"For the record," Tim announced, ducking as another of James's enchanted paper airplanes zoomed past his head, "American magic school breaks are way less hazardous."
From his spot on the living room couch, Tim and Albus watched the chaos unfold around him. The Potter house during the Hogwarts Autumnal Break—a relatively new Hogwarts tradition—was what Tim had diplomatically called "energetic" and what Albus privately thought of as "barely contained pandemonium." By the fireplace, James circled Lily with his wand raised, having already transfigured half her hair into falling leaves. Their mother had confiscated three wands from him—so far—but somehow he kept producing more.
"Just a few more orange streaks," James insisted, dodging Lily's retaliatory hex. "It'll match the decorations!"
"Touch my hair again," Lily warned from behind the armchair, "and I'll make sure your next batch of Pepper Imps are actually Puking Pastilles."
"JAMES SIRIUS POTTER!" Ginny's voice rang from the kitchen. "If you turn your sister's hair green again, I swear to Merlin—"
"It wasn't me!" James called back, even as he aimed another not-quite-wand at Lily's head. "Must've been Al!"
"I'm literally right here," Albus said, innocently. Though his "innocent" look always managed to give off what his mother—and countless professors—called Mischief Energy. "Also, everyone knows I'm rubbish at Transfiguration."
"He is," Tim agreed, dropping onto the couch beside him. "He can barely turn a—" He stopped as another paper airplane, this one trailing sparks, whizzed past. "Is that supposed to be smoking?"
"Probably not," Albus admitted, watching the airplane ignite mid-flight.
Harry emerged from his study just in time to vanish the flaming projectile. "Right," he said, in what Albus recognized as his trying-to-be-stern-but-actually-amused voice. "Who gave James more wands?"
Three voices immediately chorused: "Rose!"
"Traitors," Rose called from the kitchen, where she was allegedly helping Ginny with dinner but probably plotting more chaos. She poked her head around the doorframe, grinning. "Also, those weren't wands. They were Wheezes' Wonder Wands. Totally different."
"Totally illegal in school," Harry pointed out.
"Good thing we're not in school then!" James grinned, producing yet another not-wand from... somewhere.
Albus watched his father pinch the bridge of his nose—a gesture he'd been thinking about a lot lately, ever since seeing Professor Creevey do the same thing in the library. The similarity made his stomach twist. "Dad? Could I—"
"JAMES!" Lily shrieked. Her hair was now cycling through every color of the rainbow. "I'm going to murder you!"
"Manners," Harry said automatically.
"I'm going to murder you please!"
"Better."
"Dad," Albus tried again, his voice fighting against the rising chaos. "About Professor—"
A small explosion from the kitchen interrupted him, green smoke billowing through the doorway. The acrid scent of burnt... something filled the air.
"Everything's fine!" Rose called through the haze. "Totally under control!"
"Is it supposed to be spelling out rude words?" Tim asked, watching the smoke form letters in midair.
"ROSE WEASLEY!" Ginny's voice had reached that special pitch that meant someone was about to be grounded until they were forty.
"That," Rose said, emerging from the smoke like some kind of kitchen phantom, her eyebrows slightly singed, "was on Hugo."
"Was not!" came Hugo's voice from... somewhere in the smoke.
Harry sighed and headed toward the kitchen, wand drawn. "We'll talk later, Al?"
Albus slumped deeper into the couch, watching another chance slip away. Tim patted his shoulder sympathetically.
"Could be worse," Tim offered. "At least no one's eyebrows have caught fire yet."
On cue, there was another yelp from the kitchen. "ACK! Me 'brows are ablaze!"
"Okay, well..." Tim said. "At least your eyebrows haven't caught fire yet."
A tawny owl swooped through the still-smoky kitchen and dropped a letter in Albus's lap, somehow looking quite put-out about what it was witnessing.
"Is that from your boyfriend?" James called, momentarily distracted from whatever hex-war he was having with Lily.
"He's not my—" Albus started too quickly, too defensively. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Yet," Tim muttered.
But Albus was already lost in Scorpius's familiar handwriting. The way he dotted his i's with perfect precision. The little flourish on his capital letters. The slight smudge where he'd clearly been too excited to wait for the ink to dry...
"Your heart eyes are showing," Tim whispered.
"I don't have—"
"Dear Alby-Walby," James read over his shoulder in a ridiculous swooning voice.
Albus tried to pull away, but James snatched the letter: "The manor is dreadfully empty without—"
"Give it!" Albus seized the letter back. He could feel his face burn while he covertly inspected the parchment for tears.
