Dream
“Look, Albus. Look at what you’ve done.” I look, I see. How could I not see before?
The wizarding world is under threat once more. It is no evil wizard searching for greed or glory. It is an enemy from a different world. Demons.
My mother, Ginny Potter, was a Quidditch champion, until the first attack. James remembers it. I don’t. Golden Boy, and Saviour of the World, Harry Potter is my father. He’s the best auror in a century. My sister Lily is obsessed with muggle fairy-tales. It is getting tedious. Doesn’t she know we’re all going to get killed by a demon one day? There aren’t any noble knights and fairy princesses. Well. Maybe one.
Scorpius Malfoy. Now he’s a true knight in shining armour. He doesn’t deserve all this. He’s not a warrior. He reads and sings and somehow smiles while all this descends into chaos. I think he’s hiding the truth. The way I wish I could hide my emotions. Score saw his mother die. She was ripped apart by demons. The way they all will be, sooner or later. Everyone can see thestrals, nowadays. It was a random muggle in the street, for me. I was six.
I suppose an introduction is in order. My name is Albus Severus Potter, my parents call me Al, and Score calls me Asp (or Ass when he’s in a mood). I killed my first demon when I was ten. And I wish this was all just a bad dream. It isn’t, of course. All my dreams are far more screwed up than this. I’m fifteen, today. I’ve passed all my OWLs and am off to Beauxbatons to learn how to fight demons. They stopped NEWTs years ago.
~|~
“We’ll miss you, Al.” mother says, brushing some hair off my face.
“I won’t.” James says bitterly, just as I thought the words.
“I can’t wait to go to Beauxbatons next year!” Lily is excited. I’m not. Just relieved I get a whole year away from them. I’m the Potter in Slytherin – a snake among lions. And certainly not the venomous kind.
“Look after Al, son," father tells James. He only ever calls James ‘son’.
“Sure thing, Dad," replies James. I almost scoff. As if James would help me out.
“They have ranks, now, not houses,” explains mother, “James is in Blue.” She is proud. When was she last proud of me?
“Best Junior Rank you can get. Seconder too.” James is also proud. Pompous bastard.
“Can I go, yet? Things to do, people to meet, Dark Lords to resurrect. You know, the usual.” I say, completely deadpan. They stare at me for a moment.
“Al,” says father sternly, “please do not tell me you are resurrecting Voldemort.”
“No, I was going more for Grindelwald–”
“Albus Severus Potter!” mother is stern too, her pride gone. Morgana’s Shield, who thought a joke could be taken so seriously? “You cannot use necromancy to resurrect Gellert Grindelwald.”
“Oh, for Morgana’s sake, it was a joke! Surely you’ve heard of one?” I snap, finally.
“No, it was like a joke, just without the funny bit.” quips James.
“Did you just swear by Morgana?” asks mother, and I realise my mistake. One should never swear by Morgana in public.
“You swore by Morgana,” father grits his teeth, “A Slytherin.”
“Merlin was a Slytherin. Oh, and news flash,” gotta add jazz hands here, “I’m a Slytherin too.”
“Morgana was evil,” Lily points out.
“Evil and a Slytherin,” adds James.
“The two aren’t the same," I say.
“Are you so sure of that?” father uses his deadly calm voice. He has that look in his eye.
“I am, and always will be, a Slytherin. I am not evil because of it. You need to understand that.”
“I don’t need to do anything. I’m Harry Potter,” father snaps. Gotcha.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Harry Potter,” I say, turning and summoning my trunk after me. Beauxbatons was a time to get away from them.
“For a year. Away for a year,” I say quietly to myself, sighing.
“Then you’ll be back,” a voice says next to me, “back with your blood family.” I perk up.
“You make the distinction?”
“Of course. Only love who you love, in times like these. There’s no point pretending. We live in a world of demons. Why lie?”
“What’s your name?” I ask, curious. What he said feels true. Like I’ve needed to hear those words for a long time.
