When Alfonse arrived at his quarters, they were exactly as he left them that morning, and he was profoundly grateful that Dumbledore hadn’t meddled with his things. He amended this to being grateful that his possessions were untouched, when he saw the boxes in his kitchen.

He removed his, by now, entirely reverted robes and hung them by the door, as he always did. Then he made his way into the kitchen to sort through the ridiculous amount of purchases Dumbledore had made on his behalf.

The first thing Alfonse noticed was that many of the boxes were from Gladrags, and that almost made him abandon the task. Clothes of that quality- and that quantity, he added mentally after a quick count of the boxes, were unnecessary when he was only going to be wearing them when not in uniform for a couple months at the longest.

He sighed, and reminded himself that Dumbledore has shopaholic tendencies, no impulse control, and deep pockets; a disastrous combination in any situation, let alone one warranting an entirely new wardrobe. Next to the Gladrags boxes was a school trunk, and Alfonse opened it. Thankfully it was empty, so he began unpacking the clothing from both Gladrags and from the Madam Malkin’s boxes that were revealed as he progressed in his packing.

There was also miscellaneous school supplies and books that he packed away as well. At this point, he just wanted the odious task over and done with.

Eventually, he shoved the last handkerchief into the trunk, closing the lid more firmly than he really needed to, and banished the trunk to his storage closet.

The house elves could find it there when they needed to transport it to Gryffindor Tower.

That done, he made a beeline straight for his liquor cabinet, only to discover all his alcohol gone. ‘So much for untouched possessions’ thought Alfonse as he grabbed the note pinned to the back of the cabinet. It was the usual nonsense from Dumbledore. Something about this body being too young to handle alcohol. Alfonse crumbled up the note and threw it into the fire in disgust.

He went back to his kitchen and made himself a mug of very strong tea.

Tea in hand, he went back to his living room and settled himself into his favorite armchair in front of the fireplace. He rarely had a chance to just relax like this, and although he would have enjoyed himself more with some of his favorite scotch, he had to admit that the tea was nice and soothing.

Alfonse directed his thoughts away from the more volatile subjects. This would be the last time for a long time that he’d be able to just relax in his favorite armchair, and he didn’t want to waste it on anger that he could still brood on tomorrow.

This in mind, he put his feet on the ottoman, and lost himself in more pleasant memories. A certain fiery tempered and headed witch featured predominantly in these memories. After quite some time, Alfonse finished his tea, and headed to his own bed.

He determinedly refused to speculate when the next time he’d see it would be.

When Severus woke the next morning, something felt wrong. He laid in bed for a few minutes trying to locate the source of the wrongness, when it suddenly hit him. His body wasn’t aching.

His body wasn’t aching because it wasn’t his body. This body was 16 years old and had never been damaged as his usual one had. If he hadn’t known about the latent poisonous qualities making the side-effects dangerous to take advantage of for more than six months, he would have had a hard time believing it had disappeared into obscurity the way it did.

He forced himself to remember that he was Alfonse in every way that mattered now.

For several more minutes Alfonse lay in his bed, delaying the moment he’d have to get dressed and head to the Great Hall for breakfast and his first encounter with the Golden Boy.

He grimaced and finally got out of bed. He showered quickly, and as he was about to head to his closet to get dressed, he remembered that, in his ire, he’d forgotten to set out a uniform for today. He grumbled and summoned one from his trunk.

Alfonse quickly pulled the uniform on. He avoided looking in the mirror until he remembered Dumbledore’s comment about this very same behavior the day before. He paused in his routine and made a point to examine his unfamiliar appearance.

While it did feel good to spite Dumbledore without him knowing it, Alfonse realized that it was probably best for him to be more than passably familiar with his appearance. There was also the factor of his soon-to-be roommates to consider. Teenage boys didn’t tend to handle odd behavior in others very well, and they could very well take it upon themselves to mock him for avoiding mirrors.

It was best to avoid that all too familiar possibility.

As he collected himself to leave his quarters with his usual purposeful haste, he realized he wouldn’t be coming back. It would be months before he’d be able to relax in the quiet solitude of his personal quarters.

For the next few months, he’d be living with five teenaged boys, a group not known for their consideration or orderly living habits, and Alfonse suddenly felt that he had let his private, peaceful quarters go unappreciated. It was terribly sentimental, but with this in mind, he stood there in the foyer of his quarters and bid them farewell.

As soon as he was outside his quarters, Alfonse cast a disillusionment charm over himself. With the Gryffindor robes he now sported, it wouldn’t do for one of his Slytherin’s to spot him leaving the dungeons.