"Aww, is wee-ickle Alby-Walby getting wove wetters?"
A resounding crash from the kitchen interrupted James's teasing. This time the smoke billowing through the doorway was pink and... were those heart shapes?
"HUGO WEASLEY!"
Hugo looked up from where he sat criss-cross next to the fireplace. "Still wasn't me!"
Albus tucked Scorpius's letter safely in his pocket (not that he was going to read it seventeen times later, alone in his room, analyzing every word for hidden meaning). Through the clearing smoke, he watched his dad attempt to vanish what appeared to be floating romantic poetry written in sparks.
"Dad?" he tried again. "Can I talk to you about—"
"Oh no," Rose emerged from the kitchen, eyebrows now completely singed. "The turkey's trying to escape."
"The turkey's what?" Harry asked.
A distinctive gobbling sound answered him, followed by the unmistakable sound of something large knocking over several pots and pans.
"Stupefy!" Harry called through the kitchen doorway, but based on the continued chaos, the turkey had apparently dodged.
"Did someone accidentally reanimate the turkey?" Ginny asked with dangerous calm, appearing in the doorway with her wand drawn.
"Define 'reanimate,'" Lily said from somewhere in the smoke.
"And 'accidentally,'" Hugo added helpfully.
The turkey chose that moment to make its grand entrance into the living room, strutting through the doorway with what looked suspiciously like peacock feathers fanned out behind it. It paused, as if to ensure it had everyone's attention, then let out a gobble that sounded remarkably like the opening notes to a Weird Sisters song.
James, ever the Chaser, dove for it—and crashed spectacularly into the coat rack, sending jackets and scarves raining down around him.
"Seventeen years old, that one," Ginny muttered, watching her eldest son emerge from the pile of winter wear. "Supposedly of age. And yet..."
"Has anyone seen my wand?" Lily called. "My real one?"
"Check the turkey!" James suggested from beneath a particularly festive scarf.
"Why would my wand be—" Lily stopped, eyes widening. "Actually, that explains a lot."
Tim leaned over to Albus. "Is your family always like this?"
"No," Albus said, watching the turkey attempt what looked like a dance move. "Sometimes they're weird."
The turkey strutted past the sofa, Lily's wand clearly visible in its beak. It paused to give them what Albus could only describe as a smug look.
"Nobody move," Harry said, raising his wand. "On three—"
James, predictably, moved immediately.
"I said on three—"
But James was already diving across the room. To his credit, he managed to grab one of the turkey's newfound peacock feathers. The bird squawked indignantly, whirled around, and shot a burst of purple sparks from Lily's wand.
"MY HAIR!" James yelped as his carefully styled quiff turned into something resembling a pineapple.
"Serves you right," Lily said, though she looked slightly concerned about what else her wand might do in the turkey's possession.
"Right," Ginny said, taking charge. "Harry, cut it off at the kitchen. Rose, guard the stairs. Hugo—stop enchanting things and help your sister. Tim, dear, you might want to take cover."
"Already there," Tim said from behind the sofa, beside Albus.
Albus watched his family spring into action with the kind of coordination that came from years of dealing with magical mishaps. His dad moved to block the kitchen doorway. Rose positioned herself at the bottom of the stairs. Both had wands at the ready. James still pawed at his hair, shaking his head vigorously, trying to shake the enchantment off.
The turkey sensed it was about to be outmaneuvered. So it did what any self-respecting magical fowl would do: it aimed Lily's wand at the harvest display.
Enchanted gourds shot through the air like cannon balls. The floating jack-o'-lanterns spun madly, their carved faces morphing into increasingly ridiculous expressions. A cluster of charmed maple leaves that Ginny had arranged swirled into a miniature tornado, while the autumn garland writhed like a garden of copper and gold snakes.
"Not my display!" Ginny called. "I took ages to charm those leaves!"
The turkey seized its chance. It darted through the chaos, narrowly avoiding Rose's Stunning Spell, which hit a floating pumpkin instead. The pumpkin exploded in a shower of glowing orange sparks.
"After it!" Harry called, already sprinting toward the stairs. "Before it gets to the—"
A door slammed somewhere above them.
"—bedrooms," Harry finished with a sigh.
"Was that my room?" Lily asked anxiously.
Another explosion answered her question, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a troll rummaging through a wardrobe.
A series of thumps overhead, an opening of a door, and the sounds of strutting down the hallway. Lily, James, and Hugo dashed up the stairs in pursuit.
