A/N: Thank you very much to the people who have reviewed the story so far. You know who you are! It inspired me to polish off this chapter earlier than expected. Cheers.

Chapter 4: A Broken Path

Running over the same old ground.What have you found? The same old fears.Wish you were here.

--Pink Floyd

After mailing his first owl home with Merlin, Albus arrived early enough for breakfast to get a whole stack of pancakes dripping with syrup, and enough muffins coated in fresh butter and jam with cold squeezed orange juice that he was stuffed to the brim for the first two lessons of the day.

At lunch time his appetite returned at the sight of the roast chicken sandwiches and warm carrot cake, and this meal saw him through until dinner at seven. Before dinner, however, Albus took Frank and Gary, and Rose brought Hannah, down to Hagrid's for tea and cakes.

According to his dad, Hagrid's hut hadn't changed much over the years, and nor had the half-giant of a man or his dog, Fang. Fang was an old dog by any one's measure, but whether through unknown magical means or just good old fashioned fresh air, Fang could still be seen on cool spring days trotting after Hagrid loyally as he went about the grounds, keeping the weeds out of the cemetery around Dumbledore's tomb, or heading into the dark forest for whatever reason...

Tea at Hagrid's was nice, and everyone soon felt comfortable talking to Hagrid about their first week at school, and he in turn talked to them about Care of Magical Creatures which they could take in third-year.

“Yer dad was always firs' to volunteer, Al,” Hagrid beamed. “Whether it were a hippogriff or a blast-ended skrewt, not afraid a nothing is yer dad. A great man, great man.”

Contrary to his dad's advice, Albus tried one of the rock cakes and nearly broke a tooth. He shoved the cake into a deep pocket of his robes when Hagrid refreshed everyone's cup, daring any of his friends with his eyes to laugh.

At ten to seven the whole group walked up to the school together, looking forward to some real food in the Great Hall. Albus bade Hagrid goodbye at the Gryffindor table and the groundskeeper went and sat up with the other professors, soon digging into a plate of food with a fork almost longer than Albus's arm. Albus himself was hungry after a long day that had included several hours in a smoky, humid potions dungeon. Potions was fast becoming one of his more boring subjects - second place only to History of Magic with Professor Binns. Well, at least it was Friday and the weekend tomorrow.

After dinner Albus and his friends walked back up to the Gryffindor common room. It was nearing nine o'clock and the girls said their goodnights to Albus, Frank, and Gary almost as soon as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

The three boys weren't far behind them, nor were Colin Creevey and Greg Cofler, their other two room mates. Albus stayed up in bed with his curtains drawn and his wand lit, reading over his DADA text for about half an hour before his eyes became just too heavy to keep open.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was by far his favourite lesson no matter what day of the week it was. And the top mark he had received only yesterday had singled him out in Professor Drogin's eyes, and earned him ten house points. Albus knew he didn't want to slip down at all in that class, so he studied the book hard.

Extinguishing his wand, Albus stuck a hand out of the curtains around his bed and placed it on his bedside table. He yawned as his head hit the pillow, long and satisfying.

In five minutes he was fast asleep, dreaming normal dreams at the end of a long day.

*~*~*~*

Waking up in the middle of the night almost frozen to the bone was not something that happened to Albus Potter often - or at all, really. Sealed within his four-poster bed, the heavy velvet curtains drawn on all sides, Albus awoke with a start and sucked in a harsh, ragged breath that turned his lungs to ice.

He coughed - a weak and wheezing thing - and his teeth chattered fast enough to make his whole body shake.

What-

There was something so surreal about waking up colder than he had even been in his entire life that for a moment Albus thought he was dreaming, but the feeling was far too real for that - far too real.

He rolled out of the bed and onto the floor, pulling his covers down with him - and fell in a bundle into a silvery-white mist that was about a foot deep, and covering the entire dormitory floor.

Albus gasped. The mist was freezing. He hadn't really been cold before, up in his bed, not compared to this. It was cold enough to drive all feeling from his hands. His fingers felt like useless fat sausages as he untangled himself from his blankets and gained his feet.

The small furnace-heater in the centre of the room, which was usually lit and maintained by the house elves, stood cold and dead - lifeless. A coating of frost cracked on the dark metal like early morning dew frozen to grass.

“F-Frank...” Albus whispered fiercely, his teeth chattering as he danced back and forth on the spot to try and keep his blood flowing strong and hot through his veins. All the other boys in the dormitory had their curtains drawn. “Gary!”

No one answered his calls.

Merlin, it's bloody cold, he thought. I can't just stand here like an idiot and wait for my toes to fall off.

Albus walked around his bed, only just feeling his steps, and clicked open the freezing brass latches on his trunk. He was looking for the thick pairs of socks his mum had packed for the coming winter - which was convenient now, as winter had come a little early. It was still supposed to be summer for another week or two!

The torches on the wall were dim, as it was some lonely hour of the morning, but even that dim light was fading, being drawn away by the crippling cold mist. From the foot of his bed before his trunk Albus could now see where the mist had come from.

