Chapter 1: The Adventure Begins Anew

We rode on the winds of the rising storm,we ran to the sounds of the thunder.We danced among the lightning bolts,and tore the world asunder.

Robert Jordan, The Wheel of Time

Albus Potter's trepidation about whether he would be sorted into Gryffindor or Slytherin House gave way to rising excitement and fluttering nerves almost as soon as the Hogwarts Express pulled out of the station.

He followed Rose Weasley along the carriage and into one of the few compartments not fit to burst with excited students returning to school for another year. James had disappeared into this one just a moment ago, and there were two people in there already to greet him.

'Hey, James,' the boy seated next to the window said as they entered. 'You have a good summer?'

'Pretty good,' James replied, slumping down against the seat. 'Saw a few Quidditch games - the Cannons are choking, by the way, as we all knew they would.”

“They're not out yet!” the boy exclaimed.

“They will be, Ethan, they will be,” James sounded very wise. “How you doing, Marc?”

The other boy in the compartment looked up from a heavy book that lay open on his lap. Standing in the doorway with Rose, Albus could see a whole page of complex ruins that gave him a headache just to look at. Was his first year going to be as hard as that? The books he'd gotten from Diagon Alley were nowhere near as thick as that one.

“James Potter,” the boy said, with a small nod. “They let you back in for another year?”

“Wild hippogriffs couldn't keep me away.”

Marc looked from James and then over to Albus. “And judging from the hair you could only be James's young brother, Albus Potter? You look a lot more like your father than he does.”

“James has never learned the subtle art of introduction,” the boy who had defended the Chudley Cannons said. “I'm Ethan Trevaine. Nice to meet you, Al, and your friend...”

“Rose Weasley,” Rose beamed, and together she and Albus entered the compartment and took a seat.

“And Marcus Douglas,” the other boy said, pushing his silver-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose and offering his hand first to Rose and then Albus.

“Oh yeah,” James shrugged. “Al, Rose, these are my friends Ethan and Marc.”

“Marcus.”

“Marcus,” James emphasized the full name. “He's our walking library and possibly the smartest second year student Hogwarts has ever seen. We use his knowledge for evil, as you'll see, Al.”

“Marc's the brains and I'm the brawn of the operation,” Ethan nodded. “James is the comic relief, the nerdy sidekick to our otherwise impressive act... what else do you do for this friendship, Potter?”

Albus laughed along with the others as James huffed and scowled. “I'm the face of the group, the handsome Quidditch player.”

“You're not on the team yet,” Ethan said.

“A less than significant detail, my unambitious friend. The seeker position is open this year, and I've a shiny new Windburn my dad picked up over the holidays.”

“I've got one too,” Albus piped in. “Maybe I'll try out and be seeker.”

Marcus smiled. “First you've got to be sorted into Gryffindor to be on the house team, Albus.”

“I will be,” Albus said, awesomely relieved at what his dad had told him back on the platform. He could choose Gryffindor.

“We've been through this already,” James laughed. “You've got the small, beady eyes of a Slytherin.”

“I do not!”

“Do too - you'll fit right in down there under the lake with the rest of the snakes.”

Albus couldn't be budged. “You'll see, James. I'll be a Gryffindor. Rose, too.”

“That's the spirit.” Marcus smiled. “But the Sorting Hat will decide.”

The marvellous sooty-grey air around London faded away as the train left the city and began the long trek north to Hogsmeade Station, winding up and through the English countryside.

Albus was content to discuss Quidditch with James and his friends, yet Rose was looking a little bored and soon disappeared behind a Witch Weekly magazine, leaving the boys to their own ends.

A few hours into the trip the train sped out from underneath the canopy of heavy grey clouds in the south and the sun streamed in through the compartment window quite warmly.

“I wonder who'll be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year?” Ethan said. “Professor Cardelyon said she wasn't coming back, didn't she?”

James nodded. “I heard some Auror from the Ministry was stepping in. Dad made sure we had someone who knew what they were talking about.”

“Who better than an Auror?” Marcus asked rhetorically. “Do you think we'll be learning offensive magic this year? Curses and hexes?”

