"Accidental magic," Severus said on reaching home. We stepped through Diagon Alley to the Headmaster's Floo, the only one with access to the outside, turned around and stepped back again through it to our rooms. "Congratulations, Albus, you're a wizard."
"Funny." I was still sulking about my miserable morning, and not at all ready to be joked with.
"We should be fine if you can manage to control your temper." He dropped me unceremoniously down onto our couch, and my packages much more gently on the floor. "If you recall, I am not of the camp that believes accidental magic causes temper tantrums, I expect you to behave."
I kept quiet. I recalled nothing of the sort, but have heard of this theory over the summer. One of his little nieces had started her own bouts of accidental magic, somewhat late at seven, and she was a naughty little brat. Her mother kept excusing her behaviour as caused by the unstable magic and not the other way around.
Irritable Snape or not, it was a relief to be back home. The rooms might have started off on the austere side, but after months of rubbing shoulders with me he had given up on expecting everything to be in its place. Cozy blankets now hung over the armrests, ready to be tucked around sleepy bodies. A large magical window broke the gloom, bringing in mellow sunlight during the day and the fire brought welcome warmth. The coffee table presently held a mixture of his correspondence, an empty plate and the puzzle that I had started the night before.
"Kicking and biting?" Snape asked, moving our paraphernalia to the side. He set an inkpot and quill on the low coffee table and Accio'd parchment from his office. "I thought you were done with that."
"I had a bad day." I eyed the gathered writing equipment with growing disgust. Beware of the written word, indeed. Snape called it Writing Exercises.
"Do you want to discuss it?"
"No." Minerva had told him all, I had nothing more to say. I might tell him about the prophecy but still needed to mull it over myself. The 'two souls' part was worrisome.
He sighed and started removing his robe. I didn't mind mine, for me robes were but a different kind of dress, but in our quarters he liked to relax without extraneous outerwear. Under it he wore simple black trousers and button-up shirt. He sent the robe with a flick of his wand to his bedroom before kneeling down to divest me of my boots, not waiting for me to do it myself.
"A letter of apology to both Harry and our new Defence of the Dark Arts Assistant, if you please," he said, nodding to the table.
I gnashed my teeth and clenched my fists. "Fine."
We've been through this before, it was either I apologise or he would do it for me, in which case there would be no treats for a month. A whole month! He could not physically make me write anything without resorting to a forbidden curse, but leaving no candy in my reach was as easy as chopping a slug. There was no contest.
"Lose the mood," Snape suggested. "You've brought this on yourself. My day hasn't been one of pleasure either," he continued mildly as if discussing the weather, straightening up to tower over me. "Starting with you nearly killing yourself in the Floo system." Another flick of his wand and my boots followed the direction of his robe. I very wisely kept quiet. A shouting Snape was angry, a mild Snape was furious and needed careful handling. "Do you want to tell me what that was about? I don't for one moment believe that you would have jeopardized our lives just for ice cream."
"No."
I've thought of this. I had no idea how to explain away my knowledge of the diary without exposing myself. If only I had Dumbledore's memories I could maybe patch up some halfway believable excuse, but nowhere have I been so lucky yet. I could not even give Minerva concrete evidence on Lockhart and now we were stuck with that idiot.
Severus clicked his tongue. "I am very sure you have enough adult thought left in that head of yours to have been able to choose a different option had you wanted to." He paused, then quietly pushed a knife into my sorry little heart: "Not only am I primarily responsible for your safety, but I do care for you. Spend some thought on how I would have felt had I lost you there."
Oh, that was harsh.
"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"No," I repeated to the floor, my throat tight. I've already apologised. I was willing to apologise a hundred times more, but feared I might cry if I said another word.
"Then you are still grounded for the rest of the week. Get to it, please." He narrowed his eyes in warning. "And if I find that I have any green hair or, Merlin forbid, warts on my nose, then I will add to it."
I obediently slid down to the carpet, and kneeling next to the low table picked up the quill. He only waited long enough to see me active before he retreated to his office.
By the second letter it sunk in. I had made Minerva's hair green. Oh my God, if I practiced from now, I might be able to do wandless magic. I didn't have to wait until I was eleven, did I!