Some of them were smart enough to draw the right connections between the disappearance of their head of house and the appearance of a new student. Hopefully, without the suspicion that would be aroused by seeing him leave the dungeons, none of them would even get on the trail. Alfonse had no desire to deal with the complications that would arise if one of them figured it out.

Though of course, as Alfonse Hopkirk, it would hardly be his responsibility to deal with it. Ah well, Dumbledore would not be pleased if he were so blatantly careless and the enjoyment he would derive from causing Dumbledore unnecessary work would be lessened significantly by the lecture he would likely receive as a result.

When Alfonse reached the ground floor bathrooms, he detoured into one of them. It was thankfully empty, so he cancelled the charm. As he was walking out of the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and it was just as startling as it had been that morning. He paused and examined himself again hoping the novelty of the experience would wear off faster if he continued to do so.

On his way to the Great Hall from the bathroom, he came across the DADA instructor in deep conversation with someone Alfonse hadn’t seen before. Professor Kirke was a rather unremarkable Auror, though Severus had to admit that she was tolerably proficient in instructing and had been sent to teach DADA by Amelia Bones on Dumbledore’s request.

He took a moment to hope that the unfamiliar woman had been sent been sent by Bones since the other options Dumbledore would likely come up with to replace him were hardly appealing.

Thankfully, Kirke’s present familiarity with the stranger led Severus to believe that she had been sent by Bones to teach Potions in his place. He could only hope that she was as competent as Kirke, or his return to teaching would be a nightmare.

Finally, Alfonse arrived at the massive doors to the Great Hall and walked in. He nearly instinctively turned to the left which would take him to both his usual seat at the head table, though he rarely approached from this side anymore, and to the Slytherin table.

He stopped himself in time, however and turned right towards the Gryffindor table. To his disgust, Potter was already seated there with the female Weasley.

He reluctantly made a beeline for their part of the table. The sooner he befriended the brat and informed Dumbledore of his foolishness and childishness, the sooner he could have his life back, after all. He drew level with the empty section of bench across from where Potter and Weasley were seated, noticing that Weasley was reprimanding Potter, and took a deep breath.

“Can I sit here? My name is Alfonse, by the way.” He said, proud of himself for being so civil.

Potter looked the way he always did in Potions class; that is to say, he looked stupid and bewildered. After an embarrassingly long pause, in Alfonse’s opinion, Potter finally responded with a tactless sure and a gesture at the empty seat.

After another moment of awkward silence in which Alfonse internally bemoaned the circumstances that led to him to this supremely unfortunate situation, Weasley said: “I guess we should introduce ourselves, I’m Ginny Weasley, and you probably already guessed that that’s Harry Potter.”

Alfonse nodded, having already filled his plate and his mouth with Hogwarts’s trademark delicious food. He swallowed his food and was trying to decide how to reply when Potter opened his mouth.

“So where are you from?” Potter asked.

“I’m from the South.” Alfonse responded, “Of America,” he added, trying to disguise the bitterness in his voice, angry that he was reinforcing Potter’s belief that, as the chosen one, he had the right know whatever he wanted about everyone he encountered. He continued eating and no one seemed inclined to do any talking. Despite a small voice in his head urging him to be friendlier to get this over with, he allowed the quiet to continue.

After a few more minutes of awkward silence, Potter finished eating, the female Weasley noticed and looked oddly upset about it. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Potter stood up abruptly, cutting off whatever she was going to say.

“It was nice meeting you Alfonse, I’ll see you around. See you later Ginny.” Potter said in a rush, turning to leave as soon as he finished speaking.

Alfonse turned to Weasley to see if this was normal behavior, and instead of the anger, annoyance, or star-struck awe he expected to see in her eyes, he saw a resigned sadness. This seemed a little bizarre to Alfonse, but honestly? He didn’t care.

If it turned out to have something to do with befriending Potter, maybe he’d investigate it, but for now he didn’t have to pretend to care.

As Harry rushed away from the Great Hall, Ginny watched him from her seat at Gryffindor table. He’d hardly eaten anything, and she suspected that it was Alfonse’s fault.

He may not have been overtly rude or mean to Harry, but Harry was awfully fragile lately- though she’d never say that directly to him, and especially in the aftermath of the past year and being called a liar and insane by most of the wizarding world, having someone be so standoffish to his face would most likely at least put him off his food.

Especially since he always had trouble eating after the summer.

She pushed this train of thought away, any time she had tried to pursue it in the past had simply led to trouble of some kind. Either in the form of driving her into a deep well of waiting, always lurking, depression, or white-hot anger, the kind of anger that drove a person to get herself to Little Whinging and commit murder.

