Chapter Ten - Final preperations
Chapter Ten - Final Preparations
The next few weeks went smoothly for Albus, as if a weight had been lifted from his mind. He had been reborn in fire, blessed and embraced by the dark, and now his magic flowed through him with newfound ease. His control had never felt so precise, his magic so willing to listen. Between the meditations and the careful construction of his mindscape, he was even managing to do decently in his classes, though practical magic still eluded him at times.
The timing couldn’t have been better. Exams were fast approaching, and the pressure was mounting. Albus felt confident about the theory; he could pass that in his sleep. But practical spells? Even with his magic cooperating now, he was wary. He had felt this surge of power before, right after the affinity rite, only for it to fade. Yet now, almost three weeks had gone by, and the magic still thrummed within him, lingering like a quiet hum beneath his skin. He wanted it to stay, to keep growing stronger, but a new concern weighed on him: how would he hide it when he went home for the summer?
His father would surely sense the shift, the darker edge creeping into his aura. The thought of being scrutinized—of Harry seeing what he had become—sent a jolt of dread through him. Hiding his magic was becoming a priority, but with O.W.L. revision taking up every fifth year students time, Fawley was too preoccupied to help. That left him and Scorpius to sift through spellbooks, searching for ways to cloak the traces of dark magic. There were plenty of reasons a dark wixen might need to hide their aura, especially if the Dark Arts was being considered illegal. But none of the spells they found felt reliable enough.
Meanwhile, Rose had inexplicably begun trying to talk to him again, her attempts to rekindle their friendship as persistent as they were unwelcome. Albus hadn’t forgotten how she had treated him before, and he certainly wasn’t ready to forgive. His grudges clung to him, feeding the growing darkness inside, just like his magic. He wasn’t ready to let go—not yet.
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Albus felt time slipping through his grasp, pressure mounting as exams approached. He had distanced himself from James, tired of his brother’s misguided attempts to “fix” things between him and Rose. It was as if James and Rose thought they could undo everything that had happened, as if a few apologies and reconciliations could erase the distance that had grown between them. Albus resented them for it, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t entirely blame James. Family meant everything to James—far more than it ever could for Albus.
Blood was thicker than water, but not in a way that tied him to his family. Albus didn’t give his love, care, or trust freely. He wasn’t foolish like the Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs, tossing around loyalty as if it came without cost. No, everything had a price. And if there wasn’t one, then you were the product. His family seemed to believe that, just because they shared blood, just because they had created him, he owed them unconditional love. But why should he, when they never treated him the same?
He could always sense their emotions—when they were hurt, when they were happy, when they were concerned—without them saying a word. Yet none of them could do the same for him. If they truly cared, they should have seen through it all—the mask, the walls, the defense mechanisms. They should’ve known the things he never voiced, not because he told them, but because they should’ve understood him that deeply, sensed the struggle beneath his surface. But they didn’t.
And it infuriated him. He was only twelve; his mask wasn’t even that impressive, yet they believed it and never bothered to look deeper. No one saw through him the way he saw through them. No one understood his pain, his anger, his fear. They accepted the version of him he presented, oblivious to the turmoil underneath. It was as though they lived in a world where Albus didn’t exist beyond the surface, a ghost in his own family.
That isolation… it was unbearable. But magic? Magic made him feel seen, truly seen, even in his solitude. It didn’t just see the turmoil—it accepted it. It embraced him as he was. That was magic. Magic was personal. It was unconditional love, the only real kind. His heritage, his legacy—they mattered to him because they were tied to who he was, not because of family. Respect, loyalty—those had to be earned. The notion that family deserved them simply because of shared blood disgusted him. It was all an illusion. At least when it came to his own.
He once thought his mother was different, someone he could rely on. That was before the holiday, before she raised her wand and cast a silencing spell on him. That moment shattered the illusion. Something inside him broke when she did that. Her loyalty would always lie with his father, and his father—who looked at him with nothing but judgment and disdain. Albus wasn’t James or Lily, and Harry made it painfully clear, in a thousand different ways, that he wasn’t the son he had hoped for.
Albus could feel the contempt simmering beneath his father’s attempts to be kind and understanding. It was all a show. The Chosen One couldn’t admit to disliking his own son, could he? But Albus knew the truth. It hurt even more that Harry pretended otherwise. If his father had just been honest, if they could tolerate each other without the charade of love, things might’ve been easier. But no—Harry had to act like he cared, like he trusted Albus, while every action screamed the opposite.
