Chapter Twelve - Summer holiday II
Chapter Twelve - Summer holiday II
July, 2018
Albus hated the summer—every sticky, sweltering second of it. The humid heat felt more unbearable than ever, beads of sweat trickling down his back by the time he trudged from their house to the local library. With all his schoolwork done, he had little else to occupy his time, and staying in bed all day with the blanket drawn over his head only invited his parents’ concern. So, he ventured into the Muggle world, thoughts drifting toward Diagon Alley. He wanted to escape there, to the familiarity of magical life, but his parents wouldn’t allow it. Not alone.
Yet, here he was, roaming Muggle London unsupervised. Hypocrites.
They acted as if the Muggle world was somehow safer. As if Muggles couldn’t be just as dangerous as wizards. The idea was absurd, and it irritated him more than he could explain. It wasn’t just ignorance—it was willful blindness.
Albus’s interest in magical history had piqued after his first year at Hogwarts, but now he found himself curious about Muggle history, too. He wanted to explore where the two narratives overlapped, especially when it came to figures like Merlin. Muggles regarded such wixen as myths— That had led him to research Muggle beliefs around witches, and what he found was horrifying. He had learned a bit about witch burnings back in primary school, and Nott had touched on it briefly during the Slytherin introduction lesson, but the reality was far more terrifying than they let on. The deep-seated hatred Muggles harbored filled him with a fear he couldn’t quite identify.
Standing before the library, its imposing stone façade loomed over him like a fortress. For a moment, he felt too small to enter, as if the knowledge within was somehow forbidden to someone like him. As he crossed the threshold, the intense gaze of the librarian at the front desk caught his attention, her eyes trailing after him as if she knew he didn’t belong. It made his skin crawl.
He couldn’t shake the feeling that the librarian could sense something off about him—that she could see through the veneer of normalcy, that she knew he wasn’t one of them, that he wasn't a Muggle. His mind spiraled into darker thoughts. Images of witches being dragged to their deaths filled his mind, and the fear, the hatred, the suspicion of anyone different clung to him like a shadow. The memories clawed at him, suffocating, a visceral reminder of how easily fear could turn into brutality.
Albus abandoned the idea of searching for books and wandered back out into the oppressive heat, aimlessly drifting through the streets as the sun beat down on him. He didn’t know where to go; he just knew he had to keep moving, the heat mirroring the unrest brewing inside him.
Eventually, he ducked into a small corner shop, desperate for something cold. The wave of cool air from the A.C. washed over him, a welcome relief from the stifling heat outside. But even here, he wasn’t free from scrutiny. The shopkeeper, an old man with tired eyes and a permanent scowl, watched him closely as if waiting for him to cause trouble. The old man didn’t even try to hide his disdain, practically making a spectacle of his scrutiny.
As Albus walked down the narrow aisles, scanning the shelves for something refreshing, the weight of the shopkeeper's gaze pressed on him, scrutinizing him as if he were a potential thief. It was infuriating, souring his mood and heightening his paranoia.
Finally, he grabbed a bottle of lemonade, the bright label promising a burst of citrusy relief. As he approached the counter, he forced himself to meet the shopkeeper’s eyes, trying to project a confidence he didn’t feel.
"Just this, please," Albus said, setting the bottle down with deliberate calmness.
The shopkeeper took the bottle without a word, but his eyes never left Albus, watching him as though he were some kind of threat. The resentment simmering beneath Albus’s skin threatened to boil over. He paid quickly, wanting to leave, but just as he turned to go, he heard the man mutter something under his breath. A slur. A vile insult Albus had heard too many times before.
Rage surged through him, burning hotter than the sun outside. It coursed through his veins like fire, drowning out everything else. His hand clenched the bottle so tightly he thought it might shatter. He wanted to turn around, to shout, to demand the respect he was owed. Instead, he slammed the door hard behind him as he left, the sound echoing through the quiet street.
The anger didn’t fade as he walked. It grew, festering inside him with every step—The Muggles were even worse than the blood purists. Albus couldn’t comprehend how his family seemed to enjoy this world so much. All he felt when he was out was suspicion, all because of his ethnicity. How were they all so blind? They romanticized the Muggle experience, but Albus saw the prejudice and fear that lay just beneath the surface. His parents acted as though living among Muggles was some noble gesture, but all Albus felt was rage.
Muggles—they were so foolish, acting high and mighty. They walked around oblivious to the magic that lay just beneath the surface, yet they dared to judge him. It was infuriating. Albus shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away, but the weight of his frustration only grew heavier. He wanted to shout, to make them see. But instead, he clenched his fists.