Neither of these were productive, and turning that energy, that emotion, evoked by those thoughts was equally unproductive. Harry clammed up faster than Gringott’s when asked about his childhood or summers and there was no other source of information.

And, as Ginny knew all too well, the sources of authority here at Hogwarts were nigh useless- Diary, Basilisk, Pettigrew, Tournament, Umbridge- ran through her head, as if she needed a reminder.

She shook these thoughts away and turned to Alfonse “Did you have to be such a dick? What did Harry ever do to you?” Confrontation was always easier than introspection.

Alfonse snorted, and gestured vaguely with his fork as he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I was perfectly polite.”

Ginny’s ears turned a shade of pink that clashed spectacularly with her hair and said, “If you call that polite, I’d hate to see what you consider rude.”

She looked back at the now closed doors of the Great Hall and continued to Alfonse as she stood up from her seat, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a friend to check on.”

She heard Alfonse snort rudely from behind her as she strode out of the Great Hall. If Alfonse didn’t shape up soon, he was not going to like the consequences.

Harry deserved better and Ginny was going to do her best to make that ‘better’ a reality.

Harry fled the Great Hall, doing his best to not actually appear to be fleeing. He felt horrible for being so rude to Ginny, but he could tell she was about to try to get him to eat more, and he just had to get out of there before she could.

He wished his friends wouldn’t try to force him to eat; he never could eat much at the beginning of the school year- yet another legacy of the Dursley’s mistreatment of him, and no amount of nagging was going to miraculously stretch his stomach.

He knew that there were probably potions or spells that could help alleviate the situation either by stretching his stomach or by simply calming, but frankly Harry had no trust in the people he’d have to seek help from.

He knew that as soon as he went to Madam Pomphrey, it wouldn’t be long before the whole school, and consequently the whole wizarding world, knew about his troubles. It could easily end up being the thing that caused everybody to hate him again; he couldn’t take that so soon after they stopped.

And he knew very well that Dumbledore knew of his home life. “I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years,” Dumbledore had said to him at the end of last year.

A small part of him that was ever hopeful persisted in wondering if Dumbledore truly knew the extent of what went on in that house. But then the more jaded and realistic part of him pointed out that his letter had been addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, that Mrs. Figg had been sent to watch him and must have seen something, that Dumbledore had had to threaten Petunia into keeping him; and he’s forced to admit that Dumbledore certainly knew enough.

Really thinking of the whole situation is futile since no matter what he was still forced back to the Dursley’s and there was no hope that anything would change. And at this point It’s not like there would be any use; he only had one last summer to get through before he was free.

Then there was the new issue of Alfonse. That was another person who could discover his secret. It had been hard enough avoiding four other people when he changed and showered over the past several years, but five? That would be nearly impossible.

He’d have to figure it out though, because there was no way that a stranger would be willing to keep such a big secret. Harry suspected that, besides Ron and possibly Neville, the rest of his dorm mates would sell out to the Daily Prophet if they knew that his relatives abu- no, he couldn’t even think the word.

Then again, his nightmares were now ending his night’s sleep far earlier than anyone else would ever wake up, so if he got up quickly and finished dressing and showering before anyone else got up, it’d be fine.

Really, he only had to be cautious for the period of time while he was showering and changing since his clothes easily hid all the marks Vernon left on his body.

Heaven forbid the neighbors see something out of the ordinary and do something drastic like call the police.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, Harry realized he had made it all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. He gave the password to the Fat Lady, and went to grab his books.

As he collected the books that he needed, he was reminded yet again of how much he had to do, how much he had to catch up on. Voldemort had decades of experience on him, not to mention his raw magical power. Harry knew it was pointless to think that studying his schoolwork would improve his chances against him, but it was all he could do for now.

He felt decent about how much he’d gotten done over the summer. He’d been able to send requests for books with the letters he had carefully sent every three days. And thanks to Mr. Weasley and Moody speaking to Vernon at the train station, he had even been able to keep all his schoolbooks with him in his room.

It’d been hard trying to learn everything on his own. He’d achieved mastery of all his old material, finally, but trying to teach himself new defense techniques had been difficult without any guidance. For some reason, Dumbledore wasn’t helping him train, or having anyone else do it for him. Although, as Harry sometimes thought before he could stop himself, perhaps Dumbledore wasn’t training him because he’d realized how utterly useless Harry was.

Harry shook his head to rid himself of these thoughts. Even if they were true, there was nothing he could do about them, and he had other things to do with his time. At this, he picked up his book bag and headed out of the dorm for the library.