His father always said he cared, that he loved him. But when Albus showed them the truth—like during the outburst over the holidays—they recoiled. They stared at him like he was a monster. When he finally let the mask slip, when the anger and frustration exploded out of him, they hadn’t understood. And they never would, because he would never tell them again. They looked at him with shock and disappointment, as if he had broken something. But he knew the truth—they had broken him long before.
His mother had raised her wand against him. His father had looked at him with disbelief, as if Albus were a stranger in their home. The one time he gave them a glimpse of who he really was, they couldn’t handle it. They didn’t want to see the real him.
The only person who truly saw him—who really understood him, no matter how hard Albus tried to hide it—was Scorpius. Scorpius embodied everything family was supposed to be. Their connection was sacred, a fragile light in Albus's shadowed world. Scorpius understood the darkness beneath the surface, and he didn’t judge; he just gently guided. But his family couldn’t see that. They only saw Scorpius’s last name and green tie, judging him without knowing. Their suspicion came from ignorance.
They thought Scorpius was a dark influence to be eliminated. They knew nothing. If anything, Scorpius held Albus together, grounding him when the whispers of darkness grew too tempting. They wanted to rip him from his sun—but without Scorpius, Albus would be pulled into the abyss. He hated them for it. Hated their ignorance, their refusal to understand.
That thought ignited a deep, seething rage within him.
Albus clenched his fists, feeling the heat of his anger bubbling just beneath the surface, a reminder of how deeply his family’s betrayal cut. He unconsciously gripped the pendant around his neck, stroking it like it was his lifeline. The smooth surface of the onyx felt cool against his skin, grounding him in a world that often spun out of control. Each gentle caress reminded him of Scorpius's unwavering presence, the way he saw through Albus’s carefully constructed façade and still chose to stand by him. In that moment, the pendant wasn’t just jewelry; it was a tangible connection to the light that anchored him, a symbol of resilience against the encroaching darkness.
He shook his head, slapping his cheeks in an attempt to snap out of it. Albus had gotten into his own head again, letting his thoughts spiral down dark paths. The dim light of the private study room seemed to close in on him, its heavy silence amplifying his frustration. He could barely focus on his revision; the words danced mockingly on the pages, fading in and out of clarity.
He let out an angry groan, his voice echoing in the stillness. How long had he been sitting there, staring blankly at the notes? Time felt irrelevant, like it had slipped through his fingers while he spiraled deeper into his worries. He had let his family get into his head again. They weren’t worth it, not when the darkness threatened to seep through the cracks of his carefully built defenses.
Albus stretched, feeling the tension in his muscles as he pushed himself to regain control. The exams were next week, and he couldn’t afford to let his mental barriers fall like that. He needed a sane—well, at least clean and calm—mind to do well on his tests. With a deep breath, he forced himself to refocus, pushing aside the shadows that loomed just beyond the edges of his thoughts.
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He needed to tell Scorpius. Albus had long strategized how to navigate the summer, especially given his parents' behavior during the holidays. There was little chance they would easily accept his friendship with the “Malfoy boy.” Albus had to prepare Scorpius for what lay ahead. They couldn’t appear friendly when they left the train; no more hugs goodbye on the platform. And worst of all, they wouldn’t be able to send each other letters over the summer. It was truly awful, but Albus was determined to show his parents that his friendship with Scorpius was safe.
He had planned to enlist James as a voice of reason, but with the whole Rose situation, he wasn’t sure his brother would side with him. Perhaps he could negotiate with James: if his brother helped convince their parents to accept Scorpius, Albus would mend things with Rose. But James, being a Gryffindor, was unlikely to see relationships in such a pragmatic light. They didn’t do compromises like that, much to Albus’s dismay.
Maybe he could enlist one of their new friends to act as a proxy for their letters, but that meant revealing this whole “spectacle” to someone else—something Albus was reluctant to do. He also didn’t want to burden Scorpius. The boy had been so stressed during exams, and it would break his heart to learn that Harry Potter disliked him. Scorpius adored his father, and while Albus might have detested that in anyone else, he let it slide for Scorpius—as long as it stayed quiet enough for Albus to ignore.
Despite everything, Albus felt he had done decently on his exams. He wasn’t overly worried; he even managed to make a pineapple dance across a desk during the Charms exam—though it took him three tries.