“I already know a lot of that already,” James said.

“I do too,” Albus cut in. “Dad's been teaching us that stuff for years.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Harry Potter. Your dad is so cool.”

“He didn't like that he had to give up one of his Aurors to be the Defence teacher,” James said, shaking his head. “Did he, Al?”

Albus agreed with his brother, but said nothing. His dad hadn't been happy at all when Headmistress McGonagall had flooed over during the summer to inform him that the position was open again - for the third year in a row, apparently. James and Albus had been listening on the stairs, knowing they shouldn't have been, and they nearly didn't recognise the tone in their dad's voice.

He had been angry when his voice was never angry. Not like that, at least, not cold and flat. Albus knew his dad had been trying to hide something, something that scared him. Both he and James had no idea what that could be - their dad was Harry Potter, after all, and scared of nothing. The bad wizards were scared of him.

“What do they teach first-years in Defence?” Rose asked, coming out from behind her magazine now that the topic of conversation had finally steered away from Quidditch.

“Nothing really exciting,” Ethan said with a shrug. “Just a lot of book work, not a lot of wand work.”

James nodded. “Yeah, the theory's okay, but not much magic.”

“Don't let these two discourage you,” Marcus said. He had been chopping and changing the book on his lap all trip, reading page after page whilst still keeping up with the conversation. He currently had his second year DADA text open, and spun the book toward Albus and Rose. “The theory is the best part. Knowing why to defend yourself, and against what. Not just blasting away with nasty hexes.”

“What's that?” Rose asked, pointing at the creature on display in Marcus's book.

The Gryffindor boy smiled. “That's a lethifold. Miss Weasley. A living shroud half an inch thick. A black cloak that slinks along the ground and smothers sleeping humans. It then proceeds to digest its prey alive, leaving not a trace.”

Albus struggled to suppress a shiver that he hoped none of the others noticed. He gazed at the moving picture of the silent black cloak, slinking along a sandy beach in the starlight. He thought the scariest thing about the creature was the fact that it had no eyes. How could it see or sense its prey? He didn't want to know.

“And on that happy note,” James said, sensing his brother's discomfort. “Do you think it's too early or could we get away with a few charms?” He dug into his pocket and drew his heavy oak wand. “Rictusempra!”

Albus exploded in a fit of giggles as the tickling charm hit him and he forgot all about the lethifold, rolling about on his seat laughing. He slipped off the leather upholstery and onto the floor, tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. He was extremely ticklish! He managed to reach into his own pocket and withdrew his slim holly wand. A wand that looked a lot like his dad's.

“P-pro,” Albus laughed. “Protego!”

He had read ahead in a lot of his school books, and the shield charm was one of the very first spells he had asked his dad about two months ago. He remembered the proud look in his dad's eyes as he had explained and then flourished his own wand and called a magical shield into existence - thick and strong and practically humming with raw strength.

Albus's was no where near perfect. A brief flare of electric-blue light ignited the tip of his wand and disappeared just as quickly. It was enough to break the connection of James's tickling charm, and Albus crawled back into his seat short of breath and still giggling.

“That's the only charm James has under his belt, Al,” Ethan said. He had drawn his own wand and was carefully levitating a small silver sickle above his head. It must have been good to use magic again after a two month break. “You learn anything stronger than a tickling charm and you'll be able to take your older brother in a duel.”

Albus's eyes lit up and a fierce grin slipped across his face.

“Don't get any ideas,” James said. “He's bluffing. I know several nastier hexes, and if worst comes to worst I can still wrestle you to the ground, pipsqueak.”

“That was a pretty good effort, Albus, at the shield charm” Marcus said. A speculative frown creased his brow.

“Dad taught me how it works months ago.” Albus shrugged, a little self-consciously. “Never tried it before, and it didn't really work that well... it should've knocked the tickling charm back at James.” Albus twirled his wand like he'd seen his dad do, mouthing the incantation silently. “Plenty of time to practice, I suppose.”

“You'll need it in Slytherin House,” James quipped.

