The Cursed Second Child

Chapter five - Reuinon Part I

After his embarrassingly dramatic breakdown on the Astronomy Tower, Albus felt a surprising lightness. Letting his emotions out so freely had released some of the pressure that had been building inside him. When he finally made his way back to the dormitory, Scorpius was already asleep.
The next morning, Albus was met with the sight of a visibly exhausted Scorpius. His red, puffy eyes were a stark contrast to his usual early morning vigor. It seemed that Albus had inflicted more damage than he’d realized. Scorpius, who usually made it down to breakfast early, was now one of the last to emerge from the dorm.

Albus quickly offered his apologies, perhaps a bit too fervently. Scorpius, though still visibly tired, managed a sad smile and seemed to accept the apology with a weary grace
“Albus, I’m—I'm so sorry,” Scorpius said, his voice fraught with urgency. “I know how much it bothers you when people talk about your dad like that. I shouldn't have said it, and I see—how much it would hurt you.”

Scorpius’s frantic apology seemed to crack the dam of Albus’s restraint. Overwhelmed by the flood of emotions he had been holding back, Albus reached out and pulled Scorpius into a fierce hug. The suddenness of the gesture caught Scorpius off guard, and he hesitated for a moment, unsure how to react.

But as Albus pressed his face into Scorpius’s neck, the raw, unfiltered need for comfort was undeniable. Scorpius’s initial uncertainty melted away, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around Albus, holding him close. Their bodies, pressed together, conveyed a depth of emotion that words could not capture.

In the dark confines of the dungeon dorm, where the stone walls and lack of windows made the space feel even more enclosed, the hug became a sanctuary. The cold and oppressive atmosphere of the room seemed to dissolve as they clung to each other.

The embrace was a silent exchange of apology, understanding, and solidarity. They didn’t need to speak—each tight squeeze, each shuddering breath, said everything. The shared warmth and the simple act of holding on were enough to convey their gratitude and relief.
They were profoundly grateful for each other. The past months had been far from easy, and although they had tried to shield themselves from its effects, it inevitably took its toll. The strain made them both more irritable and quick to anger. They often found themselves bickering over trivial matters, with their frustrations reaching a boiling point on especially tough days.

Yet, despite the conflicts and the mounting tension, they always managed to reconcile. They faced every challenge side by side, their shared struggles forging a bond that grew stronger with each passing day. Their arguments were often followed by heartfelt makeups and collaborative schemes of revenge against those who had wronged them.

In their tumultuous journey through Hogwarts, they had been pushed into an unexpected closeness, and both boys cherished the bond they had developed. Albus began to think that maybe Rose hadn’t been entirely wrong—that perhaps he had indeed found his lifelong best friend during his very first year at Hogwarts.

++++

dread consumed Albus as the train drew closer to King's Cross. It felt as if he were walking toward a dementor's kiss, each mile intensifying the anxiety gnawing at him. Scorpius, sitting opposite to him, was desperately trying—though unsuccessfully—to soothe Albus’s frayed nerves.

As time dragged on and Albus’s mood remained sullen, Scorpius shifted from attempts at reassurance to damage control. He spoke with a forced cheerfulness, trying to paint a comforting picture of what could be if his worst fears came true.

“If your family does throw you out,” Scorpius began, his voice steady despite the concern in his eyes, “you can come stay with me. You’d be welcomed with open arms. You could spend Yule and New Year’s with my family.” Scorpius spoke with a practiced ease, weaving a comforting vision of a festive celebration far removed from the tension Albus was bracing for. “We’d play in the snow, decorate the Yule tree, burn the Yule log and do all the traditional Yule family rituals. And I’d show you my room and my astronomy—”

For a moment, Albus was drawn into the fantasy of a quieter, more intimate Yule with his best friend and his family. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic celebrations he anticipated at home. As Scorpius spoke about his mother, who sounded genuinely wonderful, Albus felt a surge of anger and frustration. The glowing picture of Scorpius’s family made the rumors about them feel even more unjust and infuriating. It seemed so unfair that someone so caring could be the subject of such malicious gossip.