Excited to get a start on it, I nearly rushed the apology before I remembered legibility was something he insisted on or I would have to do it over. Taking deep, calming breaths, I gritted my teeth and completed it with my best penmanship. Which still tended to look like a child's, all large loopy letters to accomodate my untrained little muscles.
Sad to say, I had done enough of these letters this last year that some people might have a collection by now, so I knew the format he expected by heart. Admit to having done wrong, state the exact offense. Sincere apologies, not I am only saying sorry because my dad made me. Promise to refrain from repeating the offense.
It was hard to write this to Harry as I had visions of him and Ron laughing over it. Tucking it into an envelope, I wrote on the outside: "To Harry Potter, The Burrow, Read in Private or DIE!"
It was nearly impossible to write an apology to Lockhart without blaming him for the whole biting incident. Minerva was right, he hadn't had time to cast a spell, it could have ended up being a plain Finite. I might have jumped to conclusions there. According to Minerva he might not have jumped in turn to accusing me of being a kidnapper either, had I behaved less like a 'little cretin'. I doubted it.
I did a third, unasked for letter to Severus. I made it as childish as I could manage, by holding the quill in my non-dominant hand and increasing the size of the wobbly letters. I liked to think of this as my own personal Comic Sans font. Daddy, I'm very very very very very very sorry. Xoxox. To finish it off, I drew inky hearts all over every empty space left on the page and a flower border. I rued my locked up wand, for I would have liked to have coloured it all in. I started this silliness long ago after realising that he never insisted on an apology for himself. When I found out that he had kept them in his bedside drawer I continued.
Done with my tasks, I sucked my inky fingertips, and glared at the stack of Lockhart's books that Harry had given me. They did not disappear. I glared harder. When after a full minute all that happened was myself getting a headache, I pulled the topmost one to me.
Gadding with Ghouls. On the colourful cover, Lockhart was smiling brilliantly, mugging and waving at me. Asshole. The winking was the last straw. I couldn't stand it. Picking up the quill again, I did what every child had done before me the world over. While he did his best to dodge, I drew a mustache and devil horns on his head, and a pitchfork in his hand.
Snape was busy, and I didn't want to see his disappointed face right at that moment, so I left him alone and scooted back to the couch to entertain myself. Perhaps I could expose Lockhart if I knew exactly what he did? He might have been able to fool the wizarding world but he won't fool me. I gritted my teeth. This was going to be awful. Groaning, I opened the book.
It was fascinating.
If you skipped the self-love, the whole chapter on his accomplishments, and ignored the fact that he hadn't actually been the one capturing the ghouls, then it was quite a thrilling story. Possibly the best I have read since I came.
Even though it was known that I read advanced for my years, most gifts I received still tended to be for preschoolers. I've received quite a few Tales of Beedle the Bard type of stuff from Severus's family—which I read because Magic was amazing and the pictures moved, but the plots were ultimately simplistic, catering for the younger crowd.
Initially I had hopes of starting my studies early, but unless you can get someone to read it out loud to you there's little you can do about the age restrictions on the magical books. According to Percy just touching the wrong book can be unsafe for anyone under eleven. He told me stories of kids who died horrible deaths, prematurely trying out spells they've got an older sibling to read. Instead of making a regulating body, the lazy wizards just restricted all, and kids my age were relegated to learning silly things such as colouring spells and how to magically tie our shoelaces. You would think those easy but I have still not managed the latter.
When Snape came to see how I was getting on with my assignments, I was nose deep into Lockhart's book and highly invested.
"I take it that you are done with your work?" he spoke beside me, making me jump three feet in the air and clutch the book with a shout to my chest. He frowned in concern. "What are you reading?"
"Lockhart is gadding with ghouls. He's just caught one with a tea-strainer."
"Should you be reading it if you find it scary?" he asked. By now he did not even find it strange when I reacted like a child. "Perhaps something more age appropriate will be better." Heck, he more often than I forgot my real age. Snape reached down and sorted through the stack. "Here. One Hundred and One Practical Uses for Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Hm. Seems to be more your style."
