Facing Backwards

Epilogue--Finite Incantatem

It wasn't much fun being Albie Potter.

Some days--today, for instance, the day of the annual Weasley clan reunion that the Potters attended with more of a sense of belonging than did Uncle Percy and his little brats--it was all right. His favorite people in the world were there--Uncle Ron, Aunt Looney and their kids, Tom and Celestina; Auntie Gin, Uncle Neville and the amazing Longbottom girls; and of course, his mum and dad and his sisters, who were each sporting a significant other this time round. But many of the other Weasleys didn't know him well, and weren't used to him and his abilities, and he constantly had to work at not peeking into their thoughts.

It was like asking a sixteen-year-old boy--such as Albie himself--to sit in the middle of a girls' shower room and not to look. The effort to close off his vision was almost as humiliating as giving in to temptation.

Just now, Artie Weasley, Uncle George and Alicia's son--he was Minnie's age--was planning to try to get Gabrielle Delacour off behind the broom shed. Gabrielle, who was still a beauty at forty-six, was utterly uninterested in any of the men present excepting her husband, the nauseating Uncle Percy, and--even more disgustingly--Albie's dad. George and Fred and Alicia and Angelina were standing in a group chatting as they so often did, and Albie had to work as hard as ever to pretend he didn't know about them what he did in fact know.

It was all too much.

In moments of clarity and good humor, Albie could find amusement in the fact that the feelings and thoughts that he always picked up on most strongly were those involving anger and sex. But on a day like this, surrounded by such a crowd, when he couldn't even keep out the randy thoughts of his parents and his sisters, let alone the libidinous musings of a group of quasi-relatives and their friends, it was more than a little overwhelming.

"Knut for your thoughts," said a throaty voice behind his ear, and Albie laughed.

"Not much of a bargain, Sid, since I already get yours for free." It was an old family joke, but one that never failed to reassure Albie. It's nice to know that some people could take your abnormality in stride. That they know what you are but love you anyway. "So, Harry Weasley cornered you yet today? He'd take you back in a minute, you know."

Siria smiled, though Albie could feel the ache behind the grin. "Circe's been trying to get me to talk to him all afternoon." She shook her head. "He's barely grown up in the twelve years since we first got together. Still thinks dropping dungbombs in toilets is the pinnacle of fun." Sitting on the bench beside her brother, she shook her head, the short, tangled black locks bouncing around her face. Funny: both of Albie's sisters had their hair cut short these days. Minnie was, as always, trying to distinguish herself from their mother. Sidi, on the other hand, looked more like their dad than ever.

"Well," Albie said, "he is the heir to a joke shop empire. You might say dungbombs were in his blood."

"But they're not in mine," sighed his sister. "Kevin may not be a laugh riot, but he loves me."

"But do you love him?"

Sidi looked at him intently. "What do you see, Albie?"

It was another family formula, and this one made him shiver in spite of the warmth of the day. "Sidi..."

"What do you see?"

He didn't have to look terribly deep. Sidi's feelings about Kevin Pengelly were right near the surface, and about as charged as her thoughts about her last staff meeting at St. Mungo's. "Siria... I mean, come on. I'm a sixteen-year-old boy. Who am I to give you relationship advice?"

"You're my brother, Albie. And I trust you."

He sighed. "Then you don't need me to tell you what I see. You know already."

She looked across the garden for a moment, to where her boyfriend was glumly listening to Bill and Fleur's daughter talking about something. The latest Neo-Death Eater raid she'd gone on. How could anyone--anyone who found women or Aurors even remotely interesting--stand next to Alithea Weasley and be bored? In spite of the stunning, interesting woman in front of him, and his--Albie caught the image in the man's mind and smirked--well-connected girlfriend sitting next to her freaky brother across the garden, Pengelly was thinking about trout. Git.

Sidi patted Albie's arm. "I guess I hoped you'd see something there that I'd missed."

"Sorry, sis."

"Not your fault." She patted his arm again and then grinned. "So, Minnie's still fuming that your OWL results were better than hers. She's still convinced you were cheating."

"You don't have to tell me that--she's practically shouting it in her mind every time I come near her. It doesn't matter that the teachers set anti-Legilimency wards up before every written test, that I couldn't have cheated even if I tried." Albie didn't say that being able to peak into the proctors' minds during the practical exams had made for great fun: surprising old Flitwick, Gabrielle Delacour-Weasley's predecessor, by summoning not just any old chair, but the former professor's favorite: a tiny, flowered chintz recliner from the Flitwick ancestral home. The old gnome's glee had been positively exhilarating.

Siria was peering at him closely, and the thought jumped from her mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

"Sidi..."

"Well, Albie? You said it yourself. You're sixteen. You need a girlfriend."

Albie winced. "I've tried, Sid. I mean, I've got more experience at my age than our dad ever did...."

"Aw, Albie, come on--you really didn't need to tell me that, okay?" Sidi pulled a disgusted face. "I mean, I'm a big girl, I know Dad, you know... But please..."

"I have no sympathy for you. Would you rather know precisely what his experiences comprised of, and with whom?" Albie laughed. "The thing is, Sid, it's just impossible. Any time I get near a girl--Harry's sister, Josie, say--I can see when she's bored with me. I can see when I scare her. I can see what she wants me to do to her before she knows it. It's... I don't know. I seem to frighten them off in droves."

"You?" Sidi said, in mock incredulity and ruffled his hair. "Beautiful Albie Potter of the auburn locks and the knowing stare? Ravenclaw Keeper extraordinaire? One of the most talented wizards to pass through Hogwarts in the past century? Bollocks. You must be fighting them off with a stick."