“For it to work at all is an achievement.” Marcus removed his glasses and used his shirt to wipe the lenses clean. “I'd watch out, if I were you, James. Your baby brother may be able to wipe the floor with you one day.”

“Yeah, the same day I find Merlin's lost Book of Lore and use it to grow wings on pigs.”

The rest of the train ride past uneventfully and a lot of people popped into the compartment to say hello to James and his friends, all of them chatting excitedly about the prospect of another year at Hogwarts and how the holidays went. Albus wondered just how many other first-years there were, and how many of them he'd get to know over the next year.

As the sun began to set in the west, Albus and Rose followed suit with James, Ethan, and Marcus and changed in to their Hogwarts robes.

Albus stared with a mounting tension at the red and gold Gryffindor emblems on the other boys' robes, the fierce lion. He saw Rose doing the same. His nerves jangled and whispered thoughts fluttered across his mind... what if the Sorting Hat doesn't let me choose? What if dad was wrong? How can I write home saying I'm a Slytherin? It does matter, it does...

The train pulled into Hogsmeade Station at full dark and the moon hung low in the eastern sky just above the hills as Albus and Rose descended onto the platform that was packed with milling students. Albus shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and Albus heard a familiar voice.

“Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here! All right there, Albus?”

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

Albus had known the groundskeeper of Hogwarts since he had been born. Rubeus Hagrid was his godfather, and a great friend of his dad's. His father had nothing but respect and even love for the half-giant man.

“C'mon, follow me - any more firs'-years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!”

At the head of the group of first-years Albus and Rose followed Hagrid down a steep, narrow path. It was so dark either side that Albus feared stumbling down the crest of the path and falling into the thick trees below. Rose squeezed his hand, whether for her own sake or his he didn't know. The nerves over what was to come were killing him.

“Hogwarts is jus' round this bend here,” Hagrid called over his shoulder.

Albus felt his jaw drop and a rising gasp spread back through the throng of students. The narrow path opened suddenly on to the edge of a great black lake. And perched atop a high mountain on the other side, sparkling in the starry sky and just simply glowing with warmth, was the place where legends were born.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - the vast castle with its many turrets and towers - stood welcoming them against the night sky.

Someone behind Albus whispered, “It's real...” just below hearing. Excited giggles and wide-eyed astonishment burst forth from the group.

“To the boats,” Hagrid called, and led the way to a fleet of little boats sitting in the calm water by the shore. “No more'n four of yer to a boat!”

Albus and Rose clambered into one of the river craft, followed by a boy with blonde hair slicked back over his head and a narrow, pointed chin. Behind that boy a young girl with flushed cheeks and brunette curls.

Scorpius Malfoy, Albus had overhead Uncle Ron back at Kings Cross. And he had no clue who the girl was. They stared at each other for a moment, and in that moment there was something Albus instantly disliked about Scorpius. His eyes were flat and unreadable.

“Everyone in? Good, good - FORWARD!” Hagrid shouted from his own boat at the front of the group.

The fleet moved off all at once, gliding across the glass-smooth lake as silent as the stars overhead. It only took a few moments for the high turrets of the castle to tower over them all completely.

In total silence the dozens of first-year students gazed at the magical castle in varying degrees of disbelief and wonder. Albus thought he could pick the muggleborn kids from the crowd of boats simply by the sheer boggling of their eyes. Although Rose looked pretty astonished, too.

Halfway across the lake and Albus felt a fierce thrumming in his head, like a headache with a heartbeat, and he realised it had been building ever since he had gotten off the Hogwarts Express. He swayed as a bolt of pain lanced through his skull and a sense of great... strength washed over him like a wave. He would have toppled into the lake if not for Rose, who clutched his arm hard.

“It's okay,” she whispered. “I'm nervous, too, but we'll be Gryffindors, Al, just you wait and see.”

Albus shook his head. “No, it's-”

But what exactly was it? Already the pain was fading, and the feeling of awesome power that had gripped him already seemed absurd and imagined. He felt a little embarrassed that his nerves were strong enough to make him almost faint. He caught Scorpius staring at him with that same unreadable expression and gritted his teeth, fighting back his anxiety.