His window, the window nearest to his bed, had been opened wide. A steady stream of the argent mist flowed in over the sill from outside the tower, cascading down into the room in a silent waterfall of frozen air. Albus cursed whichever of his room mates had left the window open, because it certainly hadn't been him.

Forgetting his hunt for the thick woolly socks, Albus hopped across to the window, jumping from foot to foot and trying to place as little of his exposed skin as possible on the stone floor slabs. They were so cold it actually burnt. There was definitely something not right about this mist - and for more than one reason.

It was thicker than any fog he had ever walked through, for one, and about halfway to the open window it hardened around his legs until it felt like he was pulling through water. And it glowed - not brightly - yet the silvery substance, whatever it truly was, emitted some small light. And Albus did not consider it a very friendly light. He disliked it in the same way he disliked the dark. Because late at night who knew what the shadows under the bed were hiding, right?

His dad had taught him a long time ago that monsters were real. And Albus had figured it out on his own that sometimes the monsters could win. Or could cause enough damage that by the time they were beaten, victory was almost indistinguishable from defeat.

Albus realised he felt quite afraid.

But he was also his father's son, and whether he knew it or not, it was in his blood to defy that fear. It was in his blood.

Just before he reached the window the mist around the sill began to spiral and churn, to bubble, and a figure swirled up before the open night air inside the dormitory with a hiss. It was a transparent figure, roughly human in shape. There was not enough light to discern any physical features beyond its dull shape.

It's a ghost, Albus thought. Just a ghost.

“Al, is that you?”

Albus turned his head to see that Frank had woken up as well. He had gotten out of bed and was standing shivering just next to his trunk across the room, knee-deep in the mist.

“Yeah.”

“It's freezing, mate.”

Albus nodded. “I know...”

“Who's that by the window?”

He turned back to the window- and let out a small, strangled cry when he saw that the ghost had grown eyes - crimson eyes that burnt like red-hot coals, and a wide smile of fierce orange light within a mouth of black fangs.

“What the hell is that-” Frank began, but was cut-off abruptly as the mist-creature shrieked loud enough to wake the dead.

The creature lunged, and Frank watched wide-eyed as Albus was snatched around the waist and hurled forward out of the open window in the grasp of the mist - as he was thrown out of the open window several hundred feet above the ground!

Frank barely had time to register this before the mist nearby on his left began to swirl and churn... and a few rapid heartbeats later another - or perhaps the same - mist-creature rose up with its red eyes drawn into thin slits. Frank gasped and the blood had a precious few seconds to drain from his face before he too was snatched and thrown across the room, straight out of the open tower window.

With both boys taken - both witnesses - the window slammed shut with a bang, rattling the glass in its frame almost loose, and the mist faded away to nothing just as Gary Thomas popped his head through his curtains with bleary, sleep-filled eyes, yawning and shivering with the cold. He had been awoken by the shrieks, but by the time he'd gotten up there was nothing to say that anything was out of place.

“Any of you guys awake?” he whispered into the silent dormitory.

It was a little chilly in here, and he could see why - the furnace had gone out. There was no reply from any of his room mates, and all of their curtains were drawn closed. He could hear Colin snoring in the next bed over, and Greg mumbled something incoherently from across the room. Gary yawned again and slipped his head back through the curtains.

It was warm when he was once again under his covers and Gary snuggled down into the thick mattress with a sigh, sleep returning to him as quickly as it had been taken...

*~*~*~*

There had been times in his life when Albus Severus Potter had wondered over his name - or more specifically over the two men he had been named for. His dad had told him the story once he had been old enough to understand. He had told him of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, and of the fateful events that had forced the latter to end the life of the former at his own request.

It was a sad story, just one of many his dad would sometimes share when mum was out of earshot. Technically his middle name had killed his first name.

And in a stroke of tragic irony, the man he had first been named for, Albus Dumbledore, had been hurled over the parapets of one of the tallest towers at Hogwarts by the curse that had ended his life and fallen all the way down to the distant ground below - just as Albus Severus Potter was doing now, twenty years later.

Only Albus wasn't falling, Albus was tumbling and sliding down to the ground on a river of the same mist, and still in the grasp of the same creature, that had flooded his dormitory room.

The mist had entered Gryffindor Tower from one of the highest windows in the castle, but it had flowed up from the ground to do that. More accurately it had flowed up from within the Forbidden Forest. Albus could see this as he wrestled and squirmed in the thick mist, sliding faster and faster, dipping under and then back out of the glowing fog. He caught glimpses of the stars overhead, and a thin, crescent moon as sharp as a blade.

With his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes wide with fright, Albus fought against the creature holding him - not even mindful that if it let go he could fall to his death - and broke free of its grasp. The creature shrieked with rage and dipped under the flow of thick mist behind Albus.

Albus didn't fall to his death.

And as if a weight had been removed that was pressing against his very soul, he surged up above the tidal flow and slid the rest of the way down on its surface in the cool night air - the mist had become strong and solid beneath him.

This is crazy, he thought, as the Forbidden Forest drew nearer.