"Sad to say, but no, sis," Albie said with a laugh. "They seem to be resisting my charms quite effectively."

Sidi let her arm drop around her brother's shoulder. "I'm amazed you can keep it all straight."

"Some days I can't," Albie answered, very quietly. "You know what I want? I want to find a relationship just like everyone else. To have a normal, regular relationship, where I can't see whether she's thinking about me when we're kissing, or about her Arithmancy essay. Whether it was images of me she fell asleep to last night, or Sextus Plinth. Where I can't tell that she's annoyed with me before she's even had the chance to decide to ignore the feeling. Or not ignore the feeling. I want to find a relationship where I have to trust the girl, because there's nothing else to go on. And it isn't going to bloody happen."

Siria threw her arms around Albie. A knot of flame-headed Weasley cousins was blinking at him from behind the begonias. He must have gotten louder than he had meant to.

"You'll find someone, Albie. I promise."

He rested his head on her shoulder. "Thanks, sis. Nice of you to promise. Problem is, how the hell am I going to hold you to that?"

Leaning close, she kissed him on the cheek.

When she leaned back, a somber-faced Ali Longbottom was standing there, freckled and serious, as only a twelve-year-old can be. "I've gathered everyone in the Burrow. I think we're ready."

Sidi and Albie both nodded and stood, following the ramrod-straight young girl as she walked towards the house. Her hair fluttered behind her like flame, and a memory--his father's--of a young Auntie Gin walking along this same pathway flashed into Albie's mind.

One of the many reasons that Albie loved the three Longbottom girls was that glimpsing their thoughts was like staring into a deep, clear pool. They had very different minds: Ali, like Albie's mother, was constantly organizing and categorizing, sorting and making sense; Frannie's mind burned with a constant, searching curiosity; while little Lily viewed everyone and everything with a sense of compassion and empathy that overwhelmed Albie utterly. But each of them thought with a clarity that wasn't like the forced order in his mother's mind or Minnie's. It was their natural state, and he envied them and loved them for it.

Entering Bill and Fleur's house caused another moment of flashback, this one probably borrowed from Ginny herself, or Ron: their mother, managing the kitchen like an orchestra conductor, happier than a Niffler in a Gringott's vault.

As they walked through the kitchen--which now sported French country decorations, rather than Molly Weasley's more homespun décor--Albie saw everyone gathered in the living room. His parents looked blissful. Letting her former assistant Susan Bones take over as Minister last year had been one of Mum's better decisions. She looked less tired than Albie had ever seen her, even in his father's memories. Dad's face was still lined and hard-edged, but even he, the best at hiding his thoughts from Albie, couldn't contain the contentment that was oozing out of him.

Part of that, Albie guessed, was that he was sitting next to the Longbottoms. As always when both families were gathered together, Albie could sense the bond that connected not only the two married couples or his father to Auntie Gin, but also all four of them together. Having grown up around this connection, Albie was only slowly learning how unusual it was.

Auntie Gin. It was hard looking at her knowing that part of his reaction to her--she was an extremely attractive woman, for all that today was her fifty-second birthday--was his own, and part of it was fuelled by his father. And Uncle Neville, whose beard seemed to have grown another inch or two in the month and a half since Albie had last seen him at Hogwarts. He seemed positively beatific, as usual. He who defeated the Dark Lord....

Ali took stock of the room as they entered, and seated Albie and Sidi next to Minnie on the couch. Fey and unselfconscious, eight-year-old Lily Longbottom climbed up on Albie's lap. Begotten by two who were possessed by the Dark Lord, possessed but never owned... Other than his father and Aunt Gin, Albie was probably the only person alive who could appreciate the wording of Uncle Ron's prophecy.

Of course, only Albie and his father even knew of the existence of Ron's prophecy. Having had his life ruled by a vision, the elder Potter had refused to tell anyone about his friend's divination on the night of his son's birth.

He'd never even told Ron himself.

And he had no idea that young Albie had heard the prophecy through his father that night, that the wording had burned itself into the four-year-old's psyche, even though he hadn't understood the words:

"Today is born a grandchild of the Dark Lord's last victims... And he shall bear the Dark Lord's name in joy and in honor, and bring those whom he loves joy and honor...

"And this day too was begotten the first child of he who defeated the Dark Lord, begotten by two who were possessed by the Dark Lord, possessed but never owned... And her name shall be called Alicia, known as Ali, and she shall serve long as the head of the wizarding state...

"These same two shall beget a second child, who shall be called Francesca, known as Frannie, who shall become the greatest headmistress that the School founded by the Four shall ever have known...

"And last shall these two beget Lilia, known as Lily, who shall be the greatest of all, for she shall heal the rift betwixt the wizarding world and the world of non-witch-kind...

"And they and their families, and their half-siblings and cousins and all about them shall prosper and live in joy....

"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well...."

Harry Potter believed he bore the sole burden of this prophecy, lovely as it was. And Albie Potter had no intention of disillusioning him. As he had come to understand what it meant, the prophecy had become a kind of security blanket for Albie, an assurance that, indeed, all would be well.

Poor Dad, Albie thought. For all of the Occlumency and care that he took, Albie could still pick up on him more clearly from the other side of country than he could most other people from across the room.