A cliff face loomed up ahead and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy which hid a wide opening. Along a dark tunnel that took them well beneath the castle they reached a kind of underground harbour, and the boats pulled up to a wooden dock that led to a shore of rocks and pebbles.

Albus was reflecting on the journey over the lake as he and Rose followed Hagrid and the others up a passageway in the rock. Gazing at the starlit castle on the magical boats had been awe-inspiring, and for the first time in his young life Albus understood something he had known for years, but never fully respected...

Hundreds of people had fought for this castle in the Battle of Hogwarts nearly twenty years ago now. Both for and against Voldemort, for and against Harry Potter. His dad had been willing to die for this castle, for all of his friends, and that was such a big thing that it made Albus feel very, very small. And gave him a lot to live up to, he thought.

According to some of the histories his dad should have died that horrible day, but he had survived the Killing Curse again, like when he was a baby. No one really understood how or why... but Albus knew it had something to do with his grandmother, Lily Potter, whom his sister was named for. And something to do with branches of magic never before explored, because too many people died trying...

Hagrid's lamp led the way out of the passageway of rock and on to smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked across to and up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

“Didn't lose any of yer, did I? Good!” Hagrid raised his gigantic fist and knocked three times on the heavy door.

The massive doors swung open at once. A short, bald headed wizard with prominent eyes and a large belly stood there smiling jovially.

“The firs'-years, Professor Slughorn,” said Hagrid.

“Thank you, my good man-er, Professor Hagrid, I should say. I'll take them from here.”

Albus's first thought inside the castle was that the Entrance Hall was so big you could get lost in it. Flaming torches lined the walls, giving off heat and light, and a marble staircase facing them all led to the upper floors.

Across the flagged stone floor, Albus could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway on the right - the Great Hall, he knew, and the rest of the school - but Professor Slughorn led them into a small empty chamber off from the main hall. There was a fireplace, and dull tapestries on the wall. A single window looked out on the night but nothing could be seen beyond a few feet. All of the first-years crowded in together, peering around nervously.

“Well, welcome to Hogwarts,” Professor Slughorn said, flourishing his cloak with a small bow. “Soon we shall have the start-of-term banquet, but before you take your seats at the table you must be sorted into your houses!” Slughorn laughed, genuinely pleased. “Your house is your family for your time at Hogwarts. You will study and learn with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and so on, so on...

“The four houses are Slytherin, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Each house has its own grand and noble history and each house has produced magnificent, extraordinary witches and wizards. Your triumphs at Hogwarts will earn you house points, whilst any rule-breaking will unfortunately lose you hard-earned points! The House Cup is awarded at the end of the year, a great honour and resplendent in my office. I'm the head of Slytherin House, by the way, my young fellows.” Slughorn laughed again, tapping his portly belly and stroking his walrus-like moustache.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the school. Smarten yourselves up, straighten those cloaks, and cross your fingers. Good luck to you. I shall return in a few moments.”

Albus stood near to Rose, not wanting to be alone as Slughorn left. Nervous chatter and shuddering breaths enveloped the room as the other first-years straightened their cloaks. Albus attempted to flatten his unruly black hair, yet no amount of combing or brushing had ever managed that. About five minutes later, Slughorn returned.

“Form a line and follow me, my young fellows,” he said, and pushed aside the door of the chamber.

His teeth chattering with nerves, Albus got into line behind Rose and before a girl with sandy hair and eyes wet with tears. He smiled at her reassuringly, but she only squeaked as they walked out of the chamber and back across the hall to the double doors of the Great Hall.

Albus had heard stories, but he could never have imagined a place as wonderfully magical as this. There were thousands and thousands of candles lighting the hall floating above the four long house tables, which were packed with the rest of the students and all of the house ghosts. Golden plates and goblets glittered on the tables and, overhead, the night sky sparkled through the enchanted ceiling. The scent of magic was heavy on the air, like old books and the pine needles of Christmas trees.