Scorpius, sensing Albus’s shift in mood, handed him a piece of candy. The sweetness of the treat, combined with Scorpius’s rambling about his Christmas wishes, pulled Albus back from the brink of his dark thoughts. As he listened to Scorpius’s animated chatter, Albus found solace in his friend’s words. Albus could listen to Scorpius talk for eternity. The simple act of sharing candy and the comfort of Scorpius’s presence offered a momentary escape from his anxieties, allowing him to momentarily forget the dread of returning home.

As the train drew into King’s Cross Station, Albus felt a sinking dread in the pit of his stomach. Outside the compartment window, he could see a sea of parents eagerly waiting to collect their children, the joyous reunions making his own anticipation feel even more unbearable.

Scorpius, ever the steadfast friend, stayed by Albus’s side until the very last moment. He remained with him through the final moments on the train, offering silent support as the world outside grew louder with the bustling crowd. His presence was a small comfort in the storm of Albus’s growing anxiety.

Albus straightened his posture as the train came to a halt. He might not have felt even a fraction of the confidence or pride his mask projected, but he reminded himself of one fundamental truth: he was Slytherin—whether his family approved or not. He couldn’t afford to let his parents see his inner turmoil. His father knew how much he craved approval, and if he were to be disowned, he would do so with a semblance of grace. He would walk away with his dignity intact, ready to embrace his place among the Malfoys if it came to that.
Albus took a deep breath, steeling himself as he prepared to face the judgment of his family and the inevitable confrontation that awaited him. The mask of Slytherin pride was all he had left to shield him from the weight of his fears.

As the two boys stepped off the train, they were met by Scorpius’s parents. The sight of them was a stark contrast to the anxiety that had gripped Albus. Scorpius’s face lit up with a genuine, radiant joy as he rushed into their arms. The open display of affection was something Albus didn't expat from the pureblooded family, and it struck him deeply. Scorpius’s parents returned the embrace with equal warmth, their eyes reflecting a deep affection and pride for their son. Even if Scorpius's father seemed slightly uncomfortable with the public display of emotion, the overall sense of love was unmistakable.

Scorpius began to ramble excitedly to his mother, his words tumbling out in a cascade of enthusiasm. Then, turning to Albus, he directed his beaming smile and bubbling energy toward him.

“This is Albus, my first, only and best friend!” he announced, his voice high and cheerful, every syllable brimming with happiness. Albus felt his cheeks flush at the unexpected spotlight, overwhelmed by the warmth and pride radiating from Scorpius. The sincerity of the introduction and the genuine affection in Scorpius’s eyes made Albus’s heart ache with a mix of gratitude and envy. He found himself momentarily caught in the simple, unadulterated joy of his best friend's proud moment, feeling a pang of longing for such acceptance and love in his own life.

Albus felt the weight of Scorpius's parents' gaze as it settled on him, a mixture of curiosity and warmth in their eyes. He straightened his back, trying to project confidence despite the knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. Astoria Malfoy, Scorpius’s mother, was the first to break the silence. Her smile was radiant and heartwarming, a clear reflection of the joy that Scorpius often carried. It was a smile that melted Albus almost instantly, revealing where Scorpius had inherited his own. The maturity in Lady Malfoy's smile spoke of years of kindness and understanding, and it was impossible not to be affected by it.

“Oh yes, dear, we are well aware,” Lady Malfoy said, her voice dripping with affection. “You do mention him so much in your letters.” Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischievousness and teasing, which made Albus’s gaze shift to Scorpius. The boy was now beet-red, darting panicked looks between his mother and Albus. The sheer lack of tact from Scorpius was endearing yet mortifying, causing Albus to blush even harder.

Lord Malfoy, sensing his son's discomfort, stepped in with a reassuring gesture. He extended his hand toward Albus, his demeanor calm and welcoming. Albus’s mouth went dry as he took Lord Malfoy’s hand, trying to maintain his composure. He felt a wave of nervousness wash over him but was determined to make a good impression. His grip was firm but respectful as he looked up into Lord Malfoy’s eyes, hoping his attempt at politeness and poise would be enough to win over his friend’s family.