Franny Longbottom sat at Sidi's feet. Six children, four adults. They were all present. Ali took center stage. "Thank you for coming," she said, serious as ever. Albie bit back a smile at the image of her, already having organized most of the first-year students into community service groups. "Mother, Father. Uncle Harry, Aunt Hermione. There's something that the six of us have been meaning to tell you for some time." The four parents blinked. Albie didn't need to look into their minds to know that they had no idea where this was going. Ali looked around. "Siria," Ali continued, "perhaps it would be most appropriate for you to continue."

Albie sensed a brief wave of panic from Sidi, and a matching pulse of resentment from Minerva. Sidi chose not to stand. "Well," she said, "obviously our families have always been close. Closer even than to Aunt Luna and Uncle Ron's family. And there's something that, um, we know that you haven't told us about that."

Suddenly, any anxiety that Albie might have been sensing from his eldest sister was drowned out by a flash of alarm from the four adults across the room.

"We understand that you've been waiting for the best time, that you've been trying not to burden us. But see, the thing is, we all know. We've always known."

Uncle Neville seemed, for once, to be shaken. Aunt Ginny glanced first at her husband and then, tentatively, at Albie's father, who took her hand, even as he held tightly on to his wife's. The former Minister for Magic stared at them--Albie, his sisters, his half-sisters--magisterially before speaking. "How did you come to know?"

The girls all looked to each other, uncertain--even the supremely self-assured Ali--before staring at Albie. Albie simply smiled at his mother.

"Bugger," said the prim Hermione Granger, and all of her children snorted. Albie had never even heard his mother think the word, let alone speak it.

"Children," said Uncle Neville, face white beneath his beard, not looking the part of headmaster at all at the moment, "you must trust that we were going to tell you soon."

Albie found himself nodding with the girls, unsure why they were all nodding, aside from a desire to spare this man any further embarrassment.

Still holding both mothers' hands, Albie's dad--all six children's biological dad--spoke with quiet intensity. "We needed to tell you soon. Our main concern, you see, was that Albus and Alicia might somehow become even more... attached... than they already are." Albie could feel the bottomless, limpid pool of Ali's mind fill, where she stood against the arm of the couch beside him, with one emotion: abject humiliation. Without catching her eye, he took her hand and held it as gently as he could manage. "We know that was silly, that it wasn't likely to happen," Dad spluttered. "That you and Albie have always loved each other like the brother and sister that you are. But you can see that that would have been a, erm, a problem." Courageous, heroic Harry Potter was reduced to stuttering at his own feet.

Albie had always hated the quiet, intense talks far more than yelling. It made it worse to have to add your sense of your father's mortification on to your own.

"Girls," Aunt Ginny said, squeezing both men's hands now, so that the four adults were linked in body as they were always bonded emotionally, "I... we need to know whether you understand why." Her dark eyes flashed brightly.

In Albie's lap, Lily shifted slightly, and he was stunned by the depth of her concern for her parents, her sense of their discomfort, which almost matched his own. "We know you and Daddy couldn't have had us without Uncle Harry's and Aunt Hermione's help," she said. Then she hopped down and ran to her father--to Uncle Neville--who was quietly crying. She slipped up onto his lap and threw her arms around his neck. "But you're our Daddy."

Neville began to stroke Lily's long, auburn locks; he was openly weeping now, tears glistening on his grey-streaked beard.

Lily looked up, imploring her sisters. Jade green, her eyes were the only outward sign that the three Longbottom girls had any of Harry Potter's blood in their veins.

Ali gave Albie's hand a squeeze, and ran along with Franny to embrace their father.

Albie felt as if he were in the middle of a blast furnace; nine of the dozen or so people on earth with whom he felt the strongest connection were all radiating emotion at a level that almost hurt, and yet he had no desire to leave. He wanted to see them happy. But it was more than he could take. As Sidi and Minnie ran over to embrace their parents, Albie found that he was curling in on himself, sunblind.

A hand touched his shoulder. Aunt Ginny. "Come give me a hand in the kitchen, will you, Albie?"

He found himself following her automatically, unthinkingly.

When they reached the kitchen, she didn't even pretend to try to find a task for him; she sat Albie at the long oak table and placed a glass of water in front of him. "You okay?"

He nodded and drank.

He could feel her focus and her eyes on him, even as the storm in the next room began to break. Softly, she said, "It must be overwhelming sometimes, your gift."

Albie looked up; like her youngest daughter, Ginny exuded sympathy. She was honestly trying to imagine what it would be like to be Albie Potter. He gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Not usually. I've learned, over the years, to block out what I shouldn't hear. It's like learning to have a conversation in a crowded room. But sometimes, like today, there's more than I can keep out..."

She mirrored his smile, and he could see how sad it was in fact. "I'm so sorry, Albie."

"Don't be. It really is a gift, most of the time. I mean, yeah, there are things I, uh," he pointed over his shoulder, "shouldn't know about that I do. But sometimes, the thoughts and memories are a real help."

"Like when?" she asked, curious and unconvinced.

"Well," he said, grinning shyly, "when I was ten, the first time I had a crush on a girl--it was a Muggle with flax-colored hair named Gillian Fowler--I felt like an absolute berk, you know? Convinced no one had ever felt like such an idiot, ever. But I flashed on your memories of standing right here, trying to talk to my dad and utterly floundering. I figured if someone as fantastic as you could feel that stupid, I must be in good company."

Aunt Ginny turned a deep, uniform red. "Damn."

Albie smiled and touched her hand. "But see, I got the other end of it too. I know how useless my dad felt watching you. And how foolish he felt, later, when he was the one who couldn't talk to you. Having all these memories, it is confusing sometimes, yeah. But it gives me a certain amount of.... perspective."

