7:30-ish AM

Disclaimer: Not my world, not my characters, not one sickle do I receive (for anything.)

In most ways, the man behind the curtain was the most isolated man at Hogwarts.

He never spoke to the subjects of other portraits; his own frame was Unplottable to them and proof against their wanderings. On the rare occasions he left his curtained portrait, he did so briefly and carefully, sticking to the obscure parts of large landscapes where he might be reduced to an unnoticed speck amid the scenery. Students in other Houses generally didn’t know he existed.

While he would show himself to other teachers when they conversed, he had only revealed his identity to two students in his years of guarding the chief approach to the Slytherin Common Room, and then only on their graduation day—when he was more than certain they could be trusted never to mention his identity to anyone. He was not some curio for First Years to gawk at, as his curtain so plainly indicated.

He ought to have supposed that one day, there would be a First Year who would not take the hint.

Albus Severus was not precisely late; however, his plan to stop by the kitchens on the way to the Quidditch Pitch was going to need a bit of tweaking if he was to have time to eat before the older students arrived and tryouts began. He hit the corridors at a brisk trot.

Still… it couldn’t take too long to stop at the draped portrait and try to eke out a bit more information on the mystery man. Food… mystery… Quidditch. Oh, and homework at some point as well. Al wondered if he could get his hands on a Time-Turner.

“Good morning, Professor Curtain!” he said, with entirely too much cheer for even a somewhat reasonable hour of the morning.

“What are you about, Potter?” Al noted the tone of voice and added ‘Not a Morning Person,’ to his list of traits for the mystery man. He’d already decided the man was a Slytherin Professor. Non-faculty portraits in the castle seemed little interested in House issues, and his bias in that regard was unmistakable.

“Quidditch tryouts, naturally,” Al replied. “We’re fresh out of Seekers.”

“I don’t suppose it matters that Scorpius is likewise trying for the Seeker position. Is all fair in love and Quidditch, or are there no such creatures as ‘best mates’ in either?” he asked, in a tone both insinuating and scathing.

After a decidedly nonplussed instant, Al realized that it made more sense that the curtained professor had already addressed Snidge this morning (given the empty bed beside his) than that he had some form of divinatory power. Surely Snidge didn’t doubt their plan to be one and two, however that fell out? Perhaps the man had mistaken nerves for mistrust—Snidge certainly had a few issues there, as his general green tinge before an examination attested.

Al narrowed his eyes at the green drape. The temptation to do something very nasty to the canvas was strong, but in light of his suspicions as to who lurked there, he held back. If he was to be the best at gaming the system this was an ally he needed. And truth be told… if it was who he suspected, it was someone his curiosity demanded to know better. “Nothing ‘alleged’ about it. We’re the best, he and I; if I’m not it, I don’t want anyone else to get it but him.” Al kept his voice level, but he well knew that he’d failed to keep the ferocity from it, and couldn’t be arsed to care. He also filed away the ‘Scorpius’ vs. ‘Potter’ as another bit of evidence.

“A likely story,” the portrait murmured, but Al sensed he’s taken a measure of wind out of the man’s sails.

“Besides, with the casualties Slytherin takes, we’d do well to have backups for every position. There’s nothing to say we won’t both Seek, sooner or later,” Al said.

Al wasn't sure how, but he felt that somehow, the man behind the curtain was currently responding to that argument entirely in ellipses…

After a period of no definite response, Al shrugged. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, sir—mostly—but I really do have to make the pitch. At this rate, I’ll have to skip breakfast to arrive before the good brooms are all gone,” Al lied blatantly. No power on earth could keep him from breakfast, and he fully intended to… borrow… James’ broom from the Quidditch lockers (or if James had finally learned to secure his belongings better after a decade of living with Al, Louis’.)

“Damn your eyes, boy, do you want your head of house to have to tell your parents that you fell off a broom doing fool stunts on an empty stomach?” Al could hear a deep breath being taken. The man reigned in his little flare of temper and returned to the insinuating tone with which he’d first greeted Al. “Even your two accomplices stopped for food.”

Al smiled. This fellow had definitely been a pretty stern professor once upon a time, and maybe a no-nonsense dad as well. No one else could be such a proponent of chewing one out for one’s own good. Of course, it wasn’t a good idea to leave either sort annoyed if it could be helped. “I appreciate your concern, sir, but I’ve got that covered. Tinky!”

An elf with a particularly sad, squashed-looking nose and unusually wide bat-ears popped up beside Al. “Yes, young Master Albus Severus Potter?”

“Please bring the breakfast for three out to the Quidditch Pitch—keeping things out of the way of practice, of course. You know Rose and Scorpius’ favorites, right?”

“Yes, Tinky knows. Will Master Albus Severus—”

“Tinky, old chap, please remember to call me Al—and don’t trouble yourself, just pile on extras of what Rose and Snidge are having, thank you,” Al said. It was fun to be nice to house-elves. If only a little politeness went that far with other beings…

After displaying excessive effusiveness regarding the exceptional kindness of Potters, Tinky popped off on his errand.

“Rose will be out there flying the twigs off best school broom she can get her hands on without a single thought for her stomach, and Scorpius will have had just enough fresh air that he won’t sick up all over the pitch,” Al said, making no effort whatsoever not to sound like a know-it-all. “Happy, sir?”

“Ecstatic,” the man drawled, in a manner Al immediately resolved to learn and imitate at the earliest opportunity. “Oh, Mr. Potter… tell your cousin that if she wants the benefit of carrying a... lucky... Chocolate Frog Card, she’ll have to put it where the subject of the card would have a good view of the tryouts.”

Al looked askance at the portrait, but only said, “I’ll be sure to tell her. Good day, sir,” he added, in an affectionate-if-cheeky imitation of Scorpius.

“Goodbye and good riddance,” he could have sworn he heard the draped man mutter behind his back.

“Irritating little twit,” he added.

The most irritating part was that he didn’t entirely mean it.