Albus seized his chance. While everyone else charged upstairs, he caught his father's sleeve. "Dad? About Professor Creevey—"
"Just a moment, Al," Harry said, already turning toward the stairs. "Once we've sorted this—"
"It's important," Albus pressed. "It's about—"
A crash from above, followed by Lily's voice: "Dad! It's trying to give my clothes personality!"
Harry squeezed Albus's shoulder. "Five minutes. Let me just—"
"Handle the fashion-forward poultry?" Tim suggested from behind the sofa.
"Exactly." Harry bounded up the stairs, leaving Albus standing in the tinsel-strewn living room.
"You could try writing him a note," Tim offered, finally emerging from his shelter. "Though based on recent events, I'd avoid using any enchanted paper airplanes."
Albus took advantage of the chaos to slip into his father's study, Tim following close behind. The room always felt different from the rest of the house—quieter, somehow, despite the whirring silver instruments on the shelves and the occasional mutterings from the portraits of past Ministry officials.
"Your dad's got quite the collection," Tim said, eyeing a particularly energetic device that seemed to be mapping constellations on the ceiling.
"Yeah," Albus said absently, his eyes drawn to the photograph on the desk. It had been taken at Hogwarts—he recognized the castle in the background. His dad looked impossibly young, so much like his brother, too young to be a hero. Too small to have fought in a war. He pushed his glasses up his nose, same as Dad still did. It was strange, knowing his father had once been just a boy with friends.
A triumphant gobble from upstairs, followed by several alarmed shouts, suggested the turkey situation was far from resolved.
"Maybe we should help?" Tim suggested.
"In a minute," Albus said, still staring at the photograph. "I just need to—"
The study door burst open. Harry stumbled in, looking harried, his glasses slightly askew. He quickly closed the door and leaned against it. "By the god, that turkey—"
"Dad," Albus said, picking up the photograph. "Who's Colin Creevey?"
Harry went very still. Tim took the stillness as his cue to leave Harry's study.
After a moment, Harry adjusted his glasses—again, that same gesture that had been nagging at Albus for days—and said carefully, "Where did you hear that name?"
Above them, something that sounded suspiciously like a conga line thumped across the ceiling. Neither of them looked up.
Albus considered lying, but something in his father's voice demanded honesty. "I... might have overheard Professor Creevey and Geoff arguing in the library."
"Ah." Harry cleaned his glasses with the hem of his shirt—another telling gesture. "Would you like to meet him?"
Side-along Apparition was always uncomfortable, but landing in the cemetery made Albus's stomach lurch for different reasons. The silence here was absolute—no enchanted turkeys, no exploding experiments, no siblings hexing each other's hair. Just distant church bells and the soft crunch of their footsteps in the snow.
Ancient yew trees stood sentinel along paths bordered by weathered stone walls, their dark branches heavy with fresh snow. The graves ran in neat rows, Victorian monuments beside simple modern headstones. Holly wreaths and winter flowers dotted the monochrome landscape, proof that even in death, people were still remembered, still loved.
The photograph propped against the headstone seemed untouched by the falling snow. Harry's much younger face smiled awkwardly up at them, occasionally pushing his glasses up his nose—the same gesture Albus had just watched his father make in his study. The resemblance to James was startling.
"He was always taking pictures," Harry said softly. "Drove me mad at first. Followed me everywhere with that camera."
Albus tried to pick up the photo but found he couldn't. Some kind of preservation charm. The magic felt old, permanent. Apologetic.
"He used to infuriate me so much," Harry said. "Always snapping pictures. I should have been nicer to him. But..."
Albus knew the "but": But you had other concerns. But you had a madman trying to murder you. But you had to survive a war.
Then he saw the dates on the headstone:
October 1981 - May 1998.
Sixteen. Colin was sixteen when he died.
"I think that's the only autograph I ever gave," Harry said quietly, kneeling to brush away a fallen leaf from the corner of the photograph. His fingers lingered near the edge, not quite touching. "You mentioned Geoff? He should be what? Seventeen now?"
"Sixteen, he is." The number had such weight, Albus could barely get it out. Sixteen—the same age Colin had been. Albus tried to imagine losing James at sixteen—James, who even now was probably chasing an animated turkey through their living room.
"I should pay Dennis a visit," Harry said, more to himself than Albus. "Keep meaning to, but..."