"I suppose," she said. Peering at him still. "I'd want to run to a Pensieve every half-hour."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Actually... Um... Mum's had me seeing a Pensieve Therapist ever since she figured out exactly what I was doing. Once a week for the past ten years or so."

A flare of recognition brightened Ginny's face. "Oh, so that's where you've been going on Friday afternoons," she muttered. "Neville would never tell me."

"Mum and Dad made him promise," Albie shrugged, and sipped the water she had given him. "I think I'd have gone barmy long ago otherwise."

Again, she looked at him, this time with the air of a card player about to make a risky bet. "Albie, there's something I... You know Harry and I... What your parents and Neville and I have, you know, of course, that it wasn't just about having the girls. But it's important that you understand that it isn't just about sex. You understand that, don't you?"

Albie stared down at her hand, which was still touching his wrist. Saw the fine lines on her knuckles, the wand calluses. He should have been feeling humiliated here, but he wasn't. Interesting. "Of course, Aunt Ginny. I've always understood that."

She was blushing still, darker now.

"Listen," he continued, "I've told my mum and dad this, but you... Nothing that I ever picked up on when I was little scared me or traumatized me or anything like that. I mean, I didn't understand a lot of it. But I always sort of knew it was... okay."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "You are a remarkable young man, Albus Potter."

"Nah," he answered, and now he felt embarrassed.

"I've been teaching for over twenty years, Albie, I think I am qualified to judge."

He shrugged.

She smiled now, and he could sense that she was willing to end the discussion but in no ways ready to concede the point. "By the way," she said, "Luna told me about your OWL results. An O in Transfiguration--good work. I can't say I'm at all surprised."

"Thanks," Albie said, relieved that the conversation had headed onto safer ground. They discussed his test scores and the exam for a few minutes before she sat back and lapsed into silence again.

"Albie?" she mused after a full two minutes, during which Albie heard his mother scolding Minnie in such a way that he knew that both women were still weeping in each other's arms.

"Um, yeah?"

"Do you have your own Pensieve, or do you just use the Healer's?"

"Just hers. Having my own would be... unbelievable. But even Mum and Dad haven't been able to find one. They're incredibly rare."

She took on a smile that Albie recognized from all three of her daughters: a smile of deep, simple pleasure. "What if I were to tell you that your namesake's Pensieve has been gathering dust in my supply cupboard since Professor Snape passed away?"

"Bloody... I mean, wicked," he hissed. "Could I... would you let me borrow it sometimes?"

"Albus. Albus, sweetheart. It's yours. There's no one in the world who deserves it half as much."

Albie threw his arms around Ginny without thinking, eliciting a squeak of surprise. "Thank you, Ginny! Oh, thanks, Merlin, that would be wonderful!"

Albie's gratitude had just dissipated to the point that he had begun to notice the tangled web of his own--or partially his own--feelings for this woman whom he was embracing when a small cough returned him to himself.

"Excuse me, Mother, might I have a word with Albus for a minute?" Ali Longbottom stood, poised as ever, in the doorway.

"Of course, Alicia, darling," Ginny told her eldest as she disentangled herself from Albie and stood. "Can you wait until next month, Albie, or would you like me to send it to you at Grimmauld Place?"

Still flustered with excitement, Albie spluttered, "When I get to school would be fine..."

"Well, then," Ginny said. She turned, whispered something into her daughter's hair that made Ali go even more stone-faced than before, winked at Albie and left.

"What can I do for you, Ali? What's up?"

With studied grace, the eldest of Neville and Ginny's children seated herself next to Albie. She had been preparing this for some time. "I just want you to know," she said, "that I would never put you in the kind of position that your father was mentioning." She was staring at a point a foot in front of Albie.

"Damn," he said, and she blinked. "Never fails. The brilliant, beautiful ones won't have anything to do with me."

Her fine chin dropped unceremoniously to her chest and she stared at him before bellowing, "ALBIE! I... You... You know I never.... I think you..."

He couldn't help it: he began to laugh, and then Ali closed her mouth primly, her face turning the familial crimson.

"Well," she said, her façade of calm finally almost re-imposed, "it's very kind of you to say such complimentary things about me."

Leaning over, Albie kissed his half-sister on the forehead. "Have I told you before that you have a future in politics?"

Now the Ali he truly knew came through, a knowing grin playing across her mouth. "Several dozen times."

Uncle Bill came bustling in, ponytail still dashing despite the receding hairline, to inform them that it was time for the lot of them to rejoin the fete.

Albie was vaguely aware that he just wanted to empty the house so he could get a good snog in with Auntie Fleur.

* * *

"Should have known better than try to hide something around you," Albie's dad muttered as they walked outside.

"Hey," Albie said, "I was four bloody years old. I told Minnie, who was properly mortified; she swore me to silence. Then, of course, she told Sidi, which just seemed so unfair. And we all told Ali, when she was, I think, around seven. It just seemed important for them to know."

"I suppose." The elder Potter sighed deeply, looking out over the sea of Weasleys in the garden. "I saw you and Ginny talking... Son, you've had to know more about your dad than any son should have to know. I'm so sorry."

Albie grabbed his father by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Right, you're probably never going to hear this from me again, but it needs to be said, okay? I'm proud to have you as a dad. True, I know a lot more about you than I ought, by rights, but the fact is, it isn't your fault that I know, and you've always behaved the way you taught me to behave. Most kids my age doubt that--I know, I've seen it. But I know for a fact you've lived your life with integrity. Bloody hell, yes, I'm proud."