“Hello, Potter,” Lord Malfoy greeted, his voice smooth and polished with a grace that left Albus awed. “As my wife mentioned, we’ve heard a lot about you, and we are very thankful for the care you’ve shown Scorpius at school.”

Albus was struck by Lord Malfoy’s poised confidence. This was how a pure-blooded Lord carried himself—elegant, composed, and undeniably impressive. Lord Malfoy was quite handsome, with his long, luscious pale blonde hair styled to perfection. His robes were impeccably tailored, clearly of the finest quality, and his eyes, though lighter than Scorpius’s, were just as captivating. For a moment, Albus was so captivated he nearly forgot to respond.
“Lord Malfoy, I’m the one who should be grateful to Scorpius,” Albus managed to say, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “You’ve raised an amazing son, sir.”

Lord Malfoy’s smile widened, and he gave Albus an amused, almost endearing look. As he withdrew his hand, he turned to Scorpius. “Scorpius, say your farewells to your good friend,” he instructed, before turning back to Albus with another warm smile. “Happy Yule,” he added, his tone genuine as he rejoined his wife’s side

Scorpius, now more aware of his parents observing the exchange, looked a bit awkward. He quickly gave Albus a brief hug and took his hand in a reassuring grip. “Remember,” Scorpius said softly, “if you need anything, just use the Floo to get to the manor. You’re always welcome.”
Albus, fighting the urge to kiss Scorpius on the cheek, refrained, not wanting to do so in front of the boy’s parents. Instead, he simply waved as Scorpius and his family made their way to the Apparition area.
As the Malfoys disappeared with a pop, leaving Albus alone on the platform, he felt a deep, sinking dread. The reality of facing his family, and potentially the end of his dream of a warm Yule with Scorpius, loomed large as he took his first hesitant steps toward the daunting reality that awaited him.

++++

Ginny Potter was a mother lioness, fierce and protective, and it didn’t matter to her if one of her cubs turned out to be a snake hiding among lions. She’d long suspected that Albus, her second child, might end up in Slytherin, and she was prepared for it. That’s why, when James poked fun at his brother, Ginny came down hard on him every time. While she couldn’t deny that she herself had once bought into the usual Gryffindor-Slytherin stereotypes, she wasn’t about to let that cloud her judgment or her love for her son. No matter what house Albus belonged to, Ginny was determined to make sure he never felt alone or unwelcome. And if anyone tried to make him feel otherwise, well, her infamous Bat-Bogey Hex was always at the ready to be casted, and everyone knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

Of course, Ginny had been hurt when Albus didn’t write to her all term. She understood it—truly, she did—but that didn’t stop the sting of not knowing how her baby was doing. She relied on James to keep her updated through his own letters, and her concern deepened when he told her that Albus had avoided speaking to any of the family at Hogwarts after the first night. Apparently, Rose had made a rash, very Gryffindor-like mistake, and James had explained the whole thing in detail. Ginny was horrified. She knew how much her sweet boy hated being in the spotlight, so she could only imagine how that conversation must have gone. And then there was the Sorting. Ginny’s anger flared when James recounted how no one had clapped for Albus, not even the teachers, and the cruel remarks that had followed. She had wasted no time sending a Howler to the Headmistress, demanding answers as to why the staff hadn’t stepped in, questioning how they had allowed such a thing to happen to her son without even offering a show of support.

The Headmistress had been apologetic in her response and made sure to keep Ginny updated on Albus’s grades throughout the term. Ginny couldn’t help but find it amusing how good Albus seemed to be at Potions, especially considering how terrible both she and Harry had been at it during their own years at Hogwarts. Her second son truly took after his second namesake in more ways than one.
Ginny never had a particularly close relationship with Professor Snape beyond that of a typical student-teacher dynamic, but she did hold a deep respect for him. His endurance as a double-agent had been nothing short of extraordinary, and his mastery of Potions was a skill that even she could not ignore. The man could have easily become a renowned Potions Master, his talents far surpassing the role of a mere Hogwarts professor. And he had died protecting her husband, and for that she will be forever grateful.
 
