Chapter Eight - Decisions
Chapter Eight - Decisions
“I don’t trust her,” Scorpius said as they made their way to their second class of the day.
“I do,” Albus snapped, irritation evident in his voice. “And if you can’t trust her, then trust me .” His annoyance with Scorpius’s pessimism was palpable, it was rather unfamiliar for Scorpius to act this way, he was usually cheerful even when they had rough days.
Scorpius fell silent.
Albus’s gaze sharpened. “ What? You don’t trust me now?” he snapped, quickening his pace.
“No—Albus, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just— ”
Albus let out an exasperated groan. “Ugh! Just trust me, Scorpius. Don’t let it trouble your pretty head. I’ve got everything under control!”
Scorpius blushed, momentarily flustered. “W—what? Pretty?” he stammered, getting caught on the unintended compliment. Albus rolled his eyes.
“If you don’t trust me, you don’t have to be there,” Albus said dismissively.
Scorpius abruptly stopped, his face turning a deeper shade of red as he shouted, “No!” His voice was louder than intended. “I want to be there, Albus—I just—”
“Then be there—and stop worrying!” Albus said sharply.
++++
“James?”
“Yeah, what’s up, Albie?” James answered casually, lounging under a tree by the Black Lake. It was one of those perfect spring days—sunlight spilling through the leaves, the gentle ripple of the lake creating a calm, lazy atmosphere.
Albus shifted beside him, eyes following the ripples on the water. “Did you do anything special for your twelfth birthday?”
James kept his gaze on a group of birds soaring by, seemingly lost in thought. “Not really. Just another birthday, y'know? I mean, we went to see that new movie, but other than that? Not much.” He gave a sly grin and nudged Albus with his elbow. “Why, Albie? Afraid you’ll miss out on a proper birthday now that you’re at Hogwarts?”
Albus didn’t respond right away, but James caught the glint in his brother’s eyes, something hard to place. He figured it was just Albus being his usual quiet, brooding self. That’s Albus for you, he thought with a fond smile.
“Look,” James continued, stretching his arms out behind his head, “you’ll get used to it, mate. That’s how it goes when your birthday’s in the middle of term. Most kids at Hogwarts don’t really make a big deal out of it. Just a few friends, maybe some cake. Nothing fancy.”
Albus was silent again, the look in his eyes still lingering, darker now, as if there was something he wasn’t saying. But James didn’t press him. Albus had always been different from him, a bit of an enigma. And honestly, it didn’t bother James anymore. How could anyone think he’s anything but a Slytherin? he mused with a small, fond smile as he ruffled Albus’s hair.
++++
“Have you memorized the instructions?”
“Yes.”
“Good. It’s an easy rite. It doesn’t need any spells, only your blood.”
“I really don’t like this,” another voice broke the stillness, soft but filled with tension as the three wixen wandered deeper into the Forbidden Forest. The towering trees loomed overhead, their gnarled branches twisting together, forming a thick canopy that barely allowed any moonlight to filter through. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of moss and earth, and every now and then, the sound of rustling leaves or distant, unidentifiable creatures made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end.
“We don’t have much choice, Scorp,” Albus replied, his tone sharper than intended, his breath clouding in the cool night air. The forest felt alive around them, as if it was listening. “This affinity rite is the only one we can do on such short notice. And it will show if I have a dark core.”
“It’s reckless—what if you don’t? The magic could turn on you—” Scorpius’s voice was tight with worry as he stepped over a fallen branch, the faint crunch of twigs and leaves underfoot making the silence between his words even more pronounced.
Fawley interjected, her voice steady and emotionless, like the calm before a storm. “There is a high likelihood of Potter having a dark affinity.” She moved with quiet confidence, her wand casting a soft Lumos , the faint light illuminating their path at her side, as though she had walked this way a hundred times before.
Scorpius spat, his frustration barely contained, the tension between them thickening with every step. “Oh , I’m sure you’re well aware. Have you had a look?” His sarcasm was biting, his eyes flicking towards Fawley, full of distrust.
Albus rolled his eyes, feeling the weight of their anxiety pressing down on him, trying to suppress the churn of unease and excitement building inside him. He could feel the forest closing in, as though it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. “Guys, please stop,” he muttered as they finally emerged into a small clearing.