He could see now at the bottom of his slide the mist actually disappeared about a quarter mile into the trees, and he was heading straight for the canopy of dark wood at top speed - unable to stop, unable to roll off the river of fog for fear of breaking every bone in his body.

The night sky, with its millions of distant twinkling stars, disappeared as he hit the top of the forest hard and broke through the canopy, sliding down through leaves and twigs and branches that tore at his pyjamas and left a dozen minor cuts all over his body, mostly his arms that he used to shield his face. A thicker branch - thicker than he was round - swept by so close that the tips of Albus's unruly hair brushed it on the way past. If he'd been sliding another half-inch to the left it would have been lights out, probably for good.

Albus didn't see the forest floor before he hit it - and he hit it fairly hard. Hard enough to jar every bone in his body and send a fierce pain shooting up from his left ankle all the way up to his neck. He groaned and rolled over. The mist was carpeting the floor of the forest as it had done his dormitory, and he was very nearly submerged in the stuff. It was just as cold.

Shaking his head to clear it, and ignoring the aches and pains, Albus rose to one knee and popped his head and chest out of the fog and into the cool night air. He had a brief glimpse of silent trees shrouded in the faintly glowing mist before something hit him hard enough in the back to knock him flat again.

Albus's cries were muffled as his face was pressed into the dirt and something squirmed on top of him. He heaved up with all his strength, spitting out a mouthful of muddy soil, and knocked the weight off his back, twisting over to see what it was.

“Frank...? Frank!”

Frank Jackson was coughing, shivering, and sitting on his rear in the sea of mist cradling his right arm close to his chest. He looked around wildly, caught sight of Albus a few feet away, and his mouth opened and closed a few times like a goldfish, no actual words escaping his lips.

Albus groaned and rose to one knee again. His striped-pyjamas were torn and dirtied in the fall, and the minor cuts that criss-crossed his body had started to sting. He attempted to get to his feet and help Frank up, but as soon as he put weight on his left ankle a crippling jolt of pain washed up his leg and he tumbled back down. The mist had cleared in a small circle around him, for some reason, so he could see the muddy ground beneath him as he tried again.

“Did that just happen, Al?” Frank finally found his voice.

Albus carefully, slowly, pulled himself to his feet. He put weight on his ankle, and the pain was there again - only he expected it - and his legs managed to keep him up, his ankle did not buckle. Not broken then, he thought, just sprained.

“Are you hurt, Frank?”

Frank gestured to his arm, which he held close against his chest. “It hurts to move.”

Albus grasped his left hand and pulled his room mate steadily to his feet. He was in his pyjamas too, and they were just as bloodied and torn as Albus's. The mist was about waist height all around them, although a small gap in which the ground was visible swirled around the both of them.

“We're in the Forbidden Forest,” Albus said.

“Five minutes ago I was fast asleep,” Frank replied.

“Yeah, me too.”

“What happened, Al?”

Albus shrugged, and was surprised when he began to chuckle. “Some...thing pulled us out of Gryffindor Tower and into the forest. That's all I know so far.”

Frank's teeth were chattering. The mist was clinging closer to his back than it was to Albus. “We should get out of here.”

Albus wholeheartedly agreed. He was remembering a few of his dad's stories about the kind of things that lived in the forest. “Yep, but which way is it back to the cast-“

Albus was cut-off as a familiar shriek tore through the eerie silence cast over the forest. Both he and Frank snapped their necks up as, down through the river of mist that had brought them here, slid the creatures that had pulled them both from the dormitory to begin with.

Frank screamed as the first mist-creature reached him and smothered him with its form, knocking him back down to the ground.

Albus took a few hurried steps back on his sore ankle, almost falling himself, as the second creature descended on him. He could see it a little better with all the mist there was glowing around him, and what he saw was not encouraging. It was about six-feet tall, shaped like a man, and made entirely of the argent fog, expect it was dull - there was no light coming from it - save from the fierce crimson eyes and laughing, fire-orange mouth.

The creature floated toward him but then stopped within about three feet. Its eyes narrowed as Albus tripped and fell with his back against the tree that had nearly killed him on the way down. He bit his bottom lip - hard - and a steady trickle of blood ran down his chin, warm and coppery. The creature turned its head, reached out a wraith-like arm for his neck... and then shrieked in what Albus thought was frustration. It turned and leapt through the sea of mist and dived down into the struggle between Frank and the other creature.

Both of them were attacking Frank!

Almost paralysed with fear, Albus shivered and bled against the tree that was supporting him. Why were they after Frank? “Leave him alone...” he shouted, only it wasn't a shout but a faint whisper that was stolen by the mist and soon forgotten. “Leave him...”

Frank was screaming, crying out. He reared up out of the mist, his eyes wide and fearful, only to be pulled back down by the shrieking demons hard.

Only they're not shrieking, Albus thought, his blood running cold. They're laughing.

Frank managed to rise to his knees again, but it was only for a second before he was dragged back under the surface of the pulsating fog. And this time he did not come back up.