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It was soon time for the End-of-Term Feast, where the winners of the House Cup would be announced. This year, the competition was tight between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. The Ravenclaws had claimed victory in the Quidditch Cup, but Slytherin had amassed the most house points throughout the year, creating a palpable tension as students buzzed with anticipation.
Albus stood in the dimly lit Common Room, his watchful eyes scanning the crowd. He clutched a tome against his chest, its pages worn from careful handling. He needed to find Fawley before they left for home tomorrow; he was determined to return the book she had kindly lent him. Albus had treated it with utmost care, memorizing as much as possible and taking detailed notes in the journal Scorpius had gifted him for Yule. Naturally, he had used his invisible ink quill, which made his meticulous entries feel like a secret only he could read. Alongside this, he had documented some darker areas of study he intended to explore further over the summer. At first, he had been wary, wondering if simply writing about it would leave some trace of the magic. However, after testing a charm that detected dark auras and finding the journal to be clean, Albus finally stopped worrying.
Just then, Fawley entered the Slytherin Common Room, exuding her usual grace, now laced with an air of confidence likely stemming from her successful O.W.L. exams. Albus wasted no time approaching her, his heart racing slightly in the busy atmosphere.
“Good evening, Fawley. Could I borrow some of your time?” he asked, offering a poised smile that masked his nerves.
“Why, of course, Potter,” she replied, leading him to a quieter corner of the Common Room, where the chatter was muted. She cast an anti-eavesdropping charm, ensuring their conversation remained private.
He handed her the book, a smug look crossing her face as he did. “Did you find it helpful?”
“Immensely, thank you, Fawley,” he replied, relief washing over him.
“I do hope you’ve taken adequate notes,” she said, arching an eyebrow.
“Of course.”
“And this isn’t the sole reason you sought me out, is it?”
“No, I wanted to discuss— Fawley , please don’t try to look into my mind. It’s quite rude,” he interrupted, feeling a prickle of embarrassment.
She smirked playfully. “Then I suggest you avoid looking me in the eyes. A rather elementary mistake, I must say. I can see you’ve made commendable improvements to your shields—quite impressive.”
“Yes, I suspect my pledge contributed significantly to that.”
“How splendid! So, did you and Scorpius manage to discover a spell to cover the traces?” Her tone held a teasing edge.
Albus swallowed hard, the weight of her gaze making him uneasy. “No,” he admitted, feeling a flush creep up his neck.
“Thought as much. It truly isn’t straightforward without the right connections, is it?” she said with a gleeful grin.
“I assume you already knew this would happen?” he replied, trying to regain his composure.
“Of course. You are still both first-years, despite your promising abilities in blood magic. A pity you cannot use that to conceal traces of dark magic, hmm?”
Her words hung in the air, and Albus felt a mixture of frustration and determination surge within him; she was testing him—to see if he could keep up appearances.
“Sadly not, though I have a feeling that you might?”
“Indeed, I do, Potter.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder gracefully before tilting her head. “The question is, should I assist you?”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t benefit you if anyone got a hint of the things I’ve done this term, especially since you’ve been a part of it,” he said, lacing his voice with a subtle challenge, relishing his newfound upper hand.
Fawley’s smirk widened, revealing her teeth. It shocked him slightly; she always kept her composure. “How cunning. I’m so proud of our little snakes learning to dance.”
Albus felt his cheeks flush as he struggled to not make eye contact. “How did you do that?” he asked, intrigued. “Making me want to look into your eyes?”
Fawley let out a laugh. “It’s no fun when you can actually catch those things. I suppose it’s the dark protection? For your knowledge, compulsion is a mind art, and a very useful one.”
“Compulsion? Like a spell, then? I haven’t eaten anything.”
“Yes. Compulsions can happen in many ways—normally, people put the charm on food or drinks. But spells are different, more complex, and usually not as strong, unless you want to cross into more unforgivable territory, of course,” she said, her eyes gleaming. Albus felt a shiver run down his spine. “So the compulsion you—”
She stopped him with a wave of her hand. “As much as I am all for academic inquiry, Potter, the Feast is about to commence.”
“Right,” he said, trying to regain his composure.
Fawley continued, “Now then, back to the main topic. While a spell would be the simplest method to conceal magical auras and traces, we are both aware of your ability, even with the dark’s assistance.”
Albus tried not to grimace at her words.
