The Malfoy's Christmas party had gone on for so long, and been so entertaining, that Albus had all but forgotten about his would-be moment of passion with Scorpius by the time he arrived home.
In fact, he'd barely managed to stay awake for more than twenty minutes before falling asleep atop his bed. It was morning now, though, and he'd awoken relatively late. He could hear people moving around downstairs and decided it was time he should join his family. As he made his way onto the landing, though, he knew something was wrong.
He tiptoed quietly down the stairs as quietly as he could. He wasn't quite sure why he didn't want to be heard, exactly, but he had a hunch that his presence wasn't wanted.
The living room was empty, as was the dining room, but there was noise coming from the back of the house.
"Don't put butter on that toast," James's voice said from the kitchen, "it's for Albus."
"I thought Al liked his toast buttered?" Albus's father asked, somewhat kindly.
"Father," James's said matter-of-factly, "how much did that butter cost?"
"About a muggle pound, give or take,"
"Are you really going to waste a portion of it on Albus?"
"Goodness me, no!" Harry exclaimed.
The two Potter's burst into cruel laughter. Albus, though, didn't find the joke particularly funny, nor imaginative for that matter.
"Actually," Harry continued, "give that toast to the neighbour's dog. He'd appreciate it more."
Albus was nearer now. He had reached the kitchen door and had crouched, his arms wrapped around his pyjama-clad knees, against the wall. He wanted to listen, but he didn't want to be seen. His only company here were his brother's dirty boots, that were lying next to the back door, covered in fresh, light brown mud.
The laughter was getting louder, and Albus noticed that each of his father's guffaws made his heart sink a little.
Once the laughter had stopped the house fell eerily silent. Albus couldn't see James, nor his father, but somehow he knew their mood had changed. There was a thick sense of seriousness in the air.
"Father," James began, almost whispering now, "there's something you need to know about Albus."
Albus froze.
"What is it, son?"
"Well..." James's voice became even quieter, "he told me something a few days ago, and I think you should know about it-"
The volume of James's voice dropped with every syllable. Albus wanted to hear what he was saying. He wanted to make sure his brother wasn't about to betray his darkest secret to his father, but he couldn't hear a thing.
There was a pause.
James whispered three words. Albus couldn't make them out, but he knew what they were. His father's reaction confirmed it.
"No!" Harry Potter cried, standing up so suddenly, and with such force, that the chair he was sitting on flew across the kitchen floor and smashed against the wall. "Tell me it's not true!"
"I'm sorry, father," James answered solemnly.
"But... but... he can't be!" Harry stuttered.
Hot tears began to stream down Albus's cheeks as he sat on the carpeted floor of the Potter's hall. How could James have done this to him mere days after promising to hide his sexuality from his father?
"Where is he?" There was anger in the elder Potter's voice now, "where is he?"
Heavy footsteps began to echo through the house as Harry Potter marched towards the kitchen door. As he approached, Albus could feel his steps vibrating through the floor. He tensed. He put his head in his arms and didn't dare look up.
The footsteps stopped.
Albus hesitated for what seemed like hours before raising his head slowly from his knees. Next to him, planted firmly on the blue floor, were two bare feet - his father's.
He gradually shifted his view upwards. Harry's cloak was blurred by the tears that were still streaming from Albus's reddened eyes.
"Dad, please..." he mumbled as he wiped the tears from his eyes, "Dad..."
Albus wasn't sure what he saw first: the wand raised in the air, green sparks beginning to burst from its tip, or the face he'd been praying he'd never see looking down at him again. A heartless face full of anger, disgust and hatred. A face that was completely void of humanity, and completely void of a nose.
"Avada K-" Lord Voldemort began to hiss in a snake-like voice.
Albus shot to his feet and ran into the kitchen. Only a moment before he had been frozen to the spot, but now his heart was racing and his only priority was to escape.
"James!" He cried, looking around the kitchen for his brother.
"Albus?" A voice hissed.
Albus turned sharply to see, not his brother, but a giant snake sliding towards him, gliding effortlessly over James Potter's cold, white corpse.
"No," Albus whimpered.
