Title: When dreams meet realty, things can get a little messy
Character: Albus Severus Potter
House: Hufflepuff
Name: FrozenShadow52/Kayla
XXX
He was sounded by fireflies, a million pinpricks of dancing light swirling in the air around him. It was a beautiful sight, mesmerizing even, but he barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on a single figure several yards away, back facing him as she gazed into the rising moon. As she turned her head, he caught a glimpse of a willowy arm brushing wisps of silver-blonde hair from glowing crimson eyes. She saw him and smiled, his name forming on her lips.
"Albus . . ."
"Albus."
"Albus!"
"Al, wake up, we're gonna be late!"
Albus Severus Potter, youngest son and middle child of the famous Harry and Ginny, opened his eyes, not altogether surprised to find his brother, James Sirius, looming over him, eyes shining with their usual impish glee.
"Go away," Albus groaned, tossing a pillow. "Let me sleep." Mornings and Al had never gotten along.
"Nope," James laughed, easily dodging to halfhearted assault. "Mum wants us to have a proper breakfast before we leave. Hurry up, or me and Lily won't leave you any bacon."
"Lily and I," Al corrected, blindly grouping for something else to throw at his sibling, but the older boy made a hasty retreat, laughing all the while. Groaning again, Al sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. That dream again, the same one he'd been having every night for almost a whole year: the red-eyed girl in a field of fireflies. He wished he knew what it meant.
While strange dreams weren't an uncommon occurrence for the boy (he'd been experiencing them all his life) never had one lasted so long, nor were they ever so clear. And that girl, he could swear he'd seen her before, like a name just on the tip of your tough. It was incredible frustrating.
Getting on with his morning routine, he tried to push it from his mind and focus on other, more important things. Like how, in a few hours, he'd be on his way to Hogwarts for the first time. It was an exciting—if not somewhat scary—thought, and he couldn't wait to properly begin his magical education.
After finally finding a clean pair of socks, Al hurried to the kitchen, hoping James had left him at least a few strips of bacon. He wasn't disappointed. Spread across the Potter table was a glorious array of pancakes, sausages, eggs, orange juice, and yes, bacon.
"Eat up," his mum said by way of greeting. "You've got a long day ahead of you."
Al didn't need to be told twice, and immediately started tucking in. Though he was a bit small for his age, Al could really put it away when he wanted to. So could James and Lily, only Lily wasn't eating now, she was glaring glumly at her plate.
"What's wrong, Lils?"
"I wanna go too!" she was on the verge of tears. Al could sympathize; he had seethed with jealousy last year when James got to go, and Lily was going to have to wait two years instead of one.
"Don't worry," he reassured. "I'll write you every week."
This cheered her up some, long enough for Harry and Ginny to herd their kids into the car without much incident.
"Hey, Dad—" James started to ask.
"No."
"You don't even know what I want!"
"Yeah, I do James, and the answer is still no."
Al hid his smirk as his brother proceeded to pout in his seat. Everyone knew what he wanted: The Marauders' Map. The ultimate prankster's tool. James had been converting the item since he was five; and Albus, too, couldn't wait to get his hands on it, though for different reasons.
A sly look came into James's eyes, one that always meant trouble. "But Dad, what if Al's put in a different house? How'll I visit him without the map?"
Ginny shot her oldest a look. "James. . ."she said warningly, but he pretended not to notice or hear.
"Like, say he gets put in Slytherin—"
"I won't be in Slytherin," Al protested. Him, in Slytherin? The idea was unthinkable. He was a Potter; he was Harry Potter's son. Of course he'd be in Gryffindor. But, there was always a chance . . .
"There's nothing wrong with being in Slytherin," Harry broke in, keeping his brilliant green eyes on the road. It made Al proud, knowing he and his father shared the same eyes. Uncle Ron liked to tease him sometimes by calling him Harry Jr., but Al never minded. His dad was strong, brave, and loyal; Al wanted nothing more than to grow up to be just like him.
James opened his mouth again, but his mother gave him the look, and he wisely decided to change the subject (for now.) They talked of other things, like which classes would be the hardest, friends they were looking forward to seeing, and of course, Quidditch; a discussion that didn't end until they pulled into the King's Cross parking garage.
Lily started crying again, and Al was about to say something comforting when James leaned over and whispered suggestively in his ear. "You know, the Slytherin colors match your eyes."