“Therefore,” Fawley said, reaching into the pocket of her school robe and pulling out an arm brace. Albus took it into his hands, intrigued. “It’s sufficiently common not to draw undue attention. I wasn’t particularly familiar with your usual fashion, though I hardly believe this will clash too much.”
He examined the arm brace as Fawley spoke. “The easiest method to obscure traces is through magical objects. These have runes embedded that make the onlooker perceive a neutral core. However, it’s not foolproof, so I advise you to exercise caution. Do not allow others to grow suspicious of you, Potter,” she added sternly.
Albus nodded as he put on the arm brace.
She rolled her eyes, smiling with amusement. “Secondly, never don a magical item without first checking it for spells, love potions, or compulsions. I can’t believe that Harry Potter wouldn’t teach his son this.”
Albus felt his cheeks grow even redder as he looked down at the floor.
She huffed lightly. “And before I take my leave, Potter, I wished to impart some friendly advice. The one most likely to ascend to the new king isn’t particularly fond of your father’s policies, so do be mindful that the house may treat you differently next term. Now then, have a splendid summer, Potter. I trust it will be the most fruitful.” With that, she broke the anti-eavesdropping charm and briskly walked away, leaving Albus standing there, the weight of her words heavy in his mind.
Albus stood frozen for a moment, the arm brace feeling oddly heavy on his wrist. Fawley’s warning echoed in his mind, a lingering reminder of the precarious balance he was trying to maintain within Slytherin. The notion that his housemates might turn against him next term sent a wave of unease coursing through him.
He clenched his jaw, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Why did it always feel like he was one misstep away from losing everything? The thought of being judged solely based on his father’s legacy gnawed at him. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t Harry Potter; he was Albus Severus Potter, trying to carve out his own identity amid the shadows of expectations.
As the noise of the Common Room swirled around him, he felt a mix of determination and dread. He’d worked hard this year, diving into dark magic with Scorpius, testing boundaries he never thought he’d approach. Now, with Fawley’s ominous words ringing in his ears, he couldn’t help but question everything.
He glanced around, noticing a few of his housemates engaged in light-hearted banter, laughter ringing out like a distant echo of a life he felt increasingly disconnected from. Albus took a deep breath.
“Next term,” he muttered to himself, resolve hardening within him. “I’ll show them who I am.”
With that thought propelling him forward, Albus strode toward the entrance of the Common Room, determination etched on his features. He wouldn’t let anyone define him—not Fawley, not the whispers of his housemates, and certainly not the legacy of his father.
As he stepped out into the corridor, the weight of uncertainty still loomed, but he felt a spark of hope. He had plans for the summer, for deeper studies, and he wasn’t going to let fear hold him back. With a mixture of defiance and purpose, he set off toward the Great Hall, ready to face whatever awaited him at the feast.
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The Last Feast of the Year went splendidly. Slytherin had won the House Cup, much to the chagrin of the other houses. Albus felt a swell of pride. He had worked hard to earn house points throughout the year, and had managed to avoid any detentions or point deductions this term. It felt great to contribute to his house's victory.
He allowed himself to savour the final moments of the year at Hogwarts. It had certainly been a rough start, but with determination, he had earned respect. No matter what happened next year, he was confident he could do it all over again. He enjoyed the banter with Scorpius and their new friends, relishing the chance to act like the kid he truly was.
After they returned to the common room, the first-years decided to hold an Exploding Snap tournament. Albus quickly found himself outwitted and sat on the sidelines, watching the others play with an amused expression. Scorpius joined him, having also been bested. “I can’t believe they’re that good!” Scorpius huffed, his tone far too light to pull off annoyance. He smiled as he caught Albus’s eye. This was the moment.
“Scorp? Can you follow me? I want to tell you something.” Albus noticed a faint flush creep onto Scorpius’s cheeks as he replied, “Oh! Of course!”
The two boys made their way back to the dorm, an awkward silence stretching between them. Scorpius fidgeted nervously, almost as if he was expecting something. Albus pushed that thought aside.
He dramatically flopped onto his bed and let out a breath. Scorpius quickly followed, kneeling beside him on the bed. Albus looked up at him with a soft smile before resting his head in Scorpius’s lap.
Albus let out a soft sigh, feeling both comforted and anxious in Scorpius’s lap. The warmth of their friendship wrapped around him, but the weight of the conversation he was about to initiate loomed large between them.
“Scorp, I’m sure you’re already well aware—” Albus began, his voice a mix of confidence and uncertainty.