Courageous, heroic Harry Potter turned a deep, splotchy red. He threw his arms around Albie. "Um. Thanks, son. I think."

"You're welcome. Just, you know, don't expect me to say it again any time soon."

Albie's father laughed. "Okay." He stepped back, and together they surveyed the party. The Longbottom girls were now playing some very complicated form of tag with Tom and Celestina Weasley; as always where Tom was, there was laughter. Even Percy and Gabrielle's obnoxious boys seemed to be having fun. Artie Weasley and Kevin Pengelly were standing side-by-side, silent as posts--each hexed by a different annoyed part-Veela, Albie realized. Sidi made her way slowly over to Kevin and accepted a chaste peck on her cheek; Albie could sense her disappointment from the other side of the garden.

"What do you think of Alison?" Albie's dad asked.

"What, Minnie's girlfriend?" the younger Potter asked. Together they gazed across to where the middle Potter child was talking with great animation to a soft-faced woman with a blonde buzzcut. "She's really nice."

"Do you... What do you see between them, son? Are they?..."

Albie felt himself harden, all of his ease with his father vanishing in an instant. "Come on, Dad. I don't pry like that, and you know it. Especially with Minnie. She really hates it. If she asked, that would be one thing. But I can't tell you."

"Right. Sorry." Albie's dad rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. "And here you were, so complimentary about my integrity. I just worry that she's getting into these relationships for all the wrong reasons. Boys. Girls. It doesn't matter. She sabotages them all."

Albie sighed. His father had hit it on the head. The glimpses of Minnie's emotional state he'd had were very confused, but she definitely didn't seem to be looking for anything in a relationship other than distance from her family. "She's still only twenty, Dad. She'll work it out. And Alison does seem nice enough."

"By the time I was twenty, your mother and I had been together for three years. We were engaged."

"By the time you were twenty, you'd both helped save the world several times over. You'd worked some stuff out that Sidi and Minnie haven't had to yet. Give them time."

"Hmmph." Albie noted a pained smile on his father's face. "Perhaps. Not you, though. You've had to grow up faster than anyone ever should."

Albie shrugged.

"What about you, son? How's your love life."

"Oh, Merlin, Dad... All that mushy stuff I said about how wonderful you are? I take it all back. You're a pervy old bastard." Albie's insides were churning. It was hard enough to have this conversation with his oldest, dearest sister. Much harder to have it with his dad.

"I've been called worse," Dad said. "Look, son, you feel deeply. I know you do. Not everyone is ready for that. But you'll find the right girl, I know it." He slapped his son on the shoulder in the best tradition of male bonding. "I'm going to head back inside and help clean up."

Albie leaned and whispered into his father's ear. "Watch out for Bill and Fleur--I think they wanted some privacy. And stay away from Auntie Gin!"

Harry Potter turned bright red again, and laughed. "Pervy young bastard!" he called, shuffling inside.

Albie laughed back, and meandered over to where the drinks were being kept in tubs of magically chilled water. He had just grabbed a bottle of shandy when a beefy hand enveloped his shoulder and spun him around, causing icy water to spray everywhere. "How's my favorite Keeper!" barked a gruff, warm voice.

Struggling in a huge, stifling embrace, Albie laughed. "Nice to see you too, Uncle Ron."

"So," the burly redhead said, "a little Phoenix told me that you might have come by a Cleansweep XV-K for you birthday. Any truth to the rumour?"

Albie grinned. "Yeah. Dad convinced Mum that a good Keeper's broom might be in order."

"As if you need it, Albie." Another squeeze.

"Yeah." Truth be told, Albie felt odd about his talent for Quidditch. He loved the game, loved playing, and took pride in the fact that he was, from a statistical viewpoint, the best Keeper at Hogwarts in over a century--the only better one being Glynna Bourgeois, the phenomenal Slytherin girl who had been the only first-year allowed to play for a house side before Albie's dad since the early nineteenth century. She had gone on to be a star player for the Harpies for over a decade. But Albie knew that he owed a large part of his success to his native skill at Legilimency: he could see where the opposing Chasers intended to shoot, and so it was very hard for the other team to get him out of position. Though the other teams never complained--not much, at least--Albie had a hard time not feeling as if he were cheating. Still, anything for Ravenclaw.

Ron laid his hefty arm across Albie's shoulder, sipping from a chilled bottle of mead. "I'd love to see Ravenclaw go unscored against this year, Albie. That would be quite something. Too bad Joanna Higgins left this year--with a good Seeker, your side would be absolutely unbeatable..."

And with that, Albie and his favorite quasi-uncle launched into a passionate, esoteric colloquium on Quidditch and the finer points of playing Keeper. Sitting in the same bench that Albie had shared with Sidi earlier, they had reached a pleasant pausing point--Ron had just relived one of his more spectacular saves against Japan, some twenty years or so before--when the older man fixed Albie with what was, for him, a cagey stare.

Albie sighed. He didn't need to be able to see into Ron's mind to know what was coming. "What?" he groaned.

"So, son, what happened between you and our Josie last spring?" Ron asked. "I'm asking as your godfather, you understand, not as her uncle."

Bloody hell, Albie thought. Here we go again. Why is everyone obsessed with my love life? "It was nothing, honest, Uncle Ron. She and I just... broke it off. No hard feelings. We just wanted different things, you know." Albie could see Josie standing with her brother, Harry, who looked uncharacteristically glum. Her mop of rust-colored hair bobbed as she talked to some blonde girl Albie didn't recognize.