It was magnificent.

Albus looked down from the sky as they approached a fifth long table at the top of the hall where the teachers were sitting. Headmistress McGonagall sat in the centre of that table, staring sternly down at the new first-years.

Slughorn had placed a four-legged stool in front of the frightened first-years, and on top of that stool he placed a pointed wizard's hat. The hat was patched and frayed with age.

“The Sorting Hat,” Albus whispered. Over on his left he caught a glimpse of James sitting at the Gryffindor table with Ethan and Marcus. He couldn't wait to join them. Merlin willing, he wouldn't be waiting long.

The Sorting Hat twitched and a rip near the base opened wide like a mouth, and it began to sing:

'Another year gone, and a new one to begin,welcome to Hogwarts, young first-years,come place your head under my brim.I am the Sorting Hat, you see,and there's no smarter hat than me.Across all the years and all the agesI've sat on this here stool,and in the years to come will do so again,until Time itself plays us all for fools.I am the Sorting Hat, you see,and there's no smarter hat than me.The Houses united, is what I've lived to see,the heart of brave Gryffindor,the mind of pure Ravenclaw,

the cunning of wise Slytherin,and young Hufflepuff's loyalty.I am the Sorting Hat, you see,and there's no smarter hat than me.

A year of learning aheadand dusty minds to brush clean.No greater age we live in,no brighter future we see.So don't be afraid, young first-years,just come and trust in me.Place me upon your head and then you'll see,I am the Sorting Hat,and there's no smarter hat than me.

The whole hall erupted into applause and Albus found himself clapping along just as loudly as anyone. He had heard the hat spent all year thinking of a new song to sing before the school. It must have been hard to come up with something original like that year after year.

The thunderous applause died down after several minutes and Professor Slughorn stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

“I shall call your name, and you shall step forward and place the hat on your head,” he said. “Start from the top then, aye - Brookes, Timothy.”

A young pale-faced boy stepped out of line and, trying not to let his nerves show, he ran forward and placed the hat on his head.

“RAVENCLAW!” the hat shouted.

The Ravenclaw table exploded with cheers and the young boy, Timothy Brookes, went and sat down with a look of immense relief.

“Carlisle, Tabby,” Slughorn called.

“GRYFFINDOR!” shouted the hat, and Tabby laughed as she joined her housemates at the table. The house ghost, Nearly-Headless Nick, congratulated her personally.

“Davies, Derrick!” was next and became a Ravenclaw, but then “Goodard, Aerith,” became the first Slytherin of the new year. Albus saw that she was the same curly-haired girl that had been sitting next to Scorpius Malfoy on the boat.

Albus's nerves were turned up to high as Slughorn made his way down the list. There was a burst of people between Goodard and Potter, about twenty, and in all that time he felt like he was going to be sick.

On some heads he noticed that the hat took its time, on most it shouted out a house at once.

“Longbottom, Hannah!”

Albus watched the young girl take the hat and place it on her head. He knew Hannah, had met her a few times at least when his parents took him over the Longbottom's on occasion. He took a good look at the head table for the first time and saw Neville Longbottom there now - Professor Longbottom - leaning forward eagerly as his daughter was sorted.

“GRYFFINDOR!” the hat called immediately.

The Gryffindor table erupted just as eagerly as it had for the other students to join its ranks.

“Malfoy, Scorpius!”

Albus watched carefully as Scorpius approached the hat and, with a solemn nod, placed the worn fabric on his head. He expected it to shout Slytherin straight away but for a long moment there was nothing. Half a minute passed, the longest the hat had taken so far, and then...

“SLYTHERIN!”

Malfoy nodded, removed the hat, and joined his housemates looking like he had expected nothing less.

“Olette, Richard,” became a Slytherin too, and then “Parker, Rochelle,” joined Hufflepuff.

Albus and Rose were the few left in the dwindled crowd of first-years. Finally, after all the anticipation, it was-

“Potter, Albus!”

Albus stepped forward looking a lot calmer than he felt. Whispers suddenly broke out and spread like wildfire all over the hall.