Scorpius paused his gentle movements through Albus’s hair, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Well aware of what?”
Albus’s heart raced. “Of how much I value our friendship. It means more to me than I can say. This year has been… different.” He shifted slightly, trying to gauge Scorpius's reaction, but his friend’s expression remained unreadable, as if bracing for something profound.
“Different how?” Scorpius’s tone was light, but an undercurrent of seriousness twisted Albus's stomach.
“I just—” Albus hesitated, searching for the right words. “I wanted to thank you for being there for me, for always having my back, even when I felt like I was drowning.”
Scorpius’s expression softened, his fingers pausing momentarily before resuming their soothing motion. “You don’t have to thank me, Albus. That’s what friends are for.”
“Yeah, but I think it’s more than that,” Albus said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He felt the tension rising between them, a palpable energy that quickened his pulse. “You’ve always seen me for who I am, not just Harry Potter’s son.”
Scorpius chuckled lightly, though it lacked his usual buoyancy. “Well, you’re pretty hard to ignore with all your Slytherin charm and reckless ambition.”
Albus rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at his lips. “Seriously, Scorp. I’ve been thinking about how much you mean to me, and… I don’t know, I guess I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you.”
The sincerity in Albus's words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, silence enveloped them. Scorpius looked down at him, his gaze searching, and Albus felt his heart race again as he sensed a shift in the atmosphere.
“Albus, I—” Scorpius began, his voice slightly shaky. Albus's breath caught in his throat. He could see the hesitation in his friend’s eyes, and suddenly, a thousand unspoken words filled the space between them.
Scorpius hesitated, his cheeks tinged with color. “I just—there’s something I’ve wanted to say too, but I didn’t know if you’d feel the same.”
“Try me,” Albus urged.
“I think… I think I might feel something more for you than just friendship.” The words slipped from Scorpius's lips, trembling and honest.
Albus’s breath caught, his mind racing as he processed the revelation. He felt an intoxicating mixture of excitement and fear surge through him. “You mean—”
“Yeah,” Scorpius replied, his voice steadying. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have, but I can’t keep pretending it’s just friendship.”
Albus’s heart soared at the admission, but the reality of it also sent a shiver of anxiety through him. “I feel it too, Scorp,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve just been scared to say anything. You feel so much more than a friend—it’s like—”
Expectation and something deeper flickered in Scorpius’s eyes. “Like what?”
Albus smiled and closed his eyes, feeling at home in Scorpius’s lap. “Like a brother. I guess it’s just so much deeper. I feel like we belong together—”
“Like a brother?” Scorpius echoed, his tone light but edged with hurt. Albus opened his eyes at the tone, confusion washing over him as he sat up, now staring into Scorpius’s eyes.
“Yeah—oh, sorry, Scorp! I guess you don’t get it, being an only child and all,” he trailed off, now nervous. Had he misspoken? Maybe Scorpius didn't feel the same…
“It’s just… you’re like family to me,” he said with an exhale.
More confusion crossed Scorpius’s face, looking truly perplexed. Then his expression softened, but there was still an edge of hurt lingering in his eyes.
“No, I get it,” he finally said, and Albus smiled, laying back onto Scorpius’s lap again.
“Great! So, does that mean I can borrow your stuff without asking?” Scorpius pressed, but there was an edge to his voice. “What if I want to steal your dessert at dinner? Is that allowed in this new family dynamic?”
Albus grinned, not catching the hint of hurt. “Absolutely. Just don’t expect me to share my sweets willingly!”
“Perfect!” Scorpius said, though his smile faltered slightly. “And what about those embarrassing family photos? Am I stuck in those too? ‘Malfoy and Potter, the ultimate duo—complete with matching jumpers!’” He tried to keep it light, but his heart wasn’t fully in it.
Albus burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Now that’s a nightmare I’m not sure I can handle!”
“Exactly! And what if I start picking up your bad habits? Like overthinking everything or getting lost in my own head?” His voice was teasing, but a shadow of uncertainty flickered in his eyes.
Albus, still caught up in the banter, replied, “I think it’s too late for that. You’ve already done it!”
Scorpius forced a laugh, but it felt hollow. “Oh no! Albus has infected me with overthinking!” His tone was playful, yet a layer of vulnerability seeped through. He glanced away.
“Well, as a new family member, this next part will be easier to explain—”
Scorpius raised an eyebrow as he resumed stroking Albus’s hair.