"You're sure?" Ron asked. Subtlety and knowing when to quit had never been his strong points. Albie nodded curtly. "Too bad. For a bit there, with you and Josie, and Sidi and young Harry..."

Now Albie grinned, even if was with a bit of an ache. "Looking forward to finally being able to have us Potters call you Uncle Ron for real?"

Ron's long face took on its own sad smile. "Can you blame me?" He searched around, to where Aunt Luna was talking with Albie's parents. "Can I tell you something I've never told anyone, Albie?"

"Uh, sure." Albie was not sure at all.

"When I was your age, almost exactly, I decided I had it all figured out. I was gonna marry your mum, and your dad would marry your Aunt Ginny. Didn't really know Luna then, you see? And I fancied your mother, Albie, that's the truth." When Albie coughed a mouthful of his near-beer out onto the grass, Ron laughed. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure it sounds ridiculous to you, but it's true. She was quite something. And Harry and Ginny... well, they always had some... something between them, you know? Bloody hell... Used to have these weird daydreams about the two of them having the most amazing kids... You okay, Albie?" Ron asked, suddenly concerned.

"Uh, no, yeah, I'm fine. Just, um, trying hard not to think about my dad in bed with your sister, if you don't mind." No need to tell him that the thought that had flashed into Albie's mind came not from his own imagination but from a borrowed memory.

Ron grunted a laugh. "Sorry 'bout that," he said, grinning. One arm still over Albie's shoulder, the other stretched out on the back of the bench, Ron rested his head back and closed his eyes. For a minute they sat there in silence. Albie watched Josephine, working hard not to notice her thoughts. Almost succeeding. No hard feelings, indeed. Not many warm ones either. Uncle Neville came over to talk to her and the blonde.

Suddenly, Ron gave a deep rumble. Thinking his uncle had fallen asleep, Albie was about to prod him when Ron began to speak in a voice that Albie immediately recognized, although it barely seemed Ron's own: "Hear, oh, hear! Attend and learn! Love shall be joined to hate. Dark shall be joined to light. Vision shall be joined with obscurity. North shall be joined with south, and east with west. The White Son of the House of Earthworkers shall be joined with the Brown Daughter of the House of Ill Faith. Hear, oh hear! Hear! Hear... hear...."

As Ron's head slipped forward again, Albie realized that he had forgotten to breathe. He gasped. Ron began to snore.

To Albie's knowledge, Ron Weasley had given five previous prophecies, the earliest being before a Quidditch World Cup match during his student days: in his sleep he had predicted that Ireland would win, but the Bulgarian Seeker would catch the Snitch--a peculiar outcome, though not unreasonable. Ron's twin brothers had overheard the prophecy, and had laid all of their savings on the outcome. They'd won, of course, but had been paid back with Leprauchan gold, poor sods. It was an object lesson that was often repeated around the greater Weasley clan--without the prophecy. Uncle Fred and Uncle George had never told anyone that part of the story. Not that that had stopped Albie from learning the truth.

Then, of course, there was the prophecy Ron had given Albie's dad on the night of Tom Weasley's birth.

In Aunt Luna's presence, Ron had also predicted that his second child would be a girl, then, on another occasion, that the pudding at the Welcoming Feast two years later would be Spotted Dick, and finally he had named the date and cause of Luna's death. Albie had desperately tried not to learn the details of this last prophecy, and was thankful--not for the first time--that Luna's mind was about as easy to read as the patterns of snowflakes in a blizzard. Like the snowflakes, her thoughts were crystalline; like the blizzard, they swirled with all of the appearance of utter chaos.

Ron had no idea that he was a Seer. None of his prophecies had ever been registered with the Department of Mysteries. Yet Albie had utter faith in their accuracy.

The White Son of the House of Earthworkers... Well, Albus meant white one. And one could call potters earthworkers... So the vision must have referred to Albie himself. Bloody hell. It was a prophecy about... about his... girlfriend? His... what? Bloody hell, indeed. Who the hell was "the Brown Daughter of the House of Ill Faith"? And when Ron said "joined" did he mean... joined? Did Albie want to know?

A shadow passed overhead: a dragon. Minnie had changed into her Animagus form and seemed to be giving rides. Uncle Charlie and Tonks, with their little ones, giggling. Albie could sense his sister's joy at having the wind beneath her wings. She was always much happier as a dragon.

A voice spoke from behind him. "Professor... oh, is he asleep?"

Albie turned around and stared up into the face of Sidi's friend Circe Taylor. The Brown Daughter? he thought. No. No ill faith about Circe Taylor at all. "Yeah, warm day. He just nodded off. How you doing, Circe? We going to be seeing you fly for England next year?"

Circe smiled her wide, brilliant smile. "No, no, don't even try. The Ministry has been trying to get me to get me to fly for England since the last Cup. But I fly for the All-Caribbean side, you know that." She pushed his shoulder good-naturedly.

"Can't blame me for trying, can you? It'd be nice to see England win for a change. I mean, it is an English game..." Uncle Ron snorted and stirred.

Stifling a giggle, Circe pulled Albie up. "Come on, let's not wake him. I have something I want to talk with you about."

Mutely, Albie nodded and followed her a few steps away. Wouldn't be bad if she were The One, he thought. Older woman. Cute, tall, athletic. Sweet to the core. Famous in her own right. Her dozens of cornrow braids were much imitated by the Hogwarts girls--some of the boys too--since she had become one of the premier Seekers in the world over the last few years. "So, what's up, Circe?"

