**A/N: Welcome to the final installment of A&A! (*Sniff, sniff*) I know, I know, you all want more (right?) but I know what I'm going to do about a potential sequel. I have a lot of other story ideas that I want to finish first, so the sequel is currently placed on the end of my queue. So however long it takes me to finish three stories, (one's long but the other two are relatively short, I promise,) that's when I'll start the sequel. Unless, of course, I suddenly get a ridiculous number of people saying, "Yes! Sequel! Now!" (And let's face it, that's obviously not happening) that's how it's gonna go down. Well now that you've read my really long note, I'd like to thank you all so much for making it to the end! You guys are so great! Thanks to Rani Jashalithie, Razeasha (virtual cookies to you!) and Element's Sole Protector (who gets virtual cookies as well), who lovingly reviewed the last chapter! I also want to apologize for the awkward time shifts—I was reading my story back and realized that none of my line breaks showed up on the posts. So sorry about that! Love you all, and for the last time (in this story), KEEP READING! **

Chapter Twelve: Breaking the Ice

"Albus! It's so good to have you back!" his mother squealed, pulling him in for a tight hug.

"You too, Mum," he choked out, unable to squirm out of her death-grip hug. His father grinned knowingly at him, giving him a wink that meant enduring this right now will definitely benefit you in the future. And right now he needed all the help he could get—there was no predicting how his father could react to the questions Albus was preparing to ask. So he behaved himself, immediately beginning to search for the perfect opportunity (probably when his father was in a particularly good mood) to catch his dad alone.

*A&A*

Albus lay awake in bed, entirely sleepless and staring at the ceiling. He regretted not asking his father about his namesakes, but after Lily shattered her dinner plate (with "accidental" magic) while protesting having to clean up, Albus thought that he would wait for his father's foul mood to blow over. Footsteps creaked on the floor below him—his father was pacing in his study. Inwardly excited that his father was still up, Albus decided that now was as good a time as any and crept out of his bedroom.

"Albus, what are you doing up?" his father questioned, seeing the boy peek through the study doors. Albus stepped soundlessly into the room.

"Couldn't sleep," he muttered.

"Me neither," his father's eyes crinkled as he smiled down at him.

"I need to talk to you," Albus began, eyes wandering around the old-fashioned study.

"It looks to me as if you already are," his father mused, "but go on." Albus floundered for words, his mouth opening and closing several times. "Is this about the Resurrection Stone?" his father interjected. Albus's eyes ceased wandering and grew wide, his mouth finally setting itself in a wide gape.

"How—h-how did you know about that?" Albus stuttered. His father grinned mischievously.

"You didn't think I'd leave you and James together at Hogwarts entirely unsupervised? No, I have a close eye on you." His father's green eyes were positively laughing at this.

"You mean Neville?"

"Among others." Albus's brow furrowed in thought at this statement. Who else would have close contact with his father? "I believe you've been hanging around the Hog's Head lately? At least that's what Aberforth said in his note." Ah, all questions answered. Harry continued to grin, silently chuckling to himself.

"And he told you about the stone?"

"He might've mentioned it." His father was still grinning as he said this, but the laughter had begun to leave his eyes. "But Albus," he was extremely serious now, "you need to promise me something. When I lost the stone, it was my intention that no one ever find it. Keep it in a safe place, and promise me that you won't use it ever again."

"What?" he could hardly believe what he was hearing; he had already lost the stone once, and now that he had it back, he had every intention of using it again. He wanted to speak to his namesakes directly—heck, he even wanted to speak to Fred again!

"Promise." His father's gaze intensified, and Albus knew that he wouldn't be allowed to leave unless he answered.

"I won't use it again," he agreed reluctantly.

"Good." The merriment returned to the green eyes. "Now is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?"

"No," he said, a weary tone engulfing his voice, "nothing at all." And he trudged up to his bed defeated.

*A&A*

"Hand me that plate, Al?" his father asked from behind the sink. Albus complied, and Harry placed it on the stack of breakfast dishes that were now washing themselves. Albus couldn't deny that he was itching to ask about his namesakes again—what harm could it do? The opportunity seemed all right, as his mother and James were out practicing Quidditch in the over-large front yard, and Lily was a spectator, trying desperately to decide who to favor in the intense one-on-one match.

"Dad," he began slowly.

"Yes, Al?" Harry finished drying his hands and peered over his glasses at his son.

"Aberforth said—" he paused as he took a shaky breath, "—that you were there the night Severus Snape died." His father looked shocked, and it took him a noticeably long while to reply.

"Yes, Al, I was there," Harry finally said, albeit slowly.