“Potter, he said...”

“The Harry Potter's son.”

“Albus Potter. Name after Dumbledore - his dad's Harry Potter.”

The dial on Albus's nerves was turned up a notch as he approached the hat. All the whispers, all of them knew who his father was, and knew what was expected of him. He was already imagining the shocked gasps and collective sigh that would rush through the hall when the hat announced him a Slytherin.

And then his brother bailed him out in true Gryffindor fashion.

“Oh my god!” James Potter exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by everyone. “That's Harry Potter's son!”

The fierce whispers faded away to sudden laughter, and with a small smile of his own, Albus hopped up onto the stool and placed the Sorting Hat on his head. The rows of students craning their necks to get a look at him disappeared under the brim of the hat.

“Hmmm... well, another Potter,” said the small voice of the hat. “Good to see the family line strong again, young Potter. Far too few of you here over the last two generations... although the circumstances of that were beyond all of our control.”

My grandparents, Albus thought, murdered in the First Dark War.

“Terrible times, Potter,” the hat whispered. “We have you father to thank for the light of today. And you are proving as hard to sort as he was all those years ago. Just look at this mind of yours.”

Albus thought of what his dad had told him, that he could choose Gryffindor. He was about to suggest to the hat just that, but he paused... wanting to see where the hat itself thought he belonged first.

“A fine mind, a keen intellect - you're smart, lad, very smart. Oh my, yes. Ravenclaw, perhaps? Hmm... but what's this? Courage, bravery - to be expected in a Potter. Gryffindor? And there it is, the cunning and thirst to prove yourself - that is always interesting. Slytherin, mayhap? The first Slytherin Potter?”

Time was passing, Albus had been on the stool longer than any one else. He couldn't hold back any longer. “I don't want to be a Slytherin,” he whispered. “Gryffindor...”

“Not Slytherin, eh?” said the small voice. “But the drive to be great is just as strong in you as it was in your father - greater, perhaps, desperate to match his deeds - yet your mind does not carry the same air of destiny as his did. Although there is something else...”

What? Albus wondered.

“Something... new,” the hat whispered, and it sounded not only surprised but mildly shocked. “Oh my, yes, it's all here in your head, young Potter. A different air of destiny, yet there nevertheless, and that is as troubling as it is astounding, for there are no Dark Lords to be defeated, are there? No foul plots or blood-prejudice clouding the world? Hmm...” The hat seemed to fade away into deep thought.

Another minute passed, and Albus could hear mutterings from the house tables now. He had to have been waiting four or five minutes to be sorted. “Gryffindor,” he said. “I choose Gryffindor.”

“Ah yes, I knew you would from the start,” the hat replied. “So be it. Yet a word of caution, young Potter, there is change on the air and in your head. Study hard, make good friends... It does not feel like it did before, but there is something on the horizon, mark my words.” And then, at long last, “GRYFFINDOR!”

Albus took off the hat and walked shakily towards the Gryffindor table. He received the loudest cheer from the hall yet, and half of his new house mates wouldn't let him sit down before he had shook their hands. Nearly-Headless Nick floated over to him, offering his pale hand, which Albus took with a shiver than ran right through him like a snowstorm.

The last person to be sorted was Rose Weasley, and she too became a Gryffindor. With the roar of applause she took a seat next to Albus, blushing to the tips of her hair, her face beaming joy and happiness so much that Albus laughed.

The laughter was the last of his nerves departing, he knew, knowing now that it had been silly to have been so worried about the ceremony. He was a Gryffindor, just like Rose and James and his dad, and he'd send Merlin off with a letter home first thing tomorrow to let his family know.

His nerves were replaced by a fierce hunger, and Albus stared wistfully and his golden plate. It wasn't quite yet time to eat, however.

Headmistress McGonagall stood after Slughorn had removed the Sorting Hat and taken his seat at the head table. She cleared her throat and a respectful silence fell over the Great Hall.

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts,” she said, her face stern. “As is tradition, I will not keep you long. Please, enjoy the start-of-term feast.”