“During the holiday, it was actually way worse than I let on. You see, my family—well, they’re very narrow-minded, really, Scorpius—” he paused, then stopped himself. “Well, anyway, they wanted me to distance myself from you during this term.”
Concern showed on Scorpius’s face, and he stopped stroking Albus’s hair for a moment—until Albus spoke again.
“Of course, I didn't listen, and I don’t care if they approve of us, Scorp, really.”
Scorpius’s expression turned to one of disbelief. “What? Why don’t they like me? What did I do?” Unease crept into his voice.
“You didn’t do anything!” Albus said a bit too high. “Ugh, it’s just—because of our families’ shared history, the house rivalry and all that.”
Albus let out a laugh in disbelief. “They actually think you’ll turn me dark—imagine that!” He laughed again. “I mean, you were the one that told me it was reckless this whole term!”
Even though Albus laughed, Scorpius’s unease grew.
“But Albus, I did tell you about all that—” he said, his voice uncertain.
“I’ve already told you! It’s not your fault. I would have found out eventually! You just saved me and told me before my important day!” he muttered under his breath. “Like a true brother. ”
“Anyway, they think it’s a bad influence. They want me to focus on being a ‘proper Potter,’ and they think that means cutting ties with you,” Albus said in a satirical tone.
Scorpius was quiet before uttering in disbelief, “That’s ridiculous, Albus.”
“I know!” he said, sitting up quickly, his own anger rising. “It’s infuriating! Don’t worry, I will fix it this summer! But—until then, we can’t really be seen as friends. Which means—” He took a deep breath and looked down at the blanket. “We can’t say goodbye on the platform. I can’t greet your parents and—no letters.”
Scorpius looked almost heartbroken, so Albus went in for a hug. “Don’t worry, just trust me. I will make them see reason—somehow,” he said, trying to believe his own words.
Scorpius hugged him back, gripping him tightly and resting his face on Albus's shoulder. Scorpius breathed heavily, holding on, feeling a yearning for something more. Albus moved to stroke Scorpius's hair.
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The Hogwarts Express was buzzing with excited students, all eagerly anticipating the summer holidays. Albus and Scorpius sat with their compartment mates—Bowker, Nott, and Zabini—who made the space feel smaller than usual. The typical calm and quiet of their journeys was replaced with rowdiness and overlapping conversations about summer plans. Surprisingly, Albus didn’t mind. He laughed along with the others, feeling a lightheartedness he hadn’t felt in a while. Being around them made him feel his age, not in a childish way, but like he could let go and be a bit dumb sometimes.
“Merlin, Albus, you mean you actually spend a lot of time around Muggles?” Zabini asked, looking at him incredulously.
“Yeah,” Albus replied, rolling his eyes. “I don’t really hang out with them, but I spend a lot of time in the Muggle world. My parents think it’s safer than the magical one.”
“I’ve never been in the Muggle parts,” Nott said.
“Me neither,” Scorpius added quickly.
Albus grinned. “You should try it. Go to an amusement park, ride a rollercoaster—maybe visit an internet cafe. Though, I doubt you lot would understand how to use the internet.”
Zabini frowned. “What’s the internet?”
Before Albus could answer, Bowker jumped in with a smirk. “Don’t bother, Albus. They won’t get it.”
Albus raised an eyebrow. “You know about the internet, Bowker?”
“Yeah, I'm half-blood.”
Nott blinked in surprise. “Really? I didn’t know.”
Albus’s gaze sharpened. “What? Got a problem with that?”
Scorpius quickly intervened, sensing the tension. “No, it’s just—Bowker never mentioned it before.”
“Yeah, exactly,” Nott chimed in nervously.
“Well, it never came up,” Bowker said casually. “But yeah, my grandparents were No-Majs.”
“No-Majs?” Albus asked.
“Right, sorry. It’s what we call Muggles in the States—MACUSA lingo.”
“You’re from MACUSA?” Scorpius asked, sounding a little too enthusiastic.
Bowker shifted uncomfortably. “We moved here when I was a kid... for reasons.”
Albus, sensing his unease, changed the subject. “Anyway, you play Fortnite?”
Bowker grinned. “Fortnite? Mate, I can’t believe you play that! Nah, I’m more into PUBG.”
As the two of them launched into a heated debate about video games, the others watched with varying degrees of interest and confusion. But then Nott, clearly curious, changed the subject.