Albus did not know what to do. He was bleeding, he was freezing, and his wand, for all the use it would be, was up on his bedside table. He could run, he thought, and get help, get someone. The mist seemed to be ignoring him. It had cleared out around the tree, exposing the thick roots Albus had tripped over. But what of Frank...?

Albus gritted his teeth. He couldn't leave him on his own. He hadn't even known the boy a week yet, but he was a Gryffindor, and brave to the point of stupidity. And it could only be called stupid if it got him caught alongside Frank, but Albus didn't care either way. He knew what his dad would do.

“Get off my friend!” he shouted, filling the night air with something other than the laughing shrieks of the mist-creatures.

Albus leapt to his feet and forced himself to limp on his abused ankle through the mist to where he had seen Frank fall, to where the shrieks were the loudest, and the mist cleared a path for him - flowing out of his way so fast in a wide circle around him, recoiling from his touch.

Albus didn't know how or why the mist cleared for him, but he wasn't about to argue, and it made finding Frank beneath the sea of fog a piece of cake. He was coated in the mist, in the dark mist, the stuff the creatures had been made out of, that did not emit any of the pale light.

It was choking him - a thin tendril, an arm - wrapped around his throat whilst the other creature held his legs and arms down, pinning him to the muddy earth.

“I said GET OFF!”

Albus grabbed the first part of Frank he could, his foot, and pulled with all his might. The creatures shrieked and two pairs of cold burning eyes swivelled to him in outrage. The mist, fog, whatever it was, had the consistency of water, or maybe a little thicker - honey - but pull as hard as he could Albus couldn't budge Frank an inch.

A silvery arm clawed at his face, leaving a trail of mist in its wake and Albus fell back with a cry. One of the creatures was upon him, its black fangs bared and head reared back like a snake's - about to strike!

Albus balled his hand into a fist as the creature shrieked pure rage and tried to tear out his throat - and made of mist or not, Albus did not doubt for a moment that those fangs could pierce his skin. Just before its mouth closed over his throat Albus brought his hand swinging around and punched the creature in the side of its rough head.

There was an explosion of golden sparks and the mist-creature shrieked again - in pain, this time.

Albus crawled out from under it as it rolled away, clutching what was left of its head, and wailing at the trees and no doubt cursing the boy who had injured it.

Rising to his feet, Albus looked down at his hand in wonder, still balled into a fist, and then back at the writhing creature stumbling towards the glowing mist that had departed the clearing as Albus had moved towards Frank. It never made it.

The mist-creature fell to its knees, shrieking and shrieking, until the rest of its head exploded in another fit of golden sparks and a crimson light flowed through its body. Unlike the previous light of its eyes, this crimson glow sang to Albus as it ran like blood through the creature. It was blood. He trusted it, felt warmed by it. And cheered in his head as the mist-creature was absorbed into nothing, as it faded away, as it died and disintegrated like a piece of ash.

Albus again looked down at his fist. It was dirty with mud, and blood ran over the back of his hand and between his clenched fingers from one or two of the deeper cuts on his arm.

The blood on his fist was glowing, sparkling - just like the warm light that had eaten the mist-creature from within. He could no longer feel the cold, either. He was warm, hot - his blood ran like an inferno through his veins.

He turned back to Frank just in time to see the second creature pulling him by the throat back towards the main body of mist. Albus swore and limped his way over, hoping that whatever was making his blood into a weapon would last long enough to rescue Frank.

He nearly didn't make it.

The mist-creature itself had already disappeared into the fog behind it when Albus drew level with Frank, his ankle burning with pain. At the last moment Albus flicked his hand and drops of glowing blood flew through the air, some of them hitting the creature in its face.

It shrieked as if stung, letting go of Frank and rearing back into the stuff it was made of. Albus didn't pause - he was angry, now, more than scared - and these things had woken him up far too early in the morning. He didn't think it would matter where he punched the creature, and it didn't. Albus delivered a blow as wide and inexperienced as any eleven year old boy, and it connected with the mist-creature's stomach.

Golden sparks as it collapsed in on itself, and blood alive with light tearing through its form, its final shriek died on the air, and echoed amongst the silent trees with a cold finality.

Albus was two for two.

He pulled Frank to his feet and gasped. Frank's face and lips were blue, dark blue, and his eyes were so bloodshot that not a speck of the whites showed. He was shaking all over and flinching uncontrollably. He looked... drained. He looked like death warmed up.

The silence that had fallen over the forest since the second mist-creature's final shriek was broken as brand new screams tore through the air - high and whining, and enraged with all the fury in the world. All around Albus and Frank the shrieks began anew, and the mist began to swirl and churn again.

Forms, roughly human in shape, looking like ghosts, were solidifying in the stew of bubbling fog. And not just one or two - but dozens.

“I think we need to run,” Frank said. His voice sounded raw and unused.

“Yeah, but which way?” Albus was frantic - his blood still shone strongly between his clenched fists, turning his hands into small beacons - and if he could have seen it on his chin from his split lip - but there were more than dozens of blood-chilling shrieks renting the silence of the Forbidden Forest apart.