She looked at him appraisingly. "I've been hearing a lot about you, Albie Potter. Lowest scored-against ratio at Hogwarts since Bourgeois? Better than her, even, if you look at goals-against per minute?"

Albie kicked at a rock.

"I was talking with Sid just now. She's says you're starting sixth year next month. Have you been looking at a career yet?"

He shrugged. "Thought maybe I'd like to be an Unspeakable."

Circe grinned her sunny smile. "Good choice for a Ravenclaw, I suppose. And the son of Hermione Granger, at that. But what about the son of Harry Potter?"

"Dad?"

"He could have been a top Seeker, did you know that? I saw him fly a few times. Trained with him, even. And from what I've heard, you're an even better Keeper."

Albie blushed. "Circe, you know... You know what I am. I'm sure the league wouldn't allow a natural Legilimens..."

"Albie," Circe said, in a tone of authority that surprised him, "you've got a gift. Why not use it? How do you think top Quidditch players do what they do? The best ones all have a sixth sense--where the Snitch is going to be, when to duck a Bludger, how to find an open teammate to pass to. And are you a Seer as well as a mind-reader?"

"What? No. Of course not," he said.

"Well, professional Chasers are adjusting their tactics constantly based on what the Keeper is doing. So, unless you can see into the future, all your talent is going to give you is a split-second advantage. And remember--there are three of them to keep track of. Can you keep track of three people at once?"

Albie bristled. "If I'm on my game."

His sister's friend grinned at him again, that huge white grin. "I bet. Look, I know it's a long way off, but I want you to promise me something, Albie." She fished a card out of her pocket. "This is Morgan Finlay's card."

"Captain of the Cannons?"

She nodded. "Promise me, before you make any decisions about what you want to do after you leave school, you'll let Morgan give you a try-out?"

The Cannons? Albie began to say no--even with Circe, they were in the bottom half of the league, where they'd been for the past hundred and something years. But then he thought about what Ron had said: with him at Keeper and Circe playing Seeker, and Morgan as Beater--he wasn't half bad--if the rest of the team were anything above terrible, they'd be... strong. Really strong. He looked into Circe's eyes, which were glittering. Then, with a grin, he nodded. "Yeah, sure, I'd love to."

Circe bounced gleefully and caught him up in a hug. "Great! I've already told to Morgan about you--he was salivating." When Albie's eyebrows arched, she laughed. "No, not that way! Though if you swing in that direction, I'm sure he'd do anything for a good Keeper!"

"No! No! Not, uh, necessary. I like girls. I like girls a lot. But thanks for offering him to me."

Circe gave a giggle and a squeal, then turned to walk away, and stopped. Next to the drink tubs, Harry Weasley was talking to Sidi, his face deadly serious. She was flushed; Albie could sense her excitement at whatever he was saying. Marriage. He was talking to her about marriage! "Albie," Circe whispered, "didn't those two break up last year?"

Albie nodded. Over Harry's shoulder, Sidi shot her brother an exaggerated nervous smile, clearly asking, What do you think?

Albie peered around, looking for Kevin. Gone. He'd left, the git.

Harry grabbed onto Sidi's hand, and a flood of emotion came from the two of them: desire, fear, and much, much love.

"What's he doing then?" Circe asked.

"He's, uh... he's asking her to marry him, I think. Or at least, he's letting her know he'd like to... talk about it."

Sidi shot Albie another panicked look: WELL?

He smiled back, shrugged and held his hands out to her. What do you think?

Her eyes were large and perfectly round. Albie laughed. He knew she loved Harry, but that he had disappointed her more than once. It was her decision to make. Pulling Harry into a hug, Sidi stuck her tongue out at her brother, and he had to bite his cheeks not to laugh. "Circe," he said, "I think your friends could use a chaperone for a few minutes, and I'm a little young for the job."

She graced him with another smile, and walked over to where Sidi and Harry were having what Albie was sure was the most awkward conversation of their long friendship.

Could that have been what the prophecy?...

No, Ron had said, "The White Son..." And that was almost certainly Albie himself.

Still, it would be nice for Sidi and Harry to find their way together. Very nice indeed.

Searching the sky, Albie found his other sister's sinuous shape dodging among the clouds. Perhaps she would be willing to give him a ride later.

"Hullo, Albie," said a familiar voice.. Friendly without warmth.

"Hullo, Josie." He could smell her vanilla scent; could tell that she wasn't interested in him at all. Was both relieved and saddened. It was a very odd feeling.

"Josephine tells me that you play Keeper for Ravenclaw," a new voice said, surprising Albie. He must have been brooding more deeply than he realized not to have noticed a stranger approach. He looked down to find a slender blonde at his elbow. Funny--her voice was gently accented, exotic. She sounded anything but European, but looked everything European: fair, fine-featured, her hair and face all straight lines. Her expression would have bordered on seeming cold, if her eyes hadn't radiated an undeniable, warm good humour.

Albie realized that he was standing with his mouth open. "Uh, yeah, yeah. You fly?" Brilliant. Great line. Follow that up with "Want to ride my broom, baby?" and you'll be all set.

"Yes," the girl said. "I fly. Seeker."

Albie could feel Josie's stifled laugh; he was clearly coming across as precisely the git he felt himself to be. Terrific. Her voice dripping with amusement, she came to Albie's rescue. "Albie, this is Amarrona. She and her mother moved back to Britain at the beginning of the summer. Professor Longbottom's just sorted her into your house; I thought I'd introduce her to one of her new teammates."

He was in danger of losing himself in this girl's mahogany eyes. He held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Amarrona. We could use a Seeker."