“So, Craig, Potter,” he began hesitantly. “You’re not worried about how Muggle stuff might affect your magic?”
Bowker shrugged. “I’m not around Muggles that much.”
Albus frowned. “Why would I be worried?”
Nott leaned in, his voice dropping as if revealing some well-kept secret. “They say too much time around Muggles weakens your magic.”
Albus laughed. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve spent plenty of time around Muggles, and I’ve still got my magic.”
But Scorpius still looked uneasy. “I mean, there are stories... about how being around Muggles can dampen magic over time. Something about interference?”
Albus rolled his eyes. “That’s because it’s illegal to do magic around Muggles, not because it weakens magic.”
Nott shrugged. “My father says that if we immerse ourselves too much in the Muggle world, we lose touch with who we are—our magic, our history. We become diluted.”
Bowker snorted. “That’s just pureblood propaganda. Magic isn’t gonna fade because you spend a summer near Muggle tech.”
Zabini, who had been quiet for a while, suddenly spoke up. “But Potter, you do struggle with magic, don’t you? Maybe all that Muggle exposure is catching up to you.”
The mood shifted instantly. Albus’s laughter vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp glare. “What did you say?”
Zabini leaned back, smirking. “I’m just saying. You’re not exactly top of the class in practical magic, are you? Maybe that’s why.”
Scorpius, sensing the growing tension, quickly defended Albus. “That’s not fair, Zabini. Albus doesn’t—”
“I don’t need you to defend me, Scorpius,” Albus interrupted, his voice tight.
Zabini’s smirk widened. “So, you admit it then? Maybe all that Muggle influence is messing with your magic.”
Albus’s fists clenched, but he forced himself to stay calm. “No, it’s not that. I just don’t care about the same things you lot do.”
“Sure,” Nott muttered under his breath.
Bowker, sensing the rising storm, tried to defuse the situation. “Alright, let’s calm down. Everyone struggles with something.”
But Albus couldn’t shake the doubt gnawing at him. Was that it? Could his struggles with magic really be because of the time he spent in the Muggle world?
He flexed his fingers, staring down at them as if expecting some kind of change. “You really think that? That spending time around Muggles is why I struggle with practical spells?”
Zabini raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Maybe. People say being around Muggles dilutes your magic, and you’ve been around them more than any of us.”
Albus nodded absentmindedly, though his mind was racing with the idea. Was there truth in it?
Bowker, trying to bring the conversation back to normal, added, “I don’t think Muggle tech does that. But my dad buys into those ideas too, especially with all this ‘Traditionalist’ talk.”
Nott nodded. “Same here.”
“Actually,” Bowker began, “that’s why we left the States. The No-Majs were getting too violent, and even though our worlds are more separate there, tensions were rising. My dad was an Obliviator for MACUSA, but with all the shootings and racial discrimination... we moved here.”
Albus felt a pang of sympathy for Bowker. “I’m sorry, mate.”
“What’s racial discrimination?” Scorpius asked innocently.
Bowker sighed. “It’s when No-Majs discriminate based on skin color. Like how blood purity works in the magical world.”
Albus added, “I’ve dealt with that too in the Muggle world. Some shopkeepers look at me suspiciously, like I’m going to steal something.”
Bowker met his gaze with sympathy. “Yeah, it’s the same in the States. A lot of our community—Black people—have been targeted.”
Scorpius and Nott listened with wide eyes.
“Black Lives Matter, right?” Albus asked.
“Right. My dad had to deal with it a lot, working around No-Majs. That’s why we moved here.”
Nott frowned. “I don’t get why they’d care about skin color.”
Albus shot him a look. “Like blood purity is any better?”
Nott bristled. “I didn’t say that. For the record, I don’t believe Muggle-borns are worthless .”
“But you’re still worried about Muggles,” Albus pressed.
Nott hesitated. “I mean, have you heard what they’re doing to the planet? Like, all that oil stuff?
“Not really” both Albus and Bowker answered.
As the Hogwarts Express sped along the tracks, Albus leaned back in his seat, staring out the window but not really seeing the passing landscape. His friends’ words replayed in his mind, nagging at him like an unfinished puzzle. The idea that his connection to magic might be weakening because of his time spent with Muggles seemed absurd—Pureblood propaganda, as Bowker had called it—but it still left a sour taste in his mouth.