"Erm, well, I, uh," Albus stuttered, unable to find words, "I, um, have this dream, where I, uh, see him. Snape, I mean. Die. I have a dream where I see Snape die." He finally managed to form a coherent sentence. Harry's eyes were downcast—so his son had a deeper connection to the men whom he was named after than he thought. "I, er, wanted to know, uh, what he did to die that way. I mean I know you said he was brave, but, um, what exactly did he do?" Albus continued.

"You're too young, Albus. I'll tell you his story when you're older." Harry pushed his glasses back up on his nose and began to turn away from the boy.

"I deserve to know." Albus's tone was surprisingly steady for the amount of anger bubbling inside him. Too young? How could his father think that?

"And you will. But when you're older." His father had begun to walk away. How could he end the conversation there? Albus needed answers! If he couldn't get them from his father, he knew one place he could…

Albus sprinted up to his room, grabbing the stone and shoving it into his pocket. He then sprinted back down the stairs and out the back door—his father would know if he did this in the house.

"Albus!" his father shouted. Well it sounded as if he knew anyway. He pulled the stone from his pocket, trying to ignore the cold snow as it melted against his sock-clad feet. How had he forgotten shoes? And a cloak for that matter. Albus deeply regretted his haste.

One turn.

He didn't care about his promise to his father. He needed answers.

Two turns.

He could hear his father's shouts from the back porch of the house. He didn't care about that either. He just kept running. He was almost at the thick trees that lined the yard—he could have this conversation in private.

Three—

Albus stopped midway through the final turn. Something had cracked beneath his feet… Wait. Where was the small yet rather deep pond he and James used to skate on? Wasn't it off to his left? He guessed it wasn't as the cracking sound split his ears yet again. Albus tried to make his way off the ice, but with his next step, his foot fell through and dragged the rest of him with it. He flailed in the water but was sinking fast—the stone had become immensely heavy in his hands. Albus held on with all his might, but the stone steadily propelled him downwards as effectively as a hundred pound weight. He wanted desperately to hold on, but he felt himself running out of air. He clung to the stone fervently—he couldn't let his answers slip through his fingers. A large bubble escaped his lips: he was out of air. He was going to drown if he didn't let go… With a last remorseful look, he let the stone fall from his hand and began to kick upward. The surface seemed so far away, and he was so exhausted. His body felt weak as blackness creeped into the outskirts of his vision—he wasn't going to make it. He stretched out his hand in a feeble attempt to reach the surface, but as he did, everything went black.

*A&A*

Darkness engulfed him as he felt his mind begin to work more clearly. Wait, darkness? Isn't death supposed to be really bright? Where's the weird light that's supposed to come towards him? Why did he never see eleven years flash before his eyes? Albus's eyes flew open as he searched for the answer, which came simply as he looked around his very crowded room—he wasn't dead. Twelve pairs of eyes stared at him in concern and relief. Albus went around the circle remembering each of their names (Nana Molly, Papa, Uncle Bill and Aunt Fleur, Uncle Charlie, Uncle George and Aunt Angelina, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, his parents, and James), letting out a sigh of relief that the trauma of the day's events hadn't caused him amnesia. It would be horrid to have to learn all those names again.

"Albus?" James choked out. Albus smiled weakly at his brother, who promptly threw himself at him in a great hug. "We thought…" his already muffled voice trailed off. "Don't ever do anything that stupid again," he finally chastised, breaking away from the hug. With the end of James's hug, everyone began speaking at once, asking if he was okay, if he needed anything, if he wanted any special onion soup (Nana Molly said it was still hot—Albus was sorely tempted), or if he was warm enough. Albus opened his mouth to speak, but it was Harry who beat him to it.

"Everyone, thank you for your concern, but Albus will be fine. Go downstairs and tell the kids that he's awake now. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with him alone." Harry ushered his extended family out of Albus's room, then turned and sat on the bed. "Al," he began, "what you did was very stupid." Albus, who had just managed to sit up, hung his head. "You shouldn't have run from the house like that. But I take some blame, too. I was eleven once, injured after defending a stone, sort of like you, and with questions that wouldn't be answered. Not until I was fifteen, anyway. So I know what you were thinking, that you had to find out everything on your own. But Al, that only puts you in danger. And I think that this information would be better heard from me than anyone else, so ask anything. Every question you ever needed an answer to, ask it now. I'll answer honestly, I swear." Albus felt his eyes grow wide and well with tears as he pulled his father in for a hug. He would finally get his questions answered.

And for the first time in his life, Albus nearly ran out of questions. He had only one left—one that he was pretty sure he couldn't ask his dad: What pranks would he, Scorpius, and Quinn pull once they got back to Hogwarts?

*THE END*