There were hundreds.

Frank pointed up at the flow of mist that had delivered them from Gryffindor Tower, the flow that swirled up and around the tree they had both fallen through. “It's flowing from that direction,” he said, pointing through the trees behind the fall of fog. A little colour had returned to his cheeks, which was good. “Down from our dorm, Al. Hogwarts has to be that way.”

Albus could see it now. Frank was right. That was the way. “Come on then.”

The two boys ran.

Well, Albus tried, but the best he could manage was a strained jog on account of his ankle. His face was set though, grim, and he knew on the most basic of levels that to stop now, perhaps to try and hide, was death.

How far was it to the edge of the forest? They hadn't fallen in that deep from Gryffindor Tower, there hadn't been enough time. There was no sight of the castle between the trees, only more mist, and more and more creatures with laughing fiery smiles rising from it.

He found himself thinking of his dad, of Harry Potter, as Frank fell back to offer his good arm and keep them both steady, slowing his pace considerably.

Harry Potter had had adventures during his time at Hogwarts, and they were the stuff of legends. He was legend, himself, a shining beacon of hope in a world that at times, a lot of the time, could slip so fast and so sure into murky darkness as to become completely lost.

Had his dad been this scared?

No, not Harry Potter.

Albus sniffed, blinking back frightened tears. Being brave was all good and well, but how did his father live with the fear all of the time? And he'd faced a hell of a lot worse than this. He had had a madman, the most evil wizard to have ever lived, haunt his steps for seven years.

And Harry Potter had found himself equal to that. He had faced the Dark Lord face to face twice before his twelfth birthday, and had survived - had won - both times.

If his dad, his legendary dad, could do that - then Albus knew he could do this. He was cut from the same mould, after all. Still, to expect this much of himself before breakfast was straining things just a touch. That made him laugh.

“What's so funny?” Frank asked sharply, glancing at Albus as if he were insane.

“I'm bloody hungry,” Albus replied, still chuckling.

Frank blinked. “Yeah, well, next McDonald's along this path we come to we'll stop and I'll get you a cheeseburger.”

The first mist-creature took its chance. Fully-formed and eyes burning hot, it leapt at Albus and Frank with a furious shriek of raw strength.

Albus saw it coming, and acting purely on instinct, on his belief that his blood was somehow protecting him, he hurled his fist into the monster and a wash of golden sparks, sparks that stung just a little, covered him and Frank.

Another creature tried the same thing, on Frank's left, and Frank - having seen Albus's success, flung his own fist at the beast. His life's blood coated his good arm from a particularly nasty cut just above his wrist, and he pummelled the creature with every ounce of strength he could muster.

His bloodied hand past through the creature like water through a sieve.

No explosion of golden sparks.

No shriek of pain and despair.

The creature latched its arm around his neck and pulled him hard to the ground.

Albus had seen Frank's miss, however, and was there in a flash. His hand came down in a karate chop on the back of the creature's neck, severing its head from its body. The mist dissolved in the faint crimson glow of his blood, and Frank scrambled back to his feet.

“What are you doing?” he asked, panting heavily. “How are you hitting them?”

Stumbling on as the rest of the creatures who had witnessed Albus's display held back, following them both as close as they dared, but not attacking, not whilst his blood shone on his skin, Albus shrugged.

“Merlin knows how...” he managed. He was out of breath and every other thought was concentrated solely on the tremendous pain shooting up through his body from his twisted ankle.

Was the blood on his hands glowing a little less brightly now? Albus thought it was.

He and Frank stumbled on, through the trees and the knee-deep mist that wasn't quick enough to get out of their way. It recoiled soon enough as Albus limped through, drops of blood falling from his arms.

Two mist-creatures tried their luck at once, springing up directly in front of Albus and Frank between a pair of trees. The two wraiths shrieked, they lunged, and Frank lunged too - right behind Albus.

Albus braced himself and crossed his arms in front of his face. The mist-creatures hit him hard and knocked him back a step. He would have fallen on his bad ankle if not for Frank steadying himself against his back. A shower of golden sparks stung them both, and cut by on either side as the remains of the creatures writhed on the ground. They were dissolved by Albus's blood.

All at once the forest fell as silent as the grave - the shrieks of the monsters echoing away to nothing.

“Albus, look...” Frank whispered.

Albus looked up from the remains of the last two creatures to attack them and felt a lump rise in his throat that may very well have been his beating heart.

They were surrounded.

Mist-creatures hemmed them in on all sides. Hundreds of them, all with hate-filled burning eyes and fiery mouths silhouetted against black fangs that dripped with the dull fog of their bodies.

Frank moaned low beneath his breath, and moved so he was still behind Albus as he turned a complete circle.

“It's six nil to me,” Albus said, not knowing or caring if the creatures could understand him.

He raised his clenched fist to eye-level. The blood definitely was not glowing as fiercely as it had done only a few minutes ago. That was cause for concern.

“Come, Frank,” Albus said, trying to inject a hint of urgency into his tone, “I daresay we've worn out our gracious welcome.”