"Funny, Severus. I am going to be five next week. Or a hundred and thirteen. Show me something that's not age appropriate." Irritated with his silliness, I jumped up and plucked the book out of his hands. "If it doesn't say chewing, then I doubt he knows anything. Leave my books alone, you have your own."
"Do we need to talk about attitude?" he asked mildly, releasing it.
Fuck. "No."
It was in my best interest to excuse myself to the privacy of my bedroom. Away from mildly furious wizards who might add more days to an already overlong, mostly unfair punishment.
They had done some adjustments to the rooms. Minerva had brought in architects, who enlarged our living area, added some windows that weirdly looked out on the lake and not earthworms and rock, and we now had a hallway with doors separating our bedrooms. They even added another bathroom just for me.
It took me four trips to take all the books to my bedroom, where I hurriedly dumped the too heavy tomes on my bedside cabinet. One tumbled down to the floor, half sliding in under the bed, and I accidentally kicked it deeper. Nevermind, I will get it later. Normally I would treat a book with more respect, but even though I wanted to read these—for research purposes!—they still belonged to that idiot.
While I was doing that, Severus scanned my work.
"Apology accepted, Albus," he said, unfairly taking the wind from my anger. He folded my letter up and put it in his breast pocket. "Re-write the envelope, Snapes do not make death threats."
Outside the sun was shining on a new day. Fishing would have been nice. Or even just relaxing with a book under a willow. Neither would happen this week. Being grounded was awful.
It was only the third time I had been grounded. For all that Snape was a moody bastard, in the end as a Dad he was more of a talker than a punisher. Unless he felt I had put my life in danger. The second time, I was embarrassed to say, I had been trying out his stock of Blishen's Firewhisky—pretending I was of age. For some reason I thought you would breathe actual fire, and I kept drinking to see it happen for much longer than I should have. It got me a trip to the infirmary, magical alcohol poisoning instead of magical dragon abilities, a horrible scolding from Minerva, and an overly long lecture by Snape, followed with a whole month of being grounded.
His idea of grounding consisted of early bedtimes and staying where he could see me. Thus I was forced to tag along wherever Snape needed to go.
A portrait sniggered as we walked past, Snape ahead and me stomping my feet, dragging behind.
"In trouble again, little Albus?" the young girl asked, leaving her flower picking to giggle inanely at me. "You look like the hippogriff ate your chickens."
I ignored her. At first I had tried to make friends with the portraits, especially when I was hiding away for the day and needed some entertainment, but they were all snitches. Like everyone else I quickly learned not to pay them any mind. Except for the former headmasters who had a little bit more magic imbued in them, the ones in the hallways tend to be stuck on the same thoughts day by day, but were quick enough to tell an irate Potions Master where to find his delinquent son.
I yawned and stumbled in his wake. I might have been sent to bed at seven but that didn't mean I actually slept.
We were on our way to the teacher's lounge. Life now consisted of meetings and schedules and revisions of class notes. Magic ever evolving, it didn't do to be teaching old information. I was glad to be absolved of it all. Since the other teaching staff will attend, either Poppy or Minerva will play the role of Dumbledore today for an hour or just to show face. As Snape's son I had no input either, and expected to be bored out of my mind, so I was lugging 'Gadding with Ghouls' with me to the torture chamber, hoping there would be cake.
There was cake. There was also a very full staffroom. All the usual suspects were there and we were greeted with warm smiles as I called most of them my friends by now. I felt it would be good points in Severus's favour if his son was not a total brat, so I had made an effort to be polite to the teachers from the start. Well most of them. I've been very successful in evading Alastor Moody, Irma Pince and Sybill Trelawney. And now him.
Between the mass of old and new faces—the assistants had finally arrived—Lockhart stood out. A gleaming violet peacock looking very jaunty, hands stuck on his hips, hat placed just so at a perfect angle on his golden curls. "There he is! Our own little lovable rascal!"
He pushed through the gathered crowd. Before either of us could stop him he plucked me out from where I had taken shelter behind Snape, and held me aloft Lion King style.
"Oh, my! Is that my Gadding with Ghouls in your arms? Why yes dear boy, I will certainly sign it for you," he exclaimed, projecting his voice expertly through the room. "Oh, aren't you adorable today. All decently dressed and clean! Well except for those inky hands, what have you been doing with them, love? I hope you've not been spending every hour writing to me? I have received your precious apology, dear heart, and came bearing a gift!" With that the madman stuck me on his hip and clicked his fingers.