“Reitros Keai. Or Rei, as you Brits seem to prefer,” the boy held out a hand. I shake it, “I am from Nimirre. You may have heard of it?” Wait. What?
“You’re a trainer here? But– but you’re only, what, sixteen?”
“164, actually.”
“But…” I trail off. A trainer from Nimirre could only go to the Blue Rank. They had been fighting demons in their world for centuries. (It may be good to note that muggles know about wizards, and demons. It got a tad too hard to cover it all up, so they literally burned the Statute of Secrecy. The Death-Eater supporters had a field-day.)
“I’m giving private lessons, by the way. Perhaps you’ll be one of my students," so I could get trained by him? I notice a familiar face amongst the crowd.
“Score! Scorey! SCORPIUS!” I shout, catching his attention. I wave him over, pulling him into a quick hug, “hey, you.”
“Hey, Handsome,” Score says, winking. Well that’s new. I look down.
“No converse?” I ask. Score rolls his eyes.
“Not in the uniform,” he sighs.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, but I better get off," Keai interrupts, smiling and walking off.
“Was that…?”
“A trainer from Nimirre? Yep.” I finish Score's question. Oh, I missed him. I missed us.
“Sooo… how’s the family?” asks Score.
“A dream. Just a bad dream. Like always.” I reply.
“But two years is enough, right? We can figure something out.” He’s so confident. Like we could somehow stop all this. Wait. We.
“I… maybe, Score. Maybe, in another life when Salazar Slytherin wasn’t such a prejudiced bastard.
“Maybe,” he murmurs to himself, “maybe.” Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe in another life we could be. Be who we are.
Who are we?
I have no fucking clue.
~|~
Night.
Day.
People.
Swords.
Talking.
Black robes, the colour of death.
Life.
Lessons.
Talking.
Arrows.
Swords.
People.
Stars.
Night, the colour of death.
Dreams.
Screams.
Hands.
People.
Eyes, the colour of death.
Demons.
Day.
Talking.
Whispers.
Daggers.
Shadows, the colour of death.
Rain.
Clouds.
People.
Arrows.
Lessons.
Talking.
Converse shoes, the colour of death.
Blood.
Wood.
Stains.
People.
Hands.
Scars.
Night.
Demons, the colour of death.
People.
Screams.
Swords.
Eyes.
Blood.
Scars.
Hands, the colour of death.
Day.
Dreams.
Dazes.
Delusions.
Deceptions.
Demons.
Deaths.
An in the end,
Dust.
Oh on and on and on it goes. When will it end? Will it end?
~|~
I don’t know what day it is. It is raining outside, the thunder rumbles. I can’t think anymore. Not since I came here, to Beauxbatons. My robes are black. I should be proud. Score’s are purple, for Weaponsmiths. They want to split us up. Score’s not a Warrior. I am. But he’s the fairy knight in shining armour. Why? Why, why, why? Nothing makes sense, anymore. Please let it all just be a confusing bad dream. Please.
I don’t want to fight demons. They keep some here, in cages under the school. To become a Blue you need to kill ten. I look around, at my fellow Warriors. How many of them have actually killed a demon? From the looks in their eyes, I would says it’s in the single digits. We’re all ignorant fools, here. At least there are no Potters but me, here. But am I really a Potter? Who am I? Still got no fucking clue.
~|~
Reitros Keai only gave classes to Blue Rank, as I predicted. I’m still a Green. A boy greener than grass. But grass is never green, these days. After Green, I’ll be Red. Then Blue. Perhaps Silver, if I manage to get a Senior Rank. But I don’t want to fight demons. So no Silver for me.
Maybe Score will get Silver as a Weaponsmith? He’s certainly good enough. We don’t have poets or musicians anymore. The only books in print are ones about demons. Demons, demons, demons. Death. The muggles still have music. Sometimes I wish Score and I were muggles. Maybe. Maybe in another life, where wizards and witches and demons never existed.
