Chapter Text
Dad,
I hope you’re doing well. Hogwarts is okay. Classes are interesting, and I’m learning all sorts of magic. Defense Against the Dark Arts is my favorite. Potions is rubbish.
Christmas holiday is coming up soon, and I was invited to spend the first week of it at a friend’s house. Would you mind if I went? I can Floo from there to the Burrow on December 24th.
Tell Lily and Mum I miss them.
Love,
Albus
Harry stared at the letter in his hands in disbelief. It had just come in the post from Aragog, the family owl (a name Ron had not been pleased with but Hagrid had absolutely adored), and, at first, Harry had expected it to come back empty-handed. His letters from Albus had been few and far between since the boy had started his first year. Harry and Ginny wrote weekly, including family updates, Quidditch news, tips and tricks on the secret passageways in the castle, and loads and loads of questions.
How are you doing? How are your classes? Have you made any friends? What’s your favorite class? How is Slytherin doing in Quidditch? Have you made any friends? Have you gotten detention yet? Is your brother bothering you? How’s your chocolate frog card collection coming? What sort of magic are you learning? Have you made any friends?
Albus’s replies, if he sent any at all, were brief and noncommittal.
“School’s fine. Slytherin’s fine. I still need a Dumbledore chocolate frog card.”
At first, Ginny had pushed Harry not to worry.
“James almost never writes back either,” she reminded.
“James is different,” Harry pointed out, and Ginny had to concede on that one.
“He’s probably busy, Harry. First-year is full of new things: a new place, new spells, new friends. Albus might not be as talkative as James or Lily, but he’d tell us if something’s wrong.”
By mid-October, Harry had stopped voicing these concerns to Ginny. Ginny’s point about first years being busy was sound, James said Albus was fine whenever he wrote, and they had both talked to Neville (Hogwarts’s new professor of Herbology) about keeping an eye on their son, so Harry had no logical reason to think that something was wrong. It was just a matter of trusting that Albus would tell them if it was, and Harry wasn’t sure he trusted his son to do that. Ginny was outspoken. She told people when things bothered her, when she felt left out or when she felt something was unfair, but Harry had never fully grasped the art of letting others know when something was bothering him, and, as much as he prayed his three kids would’ve inherited that skill from their mother, he knew that Albus took after him.
The biggest thing that Harry was scared of? That Albus wouldn’t make any friends.
He had always been the quietest of Harry’s three kids, and, while James had written to Harry and Ginny in the first week saying,
“Stop pestering me with owls! Classes are fun, and my friends and I are thinking of sneaking into Hogsmeade this weekend. Any ideas for secret passageways?”
Albus had yet to mention any other student in Hogwarts, aside from the occasional complaint about his brother. That was why this particular letter, more so than any of the others Harry had received, brought him joy.
Beaming, he bounded down the stairs to the kitchen, where Ginny sat with her feet on the table, stirring a cup of coffee with her wand and revising the Holyhead Harpies’ latest strategy.
“Ginny!” Harry cried, skidding to a stop at the table.
She looked up, startled, and he thrust the letter into her hands.
He watched her face avidly as she read, her eyes moving left to right, following Albus’s small scribble. When she finished, she looked up at him and leaned forward, smirking. “What’d I tell you?” Her face had a smug look, but there was a sparkle in her eyes, and Harry knew she was just as excited about the news as he was.
“He said ‘friend’,” Harry exclaimed.
“I saw.”
Harry took back the letter, read it again, and smiled. “He made a friend.”
Ginny laughed. “You sound more excited about Albus’s friend than he does.” Harry looked at her. She was smiling. “And if he’s invited to spend the first week of holiday, they’ve probably been friends for a while. Not even you were invited to spend the holidays at the Burrow until fifth year.”
Harry snorted. “Ron didn’t even go home until the fifth year.” He looked back at the letter, and, in spite of the balloon of happiness that was rising in his chest, something knotted in his stomach. “Do you think we should check with the parents? Just, make sure we know them, and make sure they know us?”
“It’s only for a week,” Ginny said with a shrug. “But we could send some Floo powder, in case he needs to make a quick getaway.”
“You think he’ll need to make a quick getaway?” Harry asked quickly.
“No.” Ginny sent him a smile. “You worry too much, Harry,”
“And you don’t worry enough,” he replied, but he was also grinning. He looked back at the letter again. “D’you think–” he hesitated, then, remembering how Mrs. Weasley had taken him in all those years ago, tried again, “d’you think we could let Albus know he’s welcome to invite his friend to the Burrow after?”
Ginny thought for a minute. “As long as he plays on our team for the annual Weasley Quidditch tournament.”
Harry snorted. “Obviously. We need it if we want a chance at beating George and Angelina’s team now that Fred’s dating the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. Will you ask your mom?”
“Alright,” Ginny said, grinning. “I doubt she’ll say no though. She’s never turned down a child at Christmas before.”
“Thanks,” Harry beamed. He loved Mrs. Weasley. “Right. I’ll write back to Albus then and let him know. He started for the stairs, then turned. “Lily?” he asked Ginny.
“Outside with Lorcan, searching for Nargles,” Ginny replied, looking amused. “Hugo wasn’t pleased but he went as well.”
“Ah,” said Harry with an amused sort of smile. Lily Luna, his daughter, had certainly taken after her godmother’s love for unusual (and potentially nonexistent) magical creatures. He dashed upstairs, grabbing a quill and writing,
Albus,
Great to hear from you! Defense Against the Dark Arts was my favorite class too (at least in the years that I had a competent teacher). How’s your professor? What are you learning? Potions is rubbish, don’t worry. The only thing you really need to know is a bezoar (but don’t tell Professor Slughorn I said that.)
You are ABSOLUTELY allowed to spend the first week of the Christmas holiday with your friend. And, if you like, you should invite him to the Burrow after! I asked your mother and the more the merrier (he just has to play on the Potter Quidditch team during the annual Weasley Quidditch tournament and accept his Weasley Christmas sweater without complaint).
Who is this friend? What’s his name? Where did you two meet? Don’t feel like you have to answer if you don’t want to. I’m sure I’ll learn all about him this Christmas. I can’t wait to see you, Albus.
I’m packing double Chocolate Frogs in this week’s parcel. Share some with your friend! (And here’s hoping you get Dumbledore.)
Your mother, sister, and I miss you so, SO, much, and we hope you have a fantastic rest of term.
Love,
Dad
Aragog gave him an affectionate click with his beak as Harry sent him off for Hogwarts, and his heart was soaring as he watched the bird fly.
“Albus made a friend,” he thought. “It’s going to be okay.”