Anger flared up on Al's cheeks, tinting them a light red. "I won't be in Slytherin!" be declared passionately.
XXX
Platform nine and three-quarters was as busy and bustling as ever; full of parents, children, trolleys, and pets. Al tightened his grip on Artemis's cage, fearing the growing crowds would accidently knock it from his hands. The barn owl was watching the throngs of people with interest, ruffling her feathers and hooting every now and then. Seemingly unbothered by all the noise, Hermes, James's great gray, was fast asleep, head tucked securely under one wing. Truthfully, Al thought the large bird was rather daft, as all he seemed to do was sleep and eat, unlike Artemis, who liked to play games and perform tricks.
Biding their parents one last good bye, James, Albus, and their cousin, Rose Weasley, boarded the Hogwarts express. James spotted his friends from the previous term and took off down the corridor to great them; Rosie following with an exasperated sigh, brushing past as girl going in the opposite direction, nose buried a book. Al lagged behind, still mulling over his father's last words. "You were named for two of headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew." He had never given much thought to either of his namesakes, though he knew how important they both had been. What would they think of him, this skinny little boy who was their legacy? These were deep thought for an eleven year old to have, and he was so lost in them that he didn't notice his kin moving farther and farther away.
"Come on, Al!" James called back. "All the best seats are gonna be taken!"
Al was going to respond, but was cut off by the train giving an almighty lurch, causing him to stumble and knock the book from the passing girl's hands. He quickly regained his footing and apologies, bending down to retrieve to fallen tome—only to stop when he finally got a good look at her. Because this wasn't just a girl, it was the girl; the red-eyed girl from his dreams. She peered out at him from under the hood of an oversized windbreaker, thin face half obscured by stringy, silvery-blonde bangs.
Al reached his hand out, thought to do what, he wasn't sure. Touch her, maybe; confirm this was real, and not an illusion. But the girl uttered a tiny squeal of fear and fled, bolting down the passageway at a surprising speed giving her size.
"Hey," Al tried to call after her, but it was too late. She was gone.
The whole ordeal was over in less than a minute, but it left the Potter boy deeply puzzled. Had that really been the girl he dreamt about, or was it merely a coincidence? And why had she seemed so frightened of him?
With a troubled sigh, he realized he was still holding her book. It was quite old, written in Latin and filled with tiny diagrams. After thinking it over, Al carefully stored it in his pocket, resolving to return it as soon as he could, then went to catch up with the others
XXX
Practically on the other side of the train, the girl sat huddled in an empty compartment, trembling from head to toe. Her cat—a dusty brown thing by the name of Castor—jumped into her lap, trying in vain to comfort his distraught owner. Her heart pounded against her ribcage like a trapped bird, a faint sheen of sweat covered her forehead, and she was finding it difficult to breath. A bitter smile (only it wasn't really a smile) crossed her thin, pale lips. 'Way to over react, Carina?'
Because it's not like that boy had tried to hurt her. But the very thought of being touched by a man, even a miniature one, made her physically ill. The only male allowed to do that was Castor, and that really didn't count.
It took a few minutes, but eventually she calmed enough to focus on the other issue nagging at her: the Lights.
She called them the Lights, but that's not what they really were. It was more like a brightly colored mist that envelop each person, invisible to the naked eye. But for some reason, ever since she was a little girl, Carina could see it. Everybody's Lights were different, and that boy's was the strangest she'd ever seen.
Gold. Not just bright yellow, but pure gold, tipped with scarlet and the faintest hints of black. It was beautiful, the way it swirled around him, like fire that never burns out. Carina struggled to hold the image in her mind's eye, but the boy's face kept appearing instead.
Shuddering with disgust, she gave up. He was still a boy, still going to grow into a revolting man, just like they all did. Who cared if he had the most wonderful Lights she's ever seen?
"You do," said the tiny, coolly logical voice in the back of her head; a voice that had a nasty habit of pointing out the obvious truths she didn't want to face.
Carina spent the rest of the journey gazing out the window, wishing she could forget. Forget the Lights. Forget the boy. Forget those bottle green eyes . . .
Simple forget everything and fly away into that endless blue sky.
XXX
"Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!"