The space was eerily quiet, save for the faint rustling of the trees surrounding them. Albus stepped forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The dense shadows of the Forbidden Forest loomed like silent sentinels around them, and he could feel the magic thrumming beneath his feet, like the pulse of something far older than Hogwarts itself. This was the place—the site of the rite.
“We’re here,” Fawley said softly, her voice barely disturbing the thick air around them. She glanced at Albus, her dark eyes unreadable, face illuminated in the silver glow of her Lumos . “Are you ready?”
Albus swallowed hard, his fingers brushing against the small knife tucked into his robes, the cool metal sending a shiver up his spine. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, though his voice betrayed the flicker of doubt creeping in, even through his determination.
Sensing his unease, Fawley responded, her voice steady but detached. “Let’s do this as we practiced, shall we, Potter?” There was something unsettling about how calmly she spoke, as if the gravity of the ritual was lost on her.
Scorpius hesitated, his eyes locking onto Albus’s, pleading silently. “We could still—”
“No, Scorpius,” Albus interrupted, his voice firm. “I want this.” His tone left no room for argument.
The moon hung high above them, casting its pale glow over the clearing, the leaves casting strange patterns across the ground. It felt like they were stepping outside of time, the world beyond the forest impossibly far away, irrelevant to what was about to unfold.
The three wixen took their positions in a rough circle, the tension thick between them. Fawley, now all business, raised her hands, her wand gripped tightly in her fingers. Her voice took on a formal tone, a certain authority vibrating through each word. “As the wixen declared the longest, I oversee this rite.”
"Quod est superius, est sicut quod inferius"
(“As Above, so below”)
A chill swept through the clearing as she spoke, the air itself seeming to hum with anticipation.
“ Per tenebras vivo. ”
(“Through darkness, I live.”)
They turned to the right, wands pointed to the ground, their footsteps slow and deliberate as they walked the circle. The leaves crunched softly beneath their feet, a rhythmic sound in sync with the chant. Their voices rose in unison, carrying a weight that seemed to thicken the air, the dark magic stirring beneath the surface.
“ Vocamus tenebras ut nos circumdent, ”
(“We call upon the dark to surround us.”)
A shift in the air. Something stirred—a presence, palpable and cold, but strangely inviting. The surrounding trees swayed unnaturally, as though they, too, were participants in the ancient rite.
“ Esto nobis Protector et Dux, ”
(“Be our Protector and our Guidance.”)
A warmth, foreign and ominous, spread across their skin like a feverish caress, an unnerving contrast to the cool night air. It felt as if something ancient had awakened, observing them, considering their worth. The shadows stretched and thickened, blurring the edges of the clearing as though reality itself bent to the will of the magic.
“ In tenebris, ”
(“In darkness.”)
The air seemed to pulse with life, responding to the ritual, as though the very essence of the Forbidden Forest answered their call. Fawley moved with purpose, stepping into the center, her wand raised high, one arm reaching skyward while the other pressed firmly toward the earth. The magic around her swirled—alive, sentient, as if waiting for her command.
“ In tenebris; Petimus approbationem ritus Affinitatis, ”
(“In darkness; We ask for the approval of an Affinity rite.”)
Fawley stepped out of the circle, her movements precise, almost ritualistic in their grace. The moment she did, the magic that had been gathering burst forth, encircling them like a tangible force. It was no longer just a presence; it was something alive, a dark, humming entity. It pressed against Albus's chest, a weight that seemed both alien and intimate. He could hear it—whispers at the edge of his consciousness, words he couldn’t quite decipher but felt deep in his bones.
And yet, he wasn’t afraid.
He should have been—any rational part of him should have been screaming to stop, to turn back. But the anticipation drowned out the fear, an intoxicating mixture of exhilaration and dread. It called to something deep within him, something that had always been there, lurking just beneath the surface.
The magic’s grip tightened, and for a fleeting moment, Albus felt as if it recognized him. He felt the flicker of something ancient stirring within, an echo of a connection long forgotten.
With a measured breath, he stepped into the circle.
The sensation hit him immediately—intoxicating, electric. His skin prickled with the thrill of the magic wrapping around him, the world outside the circle blurring into insignificance. Albus retrieved the ceremonial dagger from his robe, its silver blade gleaming coldly in the moonlight.
“In tenebris,”
(“In darkness.”)