“Albus Potter. A Slytherin. A snake. Cursed. Evil.” A whisper in my ear.
“I know what they call me.” I say. Stay calm, I think. I can’t get angry. They want me angry. When you’re angry you’re reckless. I can’t be reckless. Has anyone ever heard of a reckless Slytherin? When you’re angry you hurt. I don’t want to hurt. I don’t want to kill demons. I half want them to kill me.
“Do you know? Truly know? Evil, they call you. Evil eyes, cunning eyes, blood on your hands.” Blood. Wood. Stains. The floor is stained. It shouldn’t come out. But we’re wizards, so it does. “How much blood is on your hands, Albus?” People. Hands. Blood everywhere. Make it stop. Just make it stop. “Listen, Albus. What can you hear?” Screams. Swords.
“Shut up!” I say. I think I say. Can anyone really hear?
“Look, Albus. Look at what you’ve done.” I look, I see. How could I not see before? Eyes, staring at me. Dead eyes. Blood. All over the floor. Scars. Mine. Theirs. Hands, the colour of death. Blood everywhere. Make it stop. Please. Please all just be a bad dream. “Not a nightmare, my son. A future. A hope.” I look next to me. A demon – no. An angel. Both. Neither. It is all so confusing. Nothing makes sense, anymore. It’s not Harry Potter, standing next to me, I know that. “Dream, now, Albus. You have a right to dream.” My eyes fly open. A room. Green and black. Slytherin colours. Four beds, all occupied. Rain outside. The thunder still rolling. All a bad dream. It was all a bad dream.
But was it? Was it really? Really just a bad dream?
Or a hope for the future? A thought from the past?
But I don’t want to fight demons.
In the dream, it wasn’t demons that I was fighting. It wasn’t demon blood, on my hands.
I scare myself, sometimes. With my thoughts. I glance out of the window. I can see a forest. So, not Hogwarts. Beauxbatons. At Hogwarts all I would see is water, if I looked out. I wonder what Score can see. The Weaponsmiths get a view of the lake. What can he see? Which stars? Which moon? Only one moon, I remind myself. For a moment I thought there were three. Nothing makes sense, anymore.
I wish it was all just a bad dream. But it’s not. Maybe part of it is. It’s hard to tell what is real. In another lifetime things would be different. In another world. Demons from another world. I think other lifetimes do exist, somewhere. Anywhere. Everywhere. It is all so confusing.
The demon, in my dream (was it a dream? What is a dream), I thought, for a moment, was an angel. Demon, angel, are they the same? I don’t know. I can’t think anymore. It is all so confusing. Why can’t it all just make sense? Why can’t it stop, go away? Just be a bad dream? Just my imagination. Is it my imagination? Nothing makes sense, anymore. Why did I have to be a Slytherin? Why do I need to fight demons, or angels? Why does Scorpius need to be away? Away from me? Scorpius Malfoy, the shining fairy knight. My knight. Why can’t we just be? Be what? Who are we? What are we? Why do all these questions revel in my head? Why can’t it all
just
STOP!
And then it does.
I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, or even if there is a ‘why’ or ‘how’ to be known.
I don’t get answers. Nothing makes sense. I still have no fucking clue.
But somehow I stop asking.
I switch off.
Detached.
I don’t want to fight demons.
I don’t want to kill angels.
I don’t want, I don’t want, don’t want, don’twantdontwantIdontwant.
But I do it, anyway.
It’s all confusing. It doesn’t make sense. It wasn’t, then it was. Demons were angels, and angels weren’t demons. And people were people and dead eyes, the colour of death. Blood stained the wood floor, but it didn’t. It all happened. Never happened. Hasn’t happened. Hasn’t happened yet.
And amidst it all, I stopped caring to wake up, if I was asleep. To dream with my eyes wide open. It is hard to tell what is real. I stopped trying to tell. Because to me, it all was. It all is.
And it was so, so confusing. It is confusing. Nothing makes sense.
I think a part of me switched off.
I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, and somehow I stop asking.