Nott’s offhand comment about Muggles and oil didn't help either. What did that even mean? Albus wasn’t ignorant of the non-magical world—he’d spent plenty of time in it, after all—but there were still parts of it that felt foreign to him. Conversations like this reminded him of how much he didn’t know, how far removed he really was from both the magical and Muggle worlds at times.
On one hand, he understood why families like Nott’s were wary. The Muggle world was a chaotic and unpredictable separate world. But on the other hand, the idea that Muggles were inherently dangerous, that they were somehow a threat to magic itself, felt wrong. It reeked of the same pureblooded elitism and paranoia that his dad had fought against for years.
And yet… here he was, getting close to exactly the kinds of people his parents had warned him about.
His thoughts drifted to Scorpius, who had sat quietly for much of the conversation, always careful to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes. Scorpius wasn’t like the rest of them. Albus knew that. But still, being surrounded by Purebloods like Nott and Zabini… Wasn’t he just as much of a product of his environment as they were?
The compartment shifted again, the atmosphere a mixture of laughter and lighthearted bickering. Albus felt the pressure building within him, a weight that he couldn’t quite shake. This was supposed to be a carefree journey back home, a time to unwind and enjoy the company of friends. Yet the conversation had spiraled into something darker—an undercurrent of tension that hinted at everything he struggled to understand about himself, his friends, and the world around them.
But then Scorpius’s hand brushed against his, a silent reassurance that grounded him. Albus turned to him, catching the flicker of concern in Scorpius’s eyes. It was a reminder that, even amidst all the chaos, they were in this together.
But the doubts wouldn’t leave him. Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe all that time around Muggles was affecting him in ways he didn’t understand. Or maybe—just maybe—this was exactly what his parents had feared.
"Let's play some Exploding Snap before we reach the station," Bowker suggested with a gasp, stretching as he woke from his nap. His voice still sounded groggy, and he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.
Albus blinked, surprised Bowker had managed to doze off at all, given the conversation they'd just had. His own mind was too restless for sleep. Still, a game might be a welcome distraction, something to pull him out of his spiraling thoughts.
"Sure," Albus said, "Why not?"
Scorpius looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow. "Exploding Snap? You know it’s going to end with Bowker blowing up half the compartment again."
Bowker grinned, wide and unapologetic. "It's all part of the fun, isn't it?"
"Fun for you, maybe," Scorpius muttered under his breath, but he closed his book and set it aside anyway.
++++
Before they reached the final stretch into King’s Cross, Albus stood and pulled down his trunk. “I’m gonna go find my brother,” he said with a grin, trying to sound casual. "Have a great summer." He waved at his mates and stepped into the corridor, making his way toward the exit doors. He placed his trunk down by his feet, waiting for the train to stop.
His parents couldn’t know what he had done this term—especially his father, who would probably throw him in Azkaban if he found out. Albus had been careful with his letters, never revealing too much, never letting anything slip. Hopefully, James hadn’t snitched on him, even after Albus had distanced himself from him over the past months.
Merlin, just thinking about it, gave Albus a headache—how they’d all pretend everything was fine, how his dad and Aunt Hermione would quietly push for him and Rose to make up, to "fix things." They didn’t understand. They couldn’t. Rose wouldn’t ever see his side, not after what he’d been up to.
He couldn’t afford any missteps. His mask had to stay flawless—no cracks, no room for suspicion. One slip, and the delicate balancing act he’d been playing could come crashing down.
As the train slowed and the station drew near, Albus inhaled deeply, preparing for the next performance—the perfect son, the perfect brother, the one who had nothing to hide.
But just as the train began to decelerate, a door opened, breaking the stillness of the empty corridor. Out rushed Scorpius, who ran toward Albus, and before he could react, Scorpius threw himself into Albus's arms with a force that nearly toppled him over his trunk.
The hug was tight, desperate—like a lover’s embrace before going to war. Albus breathed out, all the tension escaping him as he wrapped his arms around Scorpius, pulling him closer. He let himself inhale his scent one last time before summer separated them. Their breaths mingled, and in that moment, everything unspoken hung between them.
When Scorpius finally pulled away, Albus felt as if a piece of his soul went with him.
“I will miss you, Albus,” Scorpius said, his grip on Albus’s robe turning his knuckles white. After a moment, he briskly let go, straightening his robe before walking back to the compartment. He glanced back at Albus, a lingering look filled with unspoken words.
Albus was left standing there, wide eyed, breathless with a pounding heart.