Like a hawk, Ginny watched every exit of the train, her eyes scanning the sea of students for any sign of her little boy. The knot of concern that had built up in her chest loosened the moment she saw him, perfectly fine and in one piece, as though he had never been away at all. She observed the exchange between Albus and the Malfoys with a slight frown. James had mentioned that Albus was close to Scorpius, but seeing them together now, Ginny realized that they were more than just close. A knowing smile tugged at her lips.

Once the Malfoys had left, and after greeting James, Ginny wasted no time. She moved swiftly, crossing the platform with determined steps, and pulled her little boy—her baby—into her arms. Albus was stiff at first, but after a moment, he melted into her embrace, returning the hug. Ginny cupped his face, gently making him look at her before planting a big, wet kiss on his forehead. Then, with motherly care, she tilted his head, inspecting him for any scratches or damage, as though he had been away for years instead of just a school term.

She could see the apprehension and dread beneath the mask her second child worked so hard to maintain, and it shattered her. How had it gotten this bad? How had her little boy come to feel such dread at the thought of returning home—returning to his family? Guilt gnawed at her. Ginny was all too aware of the animosity her family, especially her brothers, harbored toward Slytherins. She knew why Albus felt nervous, but this level of dread tore at her heart. She felt a deep disappointment in herself for allowing her son to grow up in an environment where he didn’t feel safe being himself, where he felt judged for not being like everyone else.
And she knew her husband—Merlin, bless him—had some part in Albus’s struggles. But it wasn’t Harry’s fault. He battled his own dementors daily, facing the weight of memories that no one should bear. Harry had witnessed horrors, and he had faced death at an age where his biggest concern should have been school exams. Their relationship hadn’t always been easy, especially in the beginning. They had bonded over shared trauma—both having Voldemort in their minds, both grieving the loss of family and friends at the Battle of Hogwarts.

In those early days, they were each other’s rocks, trying to bring a sense of normalcy back into lives that had never truly known it. Rebuilding Hogwarts was one thing, but rebuilding themselves? That was different. For Harry, who had never experienced a typical childhood, baby steps were all they could manage as they slowly pieced their lives together.

Ginny never felt irritation at her husband for his anxieties; she understood the depth of his struggles. Harry's overanxious nature about every interaction with their children stemmed from a deep-seated fear of unintentionally causing them harm. His worries had started even before James was born, when the prospect of fatherhood had made him frantic. He was terrified of failing as a parent and hurting his children.
Despite his fears, Harry proved to be an exceptional father. He immersed himself in both wizarding and Muggle parenting books, committed to being the best parent he could be. He took equal responsibility in caring for their children and was a constant source of support for Ginny during the early, challenging years of parenthood. Ginny knew beyond a doubt that Harry loved their children with a fierceness equal to her own. He would go to any lengths—fight the world, risk everything, even die if necessary—to ensure their safety and happiness.

Albus was more like his father than his siblings in his struggles and sensitivities. From a young age, he had been an anxious, nervous child, often hiding behind Ginny's legs or seeking solace in Harry's arms with his head buried against his chest. Shy and quiet, Albus wore his emotions openly and was quick to tears. His heightened sensitivity made him easily overwhelmed, and he needed quiet—something hard to come by in their lively, large family. The very noise and chaos that made their home feel warm and welcoming often felt suffocating to him.

Ginny recognized that her own traits played a role in Albus's demeanor. As a sister to six older brothers, she had also been reserved and needed her space. She remembered feeling out of place and different, especially as her mother had always longed for a daughter and raised her with different expectations from her brothers. Ginny had felt the sting of disapproval when she exhibited more boyish tendencies, and that experience had shaped her resolve as a mother. She had promised herself to accept every part of her children, embracing all their traits—both the good and the challenging—without judgment.

Harry, with his unyielding and often obvious demeanor, struggled to understand the quiet battles of their second child. Having faced a harsh childhood of abuse and neglect, Harry equated happiness with having one’s basic needs met. To him, because Albus had never wanted for food, clothing, or love, he should be content. In Harry’s view, Albus’s dissatisfaction was a sign of being too spoiled, an oversight that pained Ginny.