Despite it all Frank chuckled, and followed Albus along their path back to Hogwarts, his good arm resting on Al's shoulder. The creatures in their path floated away from Albus's raised fist, clearing the way, and Albus snapped his neck back and forth and over his shoulder, making sure nothing was trying to sneak up on him.

A slow jog, pursued silently by an army of mist-creatures on all sides, was as fast as Albus could go. He knew if the creatures rushed him and Frank all at once that there wasn't enough blood in his body to take them all - but either the creatures hadn't realised that or they weren't willing to sacrifice the ones Albus would get his hands on before they took him down.

If he hadn't been frightened through to his very soul, Albus would have felt pretty good about holding an army at bay with nothing but his fists.

The trees were thinning now, and Albus took that as a sign that they were nearing the border of the forest. Sure enough, he could glimpse the clear open grounds of the castle cast in faint starlight through the gaps in the trees. He mentioned it to Frank, who sobbed with relief.

The creatures began to shriek again as they realised that their pray might just end up escaping them. Albus could not care less at this point. Frank was shivering with the cold, and was still pale enough that his lips were blue, but Albus was going strong, fuelled by adrenalin and whatever it was in his blood these bloody things didn't like.

His ankle, however, was a lesson in pain he had never experienced before, and hopefully never would again.

It was upon them all at once, the edge of the forest and the clear-cut grass of the Hogwarts grounds. Albus and Frank broke through the border that separated the school from the Forbidden Forest and at the same time trudged through the last of the thick fog that clung to their bare feet, trying to draw them back in.

As if someone had flicked a switch, the world seemed to warm up a few degrees. They could see Hagrid's hut down the length of the forest about half a mile away, and the massive entrance doors to Hogwarts castle only a few hundred feet away across the grounds.

“We're out, Al,” Frank said. And his voice was stronger now. He pushed Albus forward a few more steps away from the forest, afraid that the creatures would follow them beyond its borders.

Albus turned away from the castle, back to the forest. The mist swirled and chopped between the thick and heavy trees, and a thousand eyes of fiery-red light glared nothing but hate at Albus Severus Potter, the boy who had hurt them, escaped them. A few of the silent wraiths did float over the borders of the forest, shrieking at Albus and Frank, but veered away before they got too close and disappeared back into the main body of unnatural fog.

“Look...” Frank whispered, pointing at the sky.

Albus followed his gaze upwards and saw the river of argent mist that had delivered them both from Gryffindor Tower and into the forest in the first place. It was thin now, no longer the fast-flowing river it had been, and only stretched above the forest about halfway between the trees and the window of the tower. Small pinpricks of starlight could be seen through it, but only a handful - the sky was very light to the east. It was near dawn.

It was quite beautiful, Albus thought, in a murderous sort of way. He found it hard to believe that he had practically surfed down that river of mist and into the nightmare in the forest.

“Let's get out of here,” Albus said, glaring into the forest at the points of crimson light. The river of mist over their heads was fading fast now, being drawn back into the trees. And the creatures of the mist looked further away, receding into the darkness of the forest. Their shrieks were a distant thing, an echo of nothingness...

The first beam of sunlight from behind the hills to the east speared the castle of Hogwarts, and by the time that cool light reached the two boys standing alone before the impressive and dark Forbidden Forest, the mist had faded away, back from wherever it had come from, and not a single shriek pierced the otherwise cool but normal morning.

“It's gone,” Frank said, quite unnecessarily. The relief in his voice was enough for the both of them.

Albus sat down on the cool cut grass and took the weight off his screaming ankle. The blood on his hands, on his arms, on his face and chest, was dry, and most of the cuts had stopped bleeding. There was nothing fancy about it - clear and red, not a hint of the magic that had destroyed half a dozen of the monsters that had tried to strangle them both.

“Some morning, aye,” Albus said. He was warm but his teeth were chattering again, his whole body seemed to be shaking. He was coming down off whatever high had led them both out of the forest. A single tear cut a track through the dried blood and dirt on his cheek. He swatted it away before Frank saw.

“Al, what just happened?”

Albus took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, I think we just found out the hard way why the Forbidden Forest is... forbidden.”

Frank managed a grin. “Can you walk? Do you want me to go get some help?”

Albus shook his head and got back to his feet, wincing against the weight on his ankle. It had swelled quite considerably, three times its regular size, and an ugly purple bruise was visible even through the dried dirt that clung to his feet.

“How's your arm?”

Frank grimaced. “Kind of numb,” he said.

“Oh, that can't be good.”

'Not really, no.”

It was only a few hundred feet up to the castle doors, but each step was an agony that threatened to break Albus's resolve. He practically hobbled back up to the castle, and Frank used his good arm to support him. Their pace was slow, achingly so...

The heavy stained-oak doors that guarded the entrance to the school seemed impenetrable in the early morning light. No doubt they'd be locked and barred at this hour, just after half-five.

Frank tried the handle on the right side door and it clicked open on creaking old hinges. All thirty feet of it swung inwards as if it were as heavy as a leaf in the breeze. He and Albus stepped into the Entrance Hall, onto the red carpet covering the stone floors within the castle.