He pressed the blade to his palm, gritting his teeth as it cut through his flesh. The pain was sharp but fleeting, an offering demanded by the ritual. Blood welled up in thick droplets, trickling down his hand as he raised it above his head.
“ Per sanguinem meum, ”
(“Through my blood,”)
His heart pounded in his ears, beating in time with the pulse of magic coursing through the clearing. The ground beneath his feet thrummed with energy, as though it, too, was alive.
“ Affinitatem meam ostende. ”
(“Show me my affinity.”)
The blood, thick and dark, began to rise, defying gravity as it coalesced into a sphere above him. It pulsated grotesquely, a twisted heart that beat with erratic rhythms, growing larger with each agonizing pulse. It devoured the blood hungrily, pulling more and more from the wound, until it seemed to draw not only from his flesh, but from his very being.
The sphere shuddered, expanding and contracting as if it were alive, writhing with a sickening intensity. Darkness began to creep through the crimson mass, ink-black tendrils snaking outward, clawing at the edges of the sphere, desperate to escape.
Albus stood transfixed, his breath shallow as the blood turned black—so dark it seemed to devour all light, There was no reflection, only a void—It pulsed endless and all-consuming like an abyss–As he gazed into the depths, it felt cold and unrelenting, daring him to lose himself within. The sphere quivered, expanding, and for a terrifying moment, it seemed as though it might devour him entirely—and then, for just a short moment, the abyss stared back.
Then, with a deafening crack, it exploded— blood splattering across the circle, drenching the ground and everything within. His breath hitched, his pulse hammering in his ears. The world spun around him, but instead of fear, an overwhelming wave of power surged through him.
The magic surged like fiendfyre through his veins, burning but with a pleasure so intense it left him trembling, gasping for breath. It whispered to him in a thousand tongues, all at once—its voices clawing at his sanity, promising things he couldn't yet comprehend. A twisted smile curled his lips as he collapsed to his knees, utterly consumed by the sensation.
Power. Power like he had never known.
His head spun, and the edges of his vision darkened, but the magic still pulsed in his veins, more potent than anything he had ever felt. He could barely stay conscious, but even as he fought the darkness threatening to overtake him, his chest heaved with exhilaration. He trembled violently.
“Albus!” Scorpius’s frantic voice broke through the haze.
Albus barely registered him, swaying as he tried to rise. Fawley’s voice sliced through the air, cold and commanding.
“Malfoy! Don’t move!” she snapped. “We need to close the circle!”
Scorpius froze, panic etched into his features as he watched Albus, torn between his instinct to help and the fear that any wrong move might endanger them all.
“Get it together, Potter!” Fawley hissed, her voice sharp. “You must exit the circle—the ritual isn’t over yet!”
Albus fought to regain control of his trembling body, his limbs uncooperative as he forced himself to stand. His jaw clenched, tasting iron as he stumbled out of the circle, gasping for breath. His legs barely held him upright, but his mind screamed with determination. He couldn’t fail—not now.
Fawley wasted no time, her chant precise and unwavering as she began the closing ritual. Scorpius, still pale with fear, joined her, their voices blending together as they circled back, undoing the steps they had taken.
“ In tenebris, ”
(“In darkness,”)
“ Nunc hoc circulum et ritum clausimus, ”
(“We now close this circle and rite,”)
“ Quod inferius est sicut quod est superius, ”
(“As below, so above.”)
The magic withdrew, leaving a suffocating stillness in the clearing. The only sound that remained was Albus’s ragged breathing as he slumped forward, barely able to stay conscious.
Scorpius rushed to his side, his hands trembling as he cradled Albus’s head in his lap. With shaking hands, he uncorked a blood-replenishing potion and carefully poured it into Albus’s mouth.
“I did it,” Albus rasped, his voice hoarse, his eyes wide and gleaming with something dangerous. Something other. “Scorp—it worked.” His lips curled into a wild grin, and then he began to laugh, a raw, unsettling sound that echoed in the night air.
Scorpius clutched him tighter, his own body trembling as relief and terror warred within him. “Yes—you did,” he whispered, barely able to keep his voice steady. His eyes flicked nervously to the circle, still drenched in blood, a reminder of the darkness they had just witnessed.
Fawley stood off to the side, her expression cold and unreadable as she surveyed the aftermath. A small, calculating smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Without a word, she began to clear the space, removing any trace of what had transpired—ensuring no one would know how deep into the dark they had ventured.