze, "is an old legend amongst the centaurs, and I am surprised you're aware of her legacy. I cannot say whether or not your thought is correct; all I know is what the stars have told us, and that a feral magic ripples through these woods. It is unnatural. Something is awakening, and Mars is bright."

"That's enough, Firenze."

Firenze turned and nodded to his companions. "Then we will allow you exit," he said, folding his arms. "Please, for your own safety, do not reenter. We have attempted to tell this to your Headmaster and we may or may not have succeeded. You should stress this to him as well."

"Everything, or should I leave out the part you apparently weren't supposed to tell me?" asked Albus.

"You should leave that part out," said Firenze, and he smirked. "Goodbye, son of Harry Potter."

With that, the centaurs all turned as one and galloped out of the clearing.

Firenze must have noted the way Albus looked like Harry—Albus was aware that his father had known centaurs during his time here as well.

"I have a name, too," he mumbled.

O

He was standing in the field again, watching John Solomon, whose face had become bat-like with glowing red eyes. Solomon cackled wickedly, and then thousands of Muggles appeared in the distance, growing closer, readying their weapons, and then there was fire, and pain, and death, and his leg was shot again, but this time there was no Portkey, and no one to help him, and Exo's corpse stared unblinkingly at the red moon which was dripping blood—

He woke from the nightmare to find that Exo was shaking him violently; his eyes shot open to hear the sounds of his own screams filling the dormitory.