Albus limped for the staircase at the far end of the hall, and Frank helped him along.

Something exploded off to the left and both boys jumped out of their skin. Albus's heart, which was only just beating normally again, jumped so high in his chest that it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“First-years, Ickle Firsties out of bed! Wee Potty Potter, plus one. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty.”

Peeves the poltergeist slid down the banister, dressed in his outlandish clothes including a bell-covered hat and an orange bow tie. Something exploded again at the foot of the stairs with a loud bang and a flash of bright blue light. Peeves had thrown it, and Albus knew it for a Weasley Wizz-bang, from Rose's uncle's shop.

“Ickle firsties out of bed, bed, bed...” Peeves chuckled, delighted. “Old Filthy-Filchy's on his way, firsties.”

Albus didn't know how Peeves knew, but the poltergeist was correct. Both Frank and Albus heard quick footsteps shuffling down the long corridor at the top of the nearby staircase.

Argus Filch the caretaker came huffing and puffing down the grand staircase. He had obviously been alerted somehow to the front doors opening so early. He caught sight of the two Gryffindor's standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall and pointed a bony and gnarled finger at the pair of them.

“Ah, caught you! Trouble you're up to, is it? Sneaking in this early? Caught you out of bed and no doubt just out of bounds, I did. It'll be detention at the very least, boys, more likely expulsion though.”

Filch walked over to them both and scowled, his hands on his hips, and his breath wheezing. A scrawny, dust-coloured cat that was older than the hills bared its teeth and hissed between his legs. Mrs Norris, Argus Filch's sidekick.

“First-year Gryffindors, is it? Always Gryffindor breaking the rules - and getting caught, that is. Not smart enough for anything else.”

“That's righty-wighty, Filthy-Filchy,” Peeves cackled, spinning through the air. “Peeves confiscated these Weasley Wizz-bangs from the Potter lad, he did.”

“Away with you, Peeves,” Filch growled. “Away with you or the Baron will hear of those stink pellets you let off in the Slytherin common room.”

Peeves stuck out his tongue and blew a big, fat raspberry in Filch's face. He then gave Albus a wink and shot up through the ceiling, throwing one last wizz-bang for effect as he disappeared.

“Mr. Filch,” Albus began. “We really need to see-”

“Quiet,” Filch snapped. “Not here a week before your breaking the rules, Potter. Just like your father, and his father before him. Mind you me, lad, I've had enough of you Gryffindor's thinking to slip by me up to Merlin knows what kind of trouble. From the look of you both I'd say you've been in the bloomin' forest!”

“Yeah, we kind of have,” Albus said, tiring of Filch fast. “But I'd really like to see Professor Lon-”

“Quiet, I said, Potter. I'm taking you to Professor Longbottom.” Filch stamped his foot down, keeping his gnarled finger pointed at Albus. “Follow me, boys, and take a good look around - today might be the last you see of this castle.”

Albus heard Frank swallow hard next to him and he caught his eye, shaking his head. “Don't worry,” he whispered.

“They can't expel us, can they?” Frank asked.

Albus followed Filch up the stairs, favouring his good ankle as much as he could. A knot of pain had settled in his sprained joint, and it was constant whether he put weight on it or not now.

“For what? Being yanked out of bed by dark creatures?” Albus chuckled. “If anything Nev-Professor Longbottom we'll see to it we get an award for stopping the creatures attacking anyone else.”

“Shut it, the pair of yer,” Filch growled.

Frank didn't look any less worried, however, as they moved up through the ancient stone corridors, past suits of armour and portraits only just waking up after a long, quiet night.

They came after about five minutes to the part of the castle Albus knew held the staff-quarters, and at the top of a flight of stairs Filch turned to them both and gestured at the stone bench resting against the wall.

“Wait here - don't make me come looking for you, lads. Mrs. Norris, don't let them out of your sight.” The scrawny cat sat down at the top of the stairs and stared unblinking at Albus and Frank, her tail swinging back and forth angrily, as Filch disappeared down the corridor.

“How old d'you reckon that cat is?” Frank asked after a moment.

Albus shook his head. “It was old twenty years ago, according to my dad.”

The two boys did not have much to say. Both sat weary and hurting with their backs against the wall. Albus's head was pounding and he closed his eyes with a heavy yawn. When he opened them again only a few minutes later it was to see that Filch had returned, and with him Neville Longbottom.

“Felt the doors open, Professor,” Filch was saying. “Here they are, just like I said. Good girl, Mrs. Norris.”

“Albus?” Neville said, the amusement on his face quickly fading to concern as he took in the cuts and bruises covering Harry Potter's youngest son. “You look like you've had quite the night. And, Mr Jackson, too.”

“Said he'd been in the forest, of all places,” Filch said. “Not just out of bed and out of bounds, but out of bounds in the one place forbidden to all students. He needs to be straightened out while he's still young, Longbottom, you mark my words-”

“Thank you, Argus,” Neville said. “I'll have a word with the boys here and find out just what they were doing.”