As with nearly all things in Hogwarts, Rubeus Hagrid seemed untouched by the hands of time, save for a few graying hairs peppered throughout his massive unruly beard. He beamed at the youngster gathering on the platform, picking a few familiar faces out of the bunch. Little Fred Weasley, so excited he's tripping over his own feet; Al and Rosie, both of whom sent him huge smiles and waved. He returned the favor, ushering the two into one of the boats with a bespectacled boy, and a chubby girl with pigtails.
The boats started gliding over the surface of the water, and the children let out a collective gasp of delight when the castle came into view, Albus among them. It was just as magnificent as everyone said, maybe even more so.
They were met in the Entrance Hall by a slightly overweight, middle-aged witch sporting a frizzy mop of brunette curls. Her expression was curiously neutral, but she spoke kindly enough.
"Thank you, Hagrid," she dismissed the half-giant, then turned her full attention to the waiting first years. "I am Professor Krause, the Deputy Headmistress. Through these doors is the Great Hall, where the sorting ceremony will take place. There are four houses: Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. While you're here, you can win—or lose—point for your house biased on your conduct. The house with the most points at the end of the year wins the cup. Understood? Good, they're ready for us now. Follow me, please. Single file, and don't shove."
The minute the doors opened, the babble of a thousand voices bombarded their ears. Everybody was talking, laughing, and shouting. Al held his head up high, hoping to project an air of confidence, ignoring the looks and whispers shot his way. Instead, he fixed his eyes on the stool at the very front of the room. The hat perched on it was tatty and dirty, patched and frayed in several places, but when it started to sing, everyone stopped what they were doing and listened.
It sang of the four founders, their friendship and fallout; of the traits each valued above all others; and finished off by promising to place everyone exactly where they belonged. Professor Krause waited for the applause to die down before unrolling a thick sheet of parchment, and reading off the first name.
"Adams, Missy."
She was sorted into Hufflepuff, followed by two Ravenclaws and a Slytherin, the respective tables' cheering each time. It went on this way, until the name "Malfoy, Scorpius" echoed through the cavernous space. An uneasy silence fell over the assembly. Al felt a bit sorry for the boy seating himself on the stool, eyes trained on his shiny black shoes. The name Malfoy had effectively lost all favor after the Second War, and more than a few of the older students were shooting nasty looks at the poor kid.
"SLYTHERIN!" the hat declared after nearly five whole minutes of anticipation. To his credit, Scorpius didn't so much as bat an eye, but simply strode over to the table on the far left and found a seat among his new housemates. There was a few, awkward polite claps, but all in all, everyone was very grateful when Krause decided to move on.
"Phillips, Carina."
Al had to swallow a gasp. That girl from the train (and possible his dreams) reluctantly step forward, lacking the windbreaker, but still somehow managing to partly hide her face behind a curtain of hair. Gingerly—as if it would suddenly rear up and attack her—she eased onto the stool, and flinched when the hat slipped over her head and covered her eyes. Even at a distance, Al could see her fidgeting nervously.
Subconsciously, Al lend in slightly, curious as to where the girl ('Carina,' he corrected himself) would end up. A part of him secretly hoped it'd be Gryffindor, though he couldn't say exactly why. Nor could he explain the strange mixture of relief and disappointment that swept through him when she was ultimately sorted into Ravenclaw. But why should he even care in the first place? It's not like he knows her, even if he has been dreaming about her every night since he turned ten. It probably wasn't the same girl anyway—
Rose poked him in the ribs. "Ow," he hissed. "What'd ya do that for?"
"It's your turn," she hissed right back. "Get up there; everyone's waiting!"
With ears as red as Weasley hair, Al scurried to Krause's side, mumbling apologies under his breath. The last thing he saw before the hat's brim obscured his vision was James snickering, that git. . .
Quite the troublemaker, isn't he?
'Huh?' Al resisted the urge to turn around, knowing the voice was only in his head.
Your brother; no doubt about where he belongs, you on the other hand. . .
'What?' Al asked anxiously as the hat trailed off. What if he didn't belong anywhere? God, that'd be even worse than getting put in Slytherin.
The hat chuckled. No need worry, lad. I've been doing this for over a thousand years, and I have yet to meet anyone who couldn't be sorted. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are out, so that only leave two choices. Not Slytherin, eh? Well, Mr. Potter, you truly are your father's son. Better be: "GRYFFINDORE!"
The last word was shouted for all to hear. Al made a beeline for the table on the far right, grinning from ear to ear, as his brother and cousins congratulated him enthusiastically. Oh yes, the school year was off to a grand start.