No sooner had she finished than the dishes in front of Albus were piled with food. He had expected it, yet it was still a surprise to see more food than he ever had in his life appear all at once. He filled his plate with roast chicken and potatoes, his goblet with juice, and smeared gravy all over everything.

“This is wonderful,” Rose exclaimed, biting into a pork chop. “Real house elf cooking.”

“Hi, Albus,” Hannah Longbottom said from across the table. “Good to see you again.”

“You too, Hannah,” Albus muttered through a mouth of potato.

“Can you believe we're all Gryffindors!”

Albus shook his head. “I was worried for a minute there.”

“Hey, Al,” James shouted down the table. “Good work, mate, knew you could do it.”

Albus slowly chewed his chicken and blinked at James, recalling the almost non-stop remarks that he would be, without a doubt, a Slytherin. He couldn't help but laugh. “Thanks, James.”

After everyone had eaten more than they could possibly eat the piles of food disappeared and were replaced with every type of dessert imaginable. From ice cream, to tarts, to pies and pastries. Albus dug in with renewed enthusiasm until he thought his stomach would burst. The cherry tarts were particularly good.

The plates and golden cutlery disappeared after the feast, and the animated chatter throughout the hall died down as the Headmistress stood again, clearing her throat imperiously.

“Just a few start-of-term announcements before we retire for the evening,” McGonagall began. “First-years are to note that the forest in the ground is forbidden to all pupils. It is the home of many and varied magical creatures, and must not be entered under any circumstances.”

Albus had heard his Uncle Ron's stories of the spiders that lived in the forest. He shivered. There was no reason he could foresee that would intentionally lead him into the forest.

“The caretaker Mr. Filch would like me to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. And that the blanket ban on all Weasley Wizarding Wheezes products is still in full force.”

Rose chuckled under her breath, her eyes sparkling.

“Quidditch trials for all house teams will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams may apply, including first-years for any reserve positions if you can manage a broom.”

Albus knew how to handle a broom. His dad had been teaching him for years, and he had a brand new shiny Windburn for the tryouts. Being a seeker, just like his father, was one of Albus' aims for that year, now that becoming a Gryffindor was out of the way.

“And finally,” Headmistress McGonagall said, “I would like to introduce the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Alfred Drogin.”

There was polite applause throughout the hall and a tall man with a severe brow and greying hair stood up at the head table, nodding his head once. He wore thick, dark robes and his eyes scanned the hall back and forth. Albus thought there was nothing that would escape the man's notice.

“Professor Drogin joins us as a Senior member of the Ministry's Auror Department. I'm sure you will all find his experience in both the theory and practically aspects of Defence to be most enthralling. Now that will be all. I welcome you back a final time and wish you all a very good year. Goodnight.”

The Gryffindor first-years followed the fifth-year prefects through the chattering crowds as the hall emptied out. Albus and Rose were both feeling extremely sluggish, stuffed to the brim as they were with good food and drink. They were led up the marble staircase and through hidden passageways behind tapestries and sliding panels. Along the amazing moving staircases and past the many moving portraits adorning the walls they came to a long corridor.

At the end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman - The Fat Lady.

“Password?” she asked.

“Tempus Fugit,' the male prefect said, and the portrait swung forward. Albus and Rose scrambled up and into the Gryffindor common room - a cosy room with a roaring fireplace and soft, cushioned armchairs.

“Boys the stairs to your left, girls on the right,” the prefect said, yawning. “Straight on up to bed if you wish.”

Albus bade Rose and Hannah goodnight and followed his year mates up the spiral staircase of the tower and into the room marked First Year with a golden plaque on the door. Inside the five four-poster beds hung with deep-red velvet curtains looked very inviting. Albus found his trunk had already been brought up. He was too tired to talk much - his new roommates all were - and he quickly got changed into his pyjamas and fell into bed.

“Night, guys,” he mumbled, and a chorus of muffled replies were returned to him the same.

Sleep was quick in coming, and it was the deep, satisfied sleep of a long day drawing to a close, of a full heavy stomach and a soft feather pillow.