nineteen years later

[Deleted]

september 1, 2017
the hogwarts express

Albus Severus Potter had just boarded the train, his father’s words ringing in his ears. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew. Even louder than his father’s words, though, were the words that Albus wished he had said, but didn’t. What if I don’t want to be brave? He was just eleven, for Merlin’s sake! He didn’t need to be off searching in forbidden corridors and saving the wizarding world. His father had only done those things because he had felt like he needed to – if he had just gone and told one of his professors what was happening, maybe things would have been different, and he wouldn’t have had to defy death so many times! Albus was fuming silently as he slid his way into an empty compartment, shutting the door with a resounding thud behind him. He didn’t want to be bothered right now – he just wanted to straighten out his things and mentally prepare himself for the gauntlet that was going to be his first year of school. Al wished, for just a moment, that he had asked James more about what Hogwarts was like, instead of just snapping at his brother when he tried to talk about school. Albus shook his head a little, placing his owl’s cage on the seat opposite him so that no one would try to sit with him. Remy was a pretty nice owl, Albus thought as he put his cloak beside the cage so that it wouldn’t wobble when the train started. As if on cue, the train let out an almighty whistle, and jerked into motion. Albus was relieved that he had chosen a compartment that didn’t face the platform. His mother had always told him that if he couldn’t say anything nice, he oughtn’t say anything at all, and Al certainly wouldn’t have anything nice to call out to his father while he was leaving, not after the burden that the man had rested squarely on his shoulders, while trying to comfort him.

Albus settled back down, glad that the train was in motion – if he wasn’t mistaken, then everyone would have found their seats by now, which meant that he was going to be alone for the duration of the trip. Albus considered finding one of his textbooks to study – then people definitely wouldn’t bother him – but when he opened his trunk, the first thing he saw wasn’t a textbook, but a leather-bound journal. Some of his anger softened at the sight. His father had been insistent that Albus would need something to record all of his appointments in, and while Al could have been even angrier that his father expected him to have a full social calendar, it felt more like a vote of confidence than anything. Even if he was in Slytherin, he would have friends. Albus grabbed the book on a whim, fishing out a quill and a pot of ink while he was at it. He could record his departure time from the train and his arrival time at Hogwarts, and maybe seeing the weeks stretched ahead of him would inspire him to study for real, instead of just to put up a front so he wouldn’t be bothered.

When Al opened the notebook, though, he was surprised to see it didn’t have a calendar or a weekly agenda. It was just blank pages that he was expected to organize himself. He could do that, Albus decided, though the slight jostling of the train was going to make it rather difficult to make straight lines to divide the page with. When he put the quill to paper, though, Albus didn’t find himself drawing his intended lines. Instead, words blossomed out of the end of the quill – everything that he had been feeling since his father had reminded him about the men he was named for, and his twisted emotions when it came to Slytherin and his family and everything. Albus couldn’t guess how long he wrote for, but when he was done, his neat, angular writing filled up the first six pages of the journal. Remy hooted morosely at him, apparently upset that he had been left alone in a compartment with a human who wouldn’t even pay attention to him. Since Albus was done with his task, he didn’t feel all that bad about giving his owl a little attention, pushing an owl biscuit between the bars and then tapping Remy’s beak playfully. Owls, Albus decided, were much better than people.

The thing about emotions was that, even though they were all on paper, they still exhausted Albus. He glanced over at the cloak that was by Remy’s cage, deciding that he’d put it on, just to combat some of the chill. And, since he had the space, why not put his feet up? Albus switched out the cloak and the journal, so that there would still be something to balance the cage if they reached some turbulence. His feet were propped up on the seat beside him, and Albus relaxed, leaning against the far wall of the compartment. He adjusted the cloak so that it sat loosely around his shoulders, covering him from any autumn breeze that decided to creep in a little early. Albus glanced over at Remy, who was still happily nibbling his owl biscuit, and then returned to stare at the wall. The motion of the train, which Albus had thought of as jostling at the beginning of the journey, seemed to be more soothing now, like he was a child being rocked to sleep. Albus’s eyes slid closed, and his chin rested against his chest. Albus wasn’t one for naps, so he told himself he was just resting his eyes – but that wasn’t the truth. Albus was safe inside his compartment, with his owl for companionship and his thoughts more organized now than they had been in a long, long time. As others chattered about school or watched the rolling English countryside out of their windows, Albus slept a dreamless sleep.

All was well.