Albus had known Neville most of his life, ever since he could remember, really. Neville was a wizard of average height with a lot of muscle clinging to his frame that had probably made him quite chubby and little back when he was Albus's age. He had blond hair that had thinned over the years and was slowly receding over his brow. He also looked like he had just been pulled out of bed early on a Saturday morning.

“Right you are,” Filch grumbled, clearing not liking the dismissal he heard in Neville's words. “Come on, Mrs Norris, they'll be up and scrounging breakfast all too soon, throwing Fanged Frisbees and wizz-bangs and what have you...”

Filch's mutterings trailed away down the stairs and both the man and his words were soon gone.

Neville took a seat on the bench next to Albus and looked down at the two weary boys, raising an eyebrow. “Am I going to have to remove fifty points a piece from two of my newest house members?” he asked.

“No, Professor,” Albus said.

“And why's that?”

“Because it wasn't our fault,” Frank said. “It was the mist.”

“The mist?” Neville asked. He caught the quick look between Albus and Frank, and wasn't surprised in the least when Albus shook his head and turned to look up at him. “So, you were in the forest, Filch said?”

Albus nodded, reluctant to recall the sheer terror he had felt beneath the eaves of the Forbidden Forest. It was hard to believe that it was only about half an hour ago it had all happened. Was that really sunlight streaming in through the window across the corridor? He felt as if it should still be dark, that what he needed to tell Neville should only be told in the dead of night.

He felt that during the day it would seem impossible, not as serious, just the wild imaginings of a pair of boys caught out where they shouldn't have been. Albus realised he was being silly, and took a deep breath before telling Neville what had happened.

“Well, I don't really know what to say, Professor,” Albus began. “So I guess I'll start at the beginning. I was asleep in my bed up in Gryffindor Tower when...”

The words came easier than he'd imagined they would, yet the story still sounded far-fetched and the next best thing to impossible. Even to Albus's ears he sounded crazy talking of a living mist that had pulled him from his dormitory and cast him half a mile away into the forest. Still, it was the truth, and Frank nodded along, backing him up.

Neville's face grew more and more grim as Albus told him of fighting the mist-creatures, of his blood shining like fire. He didn't leave any detail out, what would be the point? By the time he was finished Neville's jaw was set, and his eyes were hard. He didn't really look like everyone's favourite Herbology teacher, not at all. He looked like a man that had once upon a time defied a Dark Lord...

“And then Filch found us in the Entrance Hall,” Albus finished, his throat sore. He needed a drink of water. “And here we are now.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between Albus and Frank, and Neville Longbottom. Both boys waited for his reaction - had he believed them? What did he think?

“I think,” Neville said carefully, “that I'm going to have to wake Headmistress McGonagall quite early this morning.”

“You believe me-us?” Albus asked, as Neville jumped to his feet.

“Of course I do, Al. There was no lie in your eyes at all as you told me what happened, you neither, Mr Jackson. Also Harry's son wouldn't make up lies about something as serious as this, not to just avoid a detention. You boys were very lucky.”

Albus breathed a sigh of relief.

“Do you know what the creatures were, Professor?” Frank asked.

Neville shook his head. “They don't sound like anything I've heard of before.”

“Oh... will we lose house points for being out of bounds?”

Neville snorted, although he still looked deeply troubled. “Fifty house points to the both of you for bringing this to my attention straight away.”

Frank's jaw dropped and Albus just grinned.

“Come on now,” Neville said. “To the Headmistress's office. She'll want to hear what happened from you personally, and then we'll need to do a headcount to see if anyone else was taken or if it was just you two.”

Albus sat up straight - he hadn't thought of that. What if the mist-creatures had taken anyone else from other floors of Gryffindor Tower? Or even from another house? What if James or Rose was...?

It was too horrible to contemplate, and for the first time in his young life Albus felt the kind of fear you could only feel for someone you truly care about. He had been afraid back in the forest, deathly afraid for his own life. But that was nothing compared to the harsh shudder that jolted his system as he thought of James lying in the forest, a creature with burning coals for eyes smothering the life out of him, freezing the very blood in his veins...

So real was the image that accompanied this thought that Albus for a terrible moment knew it to be true, he knew it, as sure as anything.

He leapt to his feet with a cry, and promptly collapsed to the floor as his ankle, which had been taking a chance to rest since Albus had been off his feet, exploded with a wave of fresh, raw pain that brought tears to his eyes.

“Albus!” Neville said.

The pain was enough to clear his mind, to calm him down. There was a very good chance, a better than good chance, that James was absolutely fine. He was overreacting and needed to stay calm.

“Professor,” he said through gritted teeth. “I'll trade all the house points in the world for a pain-relief potion right now.”

And then Albus laughed. One would not think that less than an hour ago this was the same boy that had been fighting for his life against creatures he could not name and did not understand. One would not think... yet it was.

Albus knew one thing for certain, as Neville and Frank helped him back up onto the bench - no one could tell him his first week at Hogwarts had been uneventful.

*~*~*~*~*