A shiny gold package, with the most ostentatious ribbons I had ever seen, rose behind the crowd and floated over their heads toward us. Gift or no gift I was being manhandled by this stranger, and I twisted around to search out Snape in a desperate plea for aid. Help!
"Unhand my son, Gilderoy," Snape said gamely and took me back. In that instant I forgave him everything and clutched myself like a Grindylow to his neck, vowing to lose my mood. He turned to Dumbledore. "Headmaster, what is this? I thought we had a meeting."
"We've delayed it, dear boy," Fake Dumbledore twinkled. "Assistant Professor Lockhart brought cake from a wonderful baker he had discovered yesterday, and we will be having a little Get To Know Each Other Party instead." He pointed happily to a festive banner floating over his head that said exactly that.
"There will be games!" Lockhart yodelled.
"Since I know everyone here, you will excuse us. Albus needs his nap," Severus lied without hesitation, and I loved him for it.
We had no choice. Snape folded under the combined pressure of Minerva—no more green hair—and Poppy/Dumbledore, negating my whispered offer to throw a tantrum. "Thank you, Albus. I've been through your tantrums, I would rather have a party," he told me under his breath.
We found ourselves cornered, stuck in a chair opposite Lockhart, our little group the center of attention. I opted for the safety of Snape's lap, and he in turn held me like a shield to his chest.
"You must be so excited to see what I brought you!" Lockhart exclaimed with unnecessary dramatics. God the man was the weirdest I'd met yet. "But before you open it, I would make a small request that you refrain from calling the newspapers. There will be no need, since I have already sent them all a well thought out article on our budding little friendship, and the wonderful gift I bestowed you in answer to your quaint little apology."
Severus assured him we had no plans on telling anyone anything and gave my leg a light, warning pinch when I opened my mouth to say it even more succinct. I bit my tongue instead.
The package was as tall and wide as myself. For the life of me I could not imagine what the man had brought me. A new wardrobe? I tucked my hands behind my back and refused to touch it. It could not be anything good. "I don't want it."
"Albus," Snape started in warning. "Take the gift, and say thank you," he said, continuing to order me in a low tone, the last meant just for my ears. "Let's get this done."
"No."
"Albus—" Snape repeated, but was cut off by my new nemesis.
"It is as I had feared," Gilderoy proclaimed theatrically, all he needed was to put the back of a hand to his brow to finish the picture off. "The dear boy is struck shy by my magnificent presence. Let him be, Severus, I know how to deal with my little fans."
Witches and wizards kept their wands in their sleeves, slipping them out when needed with an imperceptible flick or twist of their wrist. Gilderoy Lockhart's wand came out with a loud fanfare of trumpets, and multicoloured streamers snaking into the air. I was not the only one whose jaw dropped. Snape's arms tightened reflexively around me and I clutched at his sleeves. Opposite us the wizard twirled his wand at the package. It floated over and started unwrapping itself in a slow dance.
It was lewd. There was music. There was no stopping it.
"Dad…" I whimpered.
"I see it."
Someone clapped, but I could not tear my eyes away from the spectacle in front of me to see who was so idiotic. Gilderoy twirled his wand another time, the room darkened, and a bright pink spotlight centered on the show. The gift twisted this way and that, never quite revealing itself. We sat awestruck as wrapping paper stripped off in large, showy motions, while the ribbons covered it up again in a coy tease. Finally—finally!—after what felt like an eternity, the last golden strip floated away and it all came to an expectant stop.
"Tadaa!" Lockhart sang. "Batteries included but not necessary!"
I stared in horror at the gift revealed. In a tall, rectangular box, behind a transparent panel stood a boyish doll nearly as large as myself. It was dressed in faded denim overalls over a candy-striped jumper. His fiery red hair stood straight out from its head, his eyes two bright, electric blue orbs, dominating in its round, chubby cheeked, plastic face. A creepy half moon smile… I shuddered.
Gilderoy Lockhart had given me Chucky.