Harry's voice drifted off. Photo-Harry smiled up at them through the snow, forever young, forever awkward, forever preserved. He was so different from that photo. So grown up. Colin Creevey would never get that chance to grow up.
In Albus's pocket, Scorpius's letter crinkled.
"Did you know him well?" Albus asked, still staring at the dates.
"Colin? Not as well as I should have," Harry admitted. "He was... enthusiastic. About everything. Magic, Hogwarts, photography. Life." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Now that I think on it, you remind me a bit of him. "
"Me?"
"Mmm. All energy and certainty. Believing that magic could fix anything." Harry paused. "Dennis—Professor Creevey—was just like him back then. Hogwarts was just this wonderful adventure. But after Colin..." He trailed off, watching the snow gather on the headstone. "Sometimes I think he tries too hard to be both a brother and father for Geoff."
It all started to make sense to Albus now—Geoff's perfect grades, perfect prefect badge, perfect everything. The way Professor Creevey watched his son in class, pride mixed with something else. Something heavier.
"They were arguing," Albus said quietly. "About staying at Hogwarts for..." He stopped, remembering Geoff's words: I'm not Colin!
"The holidays?" Harry nodded, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "I met Geoff once. He was just a baby. Back when I was on security detail, I’d see him at Beltane and Samhain celebrations—with his parents. It was after James was born. I think that time in the Muggle world, with his Muggle family, was—is—important to him." He exhaled. "But Geoff didn’t grow up in the Muggle world like his father did. It... doesn't mean the same thing to Geoff as it does Dennis."
Or as it did to Colin, Albus thought. Or even to you, Dad. But Albus understood now why Professor Creevey held onto these visits so tightly.
"After losing Colin..." Harry's voice softened. "I think he realized some things are more important than magic."
Albus thought about his own chaos-filled home, about James's pranks and Lily's threats and Rose's experiments. About Tim teaching them all Muggle skateboarding and video games, bringing a different kind of magic into their lives. About how even with all their fighting and hexing and general mayhem, they were there. Alive. Together.
"Dad," Albus said after several moments had passed. "Can we go home please?"
This time, the Apparition didn't turn Albus's stomach quite so much. His mind was too full of dates carved in stone and photographs frozen in time to notice the discomfort.
They landed in Harry's study. Everything looked exactly as they'd left it—scattered papers, half-drunk tea, comfortable chaos. But it felt different now. Through the floor came the muffled sounds of James, still apparently chasing that animated ham. Lily's laughter. Their mother's exasperated instructions.
The noise had never sounded more precious.
Albus caught his father's sleeve before they reached the door. "Dad? Was Professor Creevey good at Potions? When you knew him?"
Harry turned, surprise crossing his face. "Professor Creevey? I'm not sure. Colin was surprisingly good at most things—Dennis had to keep up. You know. Brothers." He tilted his head. "Why?"
Albus thought about perfectly orchestrated plots. About Geoff's melted cauldron last week. About a son trying so hard to be perfect for his father.
"No reason," he said, then added quietly, "Thanks. For... you know."
Harry squeezed his shoulder. For a moment, Albus caught that look again—the one from the photograph, young and uncertain and trying so hard to be brave. Harry opened his mouth, closed it, tried again—
A distinctly ham-shaped shadow zoomed past the window.
"I can explain!" Rose's voice carried from outside.
Through the study window, Albus watched the magical chaos unfold on the lawn. A conga line of enchanted food items danced past, led by the turkey wielding Lily's wand like a conductor's baton. Rose and James took turns pretending to conduct the impromptu orchestra, while Tim and Lily laughed riotously and Hugo attempted to capture it all on his WizPhone.
"Better go save your cousins from your mother," Harry said, a slight smile playing at his lips.
Harry lingered in the doorway for a moment, then headed out to help Ginny contain the growing chaos of their evening.
During dinner, he watched Tim attempt to explain American holiday traditions to an increasingly confused Hugo. Watched Lily's hair cycle through more colors. Watched the turkey (they couldn't possibly cook it now—they named it!) launch into another verse of what might have been a Celestina Warbeck number.
Normal things.
Later that night, alone in his room, Albus finally let himself read Scorpius's letter properly. Instead of analyzing every word for hidden meanings, Albus thought about how lucky he was to be able to receive letters at all. To be fifteen and worried about crushes and grades and whether his best friend might like him back.
Normal things.
Dear Albus,
The Manor's dreadfully quiet without you. Father keeps asking why I'm moping. I told him it's because I miss your horrible jokes, but really...