He edged backwards, pressing his body as firmly as he could against the wall. He new that in only a few seconds the snake would pounce. There was nowhere for him to run.
Nagini stopped and lowered her scaly head. Her master was approaching, still dressed in the clothes of Harry Potter.
As the distance between him and Albus reduced, he raises his wand again, this time with a perverted smile on his reptile-like face.
"Avada Kedavra!" He hissed.
A bolt of green light shot from the tip of Voldemort's wand and his Albus square in the face.
It took less than a second for it all to end.
Death wasn't as Albus had expected it to be. Actually, he had never really questioned what death would be like. He'd always assumed he had many years ahead of him, yet here he was, in the after life.
But that was just the thing. There was no afterlife. There was nothing. Only darkness and a constant, tedious ticking noise.
It took him a few minutes, but eventually he realised that the ticking noise wasn't an unexpected aspect of the afterlife, but it was in fact the alarm clock that sat on his bedside table, and rather than dead, he was , in fact, asleep.
He rolled out of bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was surprised to find that the effects of the dream hadn't quite gone away. One normally feels relief upon awaking from a nightmare, but Albus could still feel the same sense of doom weighing down on him, albeit with less intensity.
It'll pass, he told himself.
He left his bedroom, not bothering to change out of his pyjamas, and headed down the stairs.
"I AM A PRINCESS!" Lily was shouting sternly from the arm of the sofa where she was perched staring angrily at James.
"If you say so," her eldest brother answered with a smirk on his lips.
"What do you mean if I say so?" Lily folded her arms crossly, "I AM a princess!"
"Ok, ok, whatever you say," James shrugged.
Albus's father was sat in an armchair near the fire. He had his head in the Daily Prophet. Albus was relieved to see it was a perfectly human head, with a fully formed nose. Nothing like the one he had seen only moments before.
"Morning," Harry muttered to Albus as his son passed through the living room.
"Mornin' dad," he answered.
When he reached the kitchen he found that his mother was busying herself with a tray of muffins.
"Good morning, Albus," she smiled, placing the baking tray in the oven as she did so, "do you want a cup of tea?"
Albus nodded and mumbled an almost-yes-response.
See, he told himself mentally, everything is normal.
And it was. His mother was baking unhealthy treats that she would later tell the mothers at Lily's old muggle, primary school that she never touches, his father was reading the newspaper - but only the most boring pages, naturally - and James was winding one of his siblings up.
"It was just a dream," he sighed.
"What was that, Al?" Ginny asked.
"Nothing!" Albus answered with a smile, "I was just talking to myself."
"That's the first sign of madness, you know!" Ginny joked as she places a steaming mug of tea on the table.
As Albus sat down she planted a light kiss atop his head and ruffled his messy hair.
"I shouldn't have expected anything less from this family, though." She smiled.
Albus laughed and picked up the mug. The tea was perfect. His mother's tea was always perfect. He'd always thought there was something special about a perfect cup of tea. He could sit for what seemed like an age sipping it whilst not really doing, nor thinking about, anything else. He just allowed his mind to wander as he sipped the hot liquid.
If he'd been purposefully looking he may have noticed sooner, but it was by mere coincidence that his eyes fell on the doormat.
'WELCOME' it sad in faded black letters. It had been there for as long as Albus could remember, yet he'd never really paid any attention to it before. Now, though, he was drawn to it.
It took him a while to realise why, but then it clicked. Next to the doormat lay two brown boots. Two brown boots that were covered in dried, light brown mud. They belonged to James, and it wasn't the first time he'd seen them today.
Albus's heart began to beat slightly quicker.
The feeling of dread returned.
It was just a dream, he told himself again.
But dreams and reality were supposed to be separate.
It was just a dream, he insisted again.
But those shoes were real.
What if it was more than a dream?
He shook his head, trying to ignore the voice.
He stood up from the kitchen table and made to head back to the normality of his family's life, but as he turned around he found himself face-to-face, yet again, with James.
His heart froze.
It was a reaction that the presence of his brother shouldn't have on him.
It was the same reaction that he'd had to seeing Lord Voldemort's face.
He wanted to run.
He knew he was in danger.