Ginny, on the other hand, knew that true contentment and happiness went beyond mere physical necessities. Growing up in a loving, albeit not wealthy, home, she understood that emotional fulfillment was just as crucial. She had experienced her own struggles with identity and belonging, navigating a family environment that sometimes felt chaotic. She was aware that Albus’s challenges were not simply about material comforts but were deeply rooted in his emotional well-being and self-perception.

The differences in their views led to many heated discussions about parenting and Albus’s “troubling personality.” Harry found it difficult to recognize that Albus’s struggles mirrored his own in many ways—emotional battles that Harry, with his inclination to confront external challenges head-on, often avoided or hid from. Harry's nightmares and unresolved trauma were constant, and he relied on dreamless sleep potions and Ginny's support to cope. The Autumns, with their darker days and falling leaves, were particularly hard for him, often breaking him down emotionally.

Ginny understood Harry’s perspective but also saw the limitations it imposed on his ability to empathize with Albus. Their differing approaches to handling emotional struggles created tension, but Ginny remained steadfast in her commitment to support both her husband and her children. She worked to bridge the gap in understanding, striving to create a nurturing environment where Albus could find both comfort and confidence.

The growing rift between Harry and Albus had become a significant issue in their home life. It hadn't always been this way; at times, Harry and Albus had been inseparable. However, as Albus developed his own identity, Harry's anxiety and uncertainty grew. Albus was different from James and Lily, and the parenting techniques that had worked so well with his other siblings failed to connect with Albus.

As Albus retreated further into himself, hiding his true emotions, it only exacerbated the tension. Harry, grappling with his fears of failing as a father, became increasingly cautious, walking on eggshells around Albus. This only drove Albus further away, who, being a perceptive child, sensed his father’s unease and withdrew even more.

Ginny was deeply concerned about the trajectory of their relationship. She had suggested that Harry see a mind healer to address his fears and anxieties, but he was adamantly opposed. She had also proposed parenting sessions, hoping that they could work through their issues together, even bringing Albus into the process. Despite her efforts, Harry remained resistant to seeking outside help.

Ginny feared that their strained relationship might soon reach a point of no return, where the damage would be irreparable. She was determined to find a solution, worried that without intervention, the growing divide between Harry and Albus could have long-lasting effects on their family.

Ginny, overwhelmed by her emotions, showered Albus with kisses on his cheeks, making him squirm and blush with embarrassment. Despite the platform gradually emptying, the public display of affection left him visibly uncomfortable. She paused to take a long, lingering look at him. He had grown a bit since she last saw him. Although still petite and short, he had gained some inches, and his features had filled out. However, she noticed a troubling darkness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I’m so glad to see you, Albus. I really missed you," she said, pulling him into another warm embrace. She wanted to know everything about his term, but she understood that now was not the time for questions. He needed reassurance, and she was determined to provide it in abundance.
Her gaze then shifted to James, who stood a bit awkwardly behind them. His stance was hesitant, and he seemed unsure of how to approach the moment. Ginny reached out, drawing James into the same hug, and enveloped both of her sons in her arms. "And James, I'm so glad to see you too," she said with heartfelt warmth, pressing a kiss to her older son's forehead.

They made their way over to the Floo point and she watched her children use the floo powder. Harry was still at the Ministry, where an upsurge in disappearances had led to increased workload for both him and Hermione. Lily was with her grandmother, which was a relief to Ginny. While she loved her youngest, Lily could sometimes be as rowdy as a Fiendfyre, and Albus needed a gentler reintegration.

Ginny gracefully Floo’ed after her children, brushing the ash off as she emerged into their home. They had settled into the old Black family home, Grimmauld Place, located in a lovely part of London. Ginny adored the city’s blend of muggle and magical life. They often visited muggle establishments for tea or other leisure activities, embracing the new world it offered.

Even though Harry had grown up as a muggle, his experience with the Dursleys had been bleak, leaving him deprived of many muggle joys. To compensate, they immersed themselves in muggle experiences whenever they could. Both Harry and Ginny were passionate about cinema and amusement parks. James, their oldest, was a big fan of waterparks, while Lily adored visits to the zoo. Albus, their middle child, showed more interest in museums. They had enrolled their children in muggle primary schools to ensure they were well-rounded and knowledgeable about the muggle world. They also incorporated muggle teachings into their home life. However, modern muggle inventions like “radiowaves” and the newer 4G and 5G technologies didn’t always mesh well with magic, leaving Ginny somewhat perplexed by these concepts.