"It is a pleasure to meet you..."

"Albus. Everyone calls me Albie." Her elegant fingers slipped into his and they shook hands.

Albie was about to say something to Josie when his former girlfriend's thought focused in such a way that he knew she meant him to hear it. She's just fourteen, Potter. Watch your step. His face must have dropped, because Josie laughed. "I'm going to go grab something to drink. Would you like something, Amarrona? Albie?"

They both shook their heads, and Josie abandoned them, chuckling. Damn, thought Albie. She's setting me up. But... for what?

He looked back to the new girl. She was studying him intently; he felt the urge to reach out and test her thoughts, but exercised what little discipline he could muster. What had he said to Sidi? He wanted to have a normal relationship. This was an opportunity at least to try. "So," he said, trying to affect something like a conversational tone, "how do you and Josie know each other?"

"My mother was a close friend of her parents at school. We've been pen-pals since I could write."

"And you're going to start at Hogwarts as a fourth-year?"

One of her eyebrows arched. "How did you know that? Most people think I look at least sixteen."

Albie felt his stomach roil. "Lucky guess." Time for a quick change of subject. "It's a great school."

"So I've heard. My parents have been on about it forever."

"Did they both go here?"

She nodded. "Yes, they're both British."

"Well, I'm glad I didn't compliment you on your excellent English, then."

That earned Albie a smile.

For the second time that afternoon, Albie found himself nodding without the slightest idea why. "And you're going to try out for the Ravenclaw Quidditch team?"

"If you need a Seeker, I hope I'll be doing more than trying out," she said, a haughty sneer the first flaw to appear on her face.

Albie grinned. "You good, then?"

The sneer softened, and she shrugged. "The one thing my parents have ever been able to agree on was that the South American schools couldn't touch Hogwarts for Quidditch. But yes, I'm good."

Albie considered her. "So, Josie said you were back with your mum..."

Suddenly, the proud, erect bearing crumpled slightly. "My parents," she said, very quietly, "they... split."

"I'm sorry." It seemed the thing to say. He was sorry; in fact, however, Albie was noting that she hadn't used the Muggle word divorce. Her parents must be purebloods.

"Don't be. My father is an insufferable tonto. I won't miss him, and neither will Mamá."

"Ah. Well," Albie said, as suavely as he could manage, "we'll be very happy to have you."

The smile warmed. "But will you be happy to have me, Albie?"

She was... flirting with him?

"Erm, yes, yes, very happy indeed."

It wasn't so much that she might be interested in him; that was a surprise, but a pleasant one. But that he had had no warning at all, no pulse of heat--that was a shock.

Faced with a mystery-- a very pretty mystery--Albie's resolve collapsed. He reached out, attempting to see if she was truly interested, or if she was just playing with him.

He reached out. And found nothing.

Not a lack of interest, no. Simply nothing. With even the most skilled, private Occlumens--his father; that old prune, the late headmaster--Albie was aware of emotion and thought being hidden. He might not be able to tell what it was, but he could count on sensing that something was going on.

Amarrona gave him no sign of anything at all happening inside of her that wasn't transmitted by her face, by her voice, by her body language. She might as well have been a statue for all that he could read her.

She was the most gifted Occlumens he'd ever met, and she probably didn't even know it.

His stomach dropped, and he found himself reaching out to take her hand. "Yes. I will be very happy to have you at Hogwarts."

He was gratified to see her pale skin blossom with color; she stared up at him, her eyes wide. It was going to be nice having to read someone's face for clues. Especially such a lovely face.

Josie came swaying up, a bottle of pumpkin juice in her hand. "Sorry to have to break up this little tête-à-tête, but Amarrona, we need to head back down to London." She smiled at Albie. Thought you'd like her, you tosser.

This time, he grinned back at her. "Thanks, Josie. Good to see you."

"You too," she said mischievously. I like her a lot more than I like you. Hurt her and I promise you'll have eighteen Weasley cousins to make your life a living hell.

Albie blinked, nodded, and turned back to Amarrona, only to realize he was still holding her hand.

She smiled at him. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mr?..."

"Potter."

Now it was her turn to goggle. "Potter! Are you... the son of Harry Potter? And Hermione Granger?"

"Yeah. Yes. That's me."

"Well, Albie Potter, it is a pleasure to meet you. I have heard much about your parents." She took her other hand in his. "Me llamo Amarrona Bell..." Her eyes glistened, and she smiled as she added, "y Malfoy."

Albie let loose a peel of laughter, which she rather more delicately joined. How amazing to be surprised! He leaned forward and kissed both white hands. "A pleasure to meet you, Señorita Bell y Malfoy."

Josie stared at him in astonishment. This time the thought came out aloud. "Well, you never did that to me!"

Albie reluctantly let go of Amarrona's hands and took one of Josie's darker, squarer ones in his, bent at the waist and kissed the back of her knuckles. "Miss Weasley." Then he peered up at her. "Would you have liked it if I had?"

She smirked at him; it was a smirk he had missed, from when they had merely been friends. "Prat," she said, and whacked him on the head. "Come on, Ami. We don't want the Portkey to leave without us."

He watched the girls walk away, and his breath caught when Amarrona looked back at him over her shoulder, a small, wicked smile playing on her lips.

Malfoy.

Ill faith.

Albie felt himself grinning madly, manically, happier than he could ever remember.

He had met his destiny, and it looked... totally blank. But quite pretty. And very promising.

Suddenly, being Albie Potter didn't look like such a bad thing after all.