My head and my heart are caught in the between.

My Head & Heart— Ava Max

Albus jammed his toe-pick into the ice once again. 

Double Lutz, Perfect 

Triple toe-loop, Landed a Double.

“AGAIN!”

He was 10 then. His coach, Jane Arlo. It had been almost 30 times he’d done that, all perfect, one wrong, this one. 

Double Lutz, wobbly hands, may be—

“AGAIN.” 

Double Lutz, Perfect 

Triple toe-loop, Landed.

He smiles.

“Smiles are reserved for gold, Albus. Good on the landing.” she said. 

The smile reascend, glass hardness returns to his eyes. 

She checked her watch, 9:30, "would you look at that, times up." He saw his dad at the opposite side of the rink, "Now, I know it's your birthday, but do make sure to think before you eat. Competitions are approaching, wouldn't want the Ice Prince to lose his grace."

"Yes Miss J. I'll see you on Tuesday. Bye Bye!" He waves to her and skates across the rink to his dad.

"Hiya Dad! How was work?" He said, getting off the ice and putting on his blade protectors.

"Hello buddy, work was fine. The usually heads tearing my head off but other than that, pretty normal." He was picking at the skin on his fingers, his eyes a bit bloodshot, like he was crying. Oh no. He didn't think— that would mean—

"Dad what happened?" he asks.

"Nothing Al. We just… We need to talk." Albus knew what it was about. He always knew. This just proves it. The light of the rink was slowly fading. It was dark, the autumn leaves beneath his feet and the breeze on his face. The trees looked like they were closing in on him. he wanted to be back at the rink. He needed to be back on the ice.

They both got in the car which Aunt Hermione gifted them when she found out that he'd been taking Ice Skating lessons, it was a Ford Puma. "Dad, did you talk with McGonnagal?" His Dad's eyes started welling up. That should've been him to cry, he couldn't though, because then there would be two people in this conversation who were crying and that would lead to nothing. He remembered a trick he used for competitions. Only think of the prize. Everything is secondary. Focus.

"So. It's true isn't it?" He doesn't know why but whenever he's sad or angry he starts talking rudely, was it a coping mechanism, who knows. The glass hardness returns to his eyes as he observes his father. Harry nods.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. This is fine. It's normal. He doesn't have magic. That's fine. He's fine.

He feels like he might throw-up.

His hands are trembling, whether from anger or fear, he has no idea. He's not going to Hogwarts. He isn't—

❄️❄️❄️

One of the few things Albus Potter has prided himself on is his ability to have complete control over any situation. No matter what that may be. This was his first competition. He was 9. He had his black skates on, his gemstone covered shirt glittering under the lights. He didn't want this to end.

He entered the rink with his head up high and confidence flowing through his veins. There was no time for uncertainty or fear. All he knew was the ice beneath his skates and the choreography imprinted in his head.

The music started.

Crossover, a combination of spins and a jump. A Salchow into a spin. The chorography got harder as it progressed.

That was his first gold.

On the ice he felt unstoppable. No power could break him. None of his family could even stay on their skates properly but him?

He was dubbed the 'Ice Prince' from then on.

❄️❄️❄️

"What did she say, dad?" He kept his voice painfully level. like he might lose control at any moment and cry, shout, scream, or mix of all three. But he didn't. "Dad… I'm not going to Hogwarts am I?" Harry looked like he wanted to cry but he didn't.

"I don't want to say it Al."

"Yes or No." he stated, his eyes pressed shut. "I genuinely do not care anymore. I should've known."

"No, Al, but don't you dare think that there's anything wrong with you. You're perfectly normal—"

"That's just it, isn't it?" he says, eyes still shut, "I'm perfectly normal." He said in a hushed voice, barely above a whisper. after a moment he spoke up again, it was 10 now. No one would be at the rink. "Stop the car."

"What, Albus I know your hurting—"

"Turn it around, I want to be back on the ice." Albus said.

"But—"

"Dad, I'm going to be miserable all night, at least let me sulk alone without pitying glances."

Harry did turn the car back. They were in the rink, Harry wanted to say something but Albus got out of the car and cut him off.

"Pick me up the latest you can. And dad…" He turned to look at him, his eyes were the same as Albus', the same eyes which were filled with tears, he couldn't remain calm. All that control he prided himself on came crashing down. He shut his eyes and turned faced the building, "I'm sorry."

He ran in before his father could respond.

.

.

.

The Ice wasn't as unforgiving as people thought it was. At 10:05 PM, August 26, 2016, Albus Severus Potter finds out that it's comforting in a sense that there will be ground to catch you when you fall.

Will it be painful, Yes. Will it leave him bruised and blue, May be. But it'll be there for him. no matter what. It wouldn't drown him in pitying glances when they they think that he isn't paying attention. It wouldn't feel sorry for him. It would just… catch him, when he falls.

His skates back on his feet, the jacket he stole from James to ward off the cold outside discarded on one of the benches, he was prepared to fall and pick himself up as many times as it takes to just feel a different kind of pain then the one he was feeling now.

He was practicing his triple axles.

The momentum built up in his skates, edge jump, forward the left foot outside edge, and take off.

First rotation, perfect.

Second, slower.

Third, not enough power.

He falls.

.

Again.

.

❄️❄️❄️

His Dad picked him up at 11:40.

20 minutes to when it all gets too real. Him not having magic. Not going to Hogwarts. Being too normal to be normal. He was heavily bruised from all the times he jumped and fell. He narrowly avoided stitches when he got too reckless.

Being out of control sucked.

So he did the next best thing. Bottling up all his emotions.

His dad was still gloomy and sad but Albus acted like he was a brat for the most part even with out talking. He hated that he did that but what can he do? Actually cry because he didn't get to go to Hogwarts and the rest of his family did? That he can't do magic and the rest of his family can? Psh that sounds like a whiny 6 year old who didn't get what they wanted.

By the time they reached home it was 11:55, five more minutes. Damn. This was getting real too fast.

He opened the door to see his mum, James, Lily and the whole lot of Weasleys, sitting or standing very depressingly. His mum's red jumper duller than before with a floral print skirt.

He either could:

Sulk with them.

or

Cry

or

Just be upfront.

Did he want to be magical, yes. But he wasn't. No amount of sulking or tears would help him with that. He'll get into a good boarding school which offers ice skating and forget this whole ordeal. Screw that he's not going to be able to forget this whole ordeal when all of his parents will do is sulk around the topic.

Right now. It's time to distract.

He walks in with a practiced smile reserved for his wins and simply places himself on the sofa next to his mum.

"So what's the flavour of the cake?"

In retrospect, it sounds so mundane, too inconspicuous. It was a facade to the real problem.

Ginny shook herself, plastering on a smile. It wasn't a genuine one. His Mum's smiles can brighten up an entire room if she felt like it. This one was a more of a upward frown, no happiness in it.

"Ice Cream, Blueberry with chocolate chips, your favourite." Albus smiles. At least there's cake.

"It's 11:59 should we celebrate?" Rose asks, tentetivly.

"Rosey, Sweetheart, if this was something worth celebrating, I'd be having a front row seat." It wasn't exactly a snap but Harry looked at him strenly. He held his up in surrender, "I'm just here for the cake, hold back the party."

He checks the clock, it was 12 in:

10, 9, 8,

He was a squib. He didn't have magic. He wasn't going to Hogwarts.

7, 6, 5,

It was getting too real faster than he could comprehend. The walls in his house seemed to spin out of control.

4, 3, 2,

Luckly, he's a figure skater, spinning is what he does best.

1.

Happy Fucking Birthday, Albus Severus Potter. You deserve it.