Ginny ruffled the hair of both her boys and told them to take their things to unpack and later come down for dinner. She had decided to cook the dinner herself this time. Although she had never been particularly enthusiastic about cooking—much to her mother’s chagrin, who had always believed that “All witches need to know how to cook for their husbands and children”—Ginny had always felt that this view was outdated. A witch’s role extended beyond just managing a household and caring for her family. In their home, Harry was the primary cook. He enjoyed it as a stress-reliever and took pleasure in experimenting with new recipes. They had even adopted some muggle food health trends, aiming to limit sugar intake and explore gluten-free and vegan options from time to time.

Tonight, Ginny tried her hand at making a yellow curry with halloumi and lentils. She followed the muggle cookbook closely, and despite not being an avid cook, she managed quite well. Ginny was deeply supportive of Harry's connection to his heritage, given that the Potter family had roots in India. Harry’s upbringing had deprived him of knowing his own heritage; his guardians had only remarked on him being "tanner" without acknowledging the richness of his cultural background.
Ginny understood the prejudice he faced was akin to the muggle world's racism based on skin color, though this concept was more nuanced and complex in the muggle world compared to the wizarding world's blood purity issues. Britain, a significant force in colonialism, had imposed itself on India, committing atrocities and shaming the native culture. This colonial history influenced both muggle and wizarding societies. Many wizarding families, including the Potters, had fled to the magical communities in Britain to escape the muggle oppression and cultural suppression. Ginny recognized the importance of reconnecting with Harry’s heritage as a way to honor their family's past and provide a more inclusive environment for their children.

Just as the muggle rice cooker made its telltale sound that the rice was ready, Ginny heard footsteps coming down the stairs. She was relieved and pleased to see both her boys now on speaking terms again.

++++

Albus bolted for his room, desperate to escape before his brother could corner him. He felt a sense of relief after his mother's support, and her love had helped him push back the doubts that plagued him. It was embarrassing how easily he could spiral without constant reassurance, and he knew he had hurt his family by avoiding them. Even though he was guilty, he wasn't ready to face James just yet. The thought of seeing his father and the rest of the family loomed large, but knowing his mother’s love and support made it a bit easier to breathe.

He was nearly at his door when a windswept James stopped him by grabbing his arm. Panting, James made eye contact with Albus, clearly sensing his attempt to escape. “I’m not letting you go so easily now, baby brother,” he said. Albus felt a wave of overwhelming guilt; he hadn’t heard that familiar voice in months, and he had missed it terribly.

He put down his trunk and turned toward James, who enveloped him in a big hug. Though James was only two years older, he was a head taller, so Albus’s face was pressed into his brother’s chest. Albus wanted to pull away, but sensing the desperation in James’s embrace, he stopped resisting and hugged him back. It felt good to hold his brother again. Despite his fear of confrontation, Albus’s love for James was undeniable. He dreaded disappointing his brother, just as he had feared disappointing Rose.

“I missed you, little brother,” James murmured, still holding Albus tightly, as if he feared he might disappear. His voice was choked with emotion, and Albus could hear it crack slightly. James was afraid of losing him, and the rawness of his regret and love hit Albus like a Curse.

James continued, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I—I just wanted to apologize, Albie. I’m so sorry about the Sorting, what Rose did, and—” He took a deep breath. “And all those jokes I made about Slytherin! I didn’t mean any of it, and I felt so, so bad. You don’t get it—” His words tumbled out in a rush. “It plagued me the whole term. And with you avoiding me like dragon pox, I couldn’t even tell you how sorry I was.”

He continued, speaking faster now. “I was so mad at Rose when I heard about it. And when I saw how they teased you—calling you that awful nickname—I hexed them to the best of my ability.” James shifted, looking down at his little brother. “I even got into fights with my own best friends. You don’t know half of the chaos and drama that happened in the Gryffindor Tower. It was truly awful.” 

He stopped his rambling, looking both scared and hopeful as he peered down at Albus. Albus stood there, speechless. He had spent the whole term believing his family hated him and wanted to confront him to humiliate him. Yet, the reality was so different from what he had imagined. He was utterly unaware of the chaos and turmoil he had inadvertently caused for James and his cousins in the Gryffindor Tower.

Albus’s mind flickered back over the past month, replaying memories of James. The look of frustration, hurt, and concern on James’s face whenever Albus had avoided him, the tension between James and his friends at dinner—everything suddenly made sense. A sob broke from Albus’s throat, and he pulled James into a tight embrace, burying his face in his brother’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Albus choked out, his voice muffled. “I—I didn’t know. I’m sorry I never meant—”
James gently placed his hand on Albus’s head, brushing his hair with soothing strokes. “It’s okay, Albie. Don’t worry. Don’t cry, please.” His voice trembled, close to tears.

In the midst of his sobs, Albus let out a shaky laugh. “I missed you,” he said, which made the cauldron of emotions boil over for James. He began to cry, the tears spilling over as he held his brother close.

There they stood, in the hallway of their home, crying and laughing together. The emotional release was like a boiling cauldron finally finding its overflow, and they found comfort in each other’s arms, embracing the ridiculousness of the situation and the trials of the first term. Morgana, what a mess it had been. Amidst their tears and laughter, Albus finally felt the relief of being home.

Albus was relieved when his mother didn’t comment on the fact that he and James were now speaking, or on their flushed cheeks and red eyes. Instead, she gracefully moved the plates to the dinner table with a flick of her wand, and the food floated over to serve itself onto each of their plates. Normally, Ginny's cooking was decent, but tonight it was particularly delicious, and Albus was grateful for the comforting meal.

"Lily's with Granny. Your dad will pick her up before coming home. They should be back in about an hour," Ginny said.

Albus's grip on his cutlery tightened, earning concerned looks from both his mother and brother. To ease the tension, Ginny continued, "Albus, darling, if you're feeling tired, it's perfectly fine to call it an early night. I'm sure James can handle the dishes on his own."

She gave a knowing glance to both her sons. Albus sighed with relief, catching James's approving nod. Grateful for the out, he excused himself from the table after dinner. He was exhausted and had enough emotional turmoil for one day.

++++

Albus knew he couldn’t stay hidden in his room forever. His mother had checked on him before bed the previous night, her expression calm and unhurried, giving no indication she was concerned about his behavior during the term. She hadn’t pressed him, hadn’t questioned him at all—perhaps knowing he'd share when he was ready. Instead, she’d asked if he wanted to join her for some late Christmas shopping the next day.

Albus suspected she knew about the gifts he hadn’t gotten for anyone yet. To be fair, he'd completely forgotten about them. He had agreed to go. It would just be him, his mum, and Lily, who still hadn’t gone to Hogwarts yet. James, meanwhile, was planning to spend the day with his Muggle friends before the holidays. They were heading to a Muggle Christmas market and going ice skating—something Albus hadn’t done in years.

James had kept in touch with his Muggle friends from primary school, and Lily, being young and not yet part of the wizarding world, still played with them. Albus, though, had never really formed close bonds with Muggles. He remembered how they'd teased him about his name, and while he'd occasionally hung out with James and his friends, he'd never quite fit in. It wasn’t that he had anything against Muggles—it just seemed pointless to invest in friendships that would dissolve the moment he left for Hogwarts.

Still, he sometimes missed the simplicity of Muggle games, especially playing online shooters. He'd been pretty good at Fortnite, after all. But the internet didn’t work in a magical household—something about interference from magic, something about “ radio waves” or Bluetooth signals. It was a bummer, but nothing he could do about it. Not having his own phone or computer had made him stand out even more with his Muggle friends, who had been using iPads since they could talk.

Albus sighed, knowing he had no choice but to face the inevitable. He agreed to go with his mother and sister. Besides, he really needed to buy presents. If he didn’t, James would definitely prank him in retaliation—and his brother's pranks were never gentle.