Maybe the Purebloods were right after all— maybe there was a reason to keep their world separate.
A wash of relief came over him. There was really no reason for him to be around Muggles— Not anymore.
++++
July, 2018
James’s birthday was always a grand affair, one that Albus despised— not out of jealousy , but more out of discomfort. James was a social being, thriving in the spotlight, while Albus was anything but. Albus's own birthdays had always been small and intimate, quiet gatherings with just family. But James? James was having three different parties this year—one for family and relatives, which would be a big ordeal, another for his Hogwarts friends, and a final one for his Muggle mates. To Albus's dismay, he was expected to attend all three, like the rest of their immediate family.
In earlier years, Rose had been a welcome companion during these marathon celebrations. She always went along for all three parties, but Albus knew that her presence was more for his sake than James’s, not that James ever noticed. They’d stick together, often sneaking away from the crowd when things become too overwhelming. This year, though, Albus wasn’t sure what he loathed more—being forced to mingle with all those people or having to pretend that he and Rose were still the same as before.
There had always been a reason why the two of them had gravitated toward each other more than toward their other cousins. Their parents likely thought it was a case of "opposites attract," but the truth was far less simple. He and Rose were two sides of the same coin. Sure, Rose took to the limelight like a moth to a flame, and Albus preferred the shadows, but their thoughts often mirrored each other. One shared glance, and they would know what the other was thinking. They understood each other in ways that didn't need words. They had a rhythm—until they didn’t.
They were more alike than either wanted to admit, especially now–Rose, despite how much she liked to ignore it, had a Slytherin streak. And Albus had a temper—a fierce one he tried to suppress, but like a lion’s roar, it was hard to keep in check. After their first term, things had changed. There had always been tension, sure, but this was different. They both knew it. Albus had secrets, and Rose was fully aware of that. She wasn’t easily fooled, not like James. She had inherited her mother’s sharp mind, and unlike his brother, she wasn’t blinded by family loyalty. What clouded her judgment were her own biases and her refusal to ever admit she was wrong.
Albus knew he’d crossed the line first. He had gone behind Rose's back on the Hogwarts Express and befriended Scorpius, despite Rose making it abundantly clear that she loathed him—even if her reasons were shallow, based solely on the Malfoy name. But Albus didn’t share her prejudice, nor the rest of his family’s. They were too blinded by the past. Scorpius, like him, hadn’t chosen his parents. Still, Albus knew they were different—Scorpius loved his parents, whereas his own feelings were far more complicated.
He didn’t consider his friendship with Scorpius a betrayal. If Rose couldn't see beyond old biases, that was her problem, not his. But after what she did after the Sorting? She had meant every bit of that. Rose knew how much Albus hated being thrust into the spotlight, how anxious he had been about getting Sorted, yet she still managed spectacle out of him in front of everyone. And worse still, during their first flying lesson, She had openly mocked him and did nothing when he was called a squib, and then befriended Yann and Polly . Who took every opportunity to remind people of his lack of practical abilities, and how he was a disgrace to the Potter name.
Her apology hadn’t been real. She’d brushed off his feelings, acting like he was being childish for feeling them, as if the teasing was no big deal. Then she’d pulled out her trump card: her mother’s scar. That move had been calculated, manipulative. Albus had almost admired how ruthlessly she’d played it.
But just as he saw through her, she saw through him. Though if he were honest, he considered himself the better manipulator, she would always be a lion afterall, even if she had some cunning tendencies. Rose had gotten too close to uncovering his secrets for his comfort. He liked walking the line, playing the game of who would slip up first—it thrilled him. But he wasn't in the right headspace anymore. His mind was in disrepair, mental walls weak, and meditation had become nearly impossible. His thoughts raced, paranoia gnawed at him, and there was something else...the magic. It was becoming aggravated, likely because of the lack of offerings. And he knew why, he couldn't give any offerings during Litha , one of the eight sabbats in the year of the wheel.
But what could he do? He couldn’t risk practicing anything in the house, not so close to his father. The magic was possessive, leaving behind a residue that wasn’t easy to hide. He hadn't been able to offer the magic any offerings, though he had made a fire, trying to appease the magic gagging at him from the inside. It was making him irrational, and harder for him to control his emotions, leaving him exhausted, just trying to swim above the water.
He didn’t want to play mind games with Rose. He didn’t want to attend James's parties or pretend to be the dutiful, happy brother. Truthfully, he’d rather take a field trip to Azkaban than deal with any of it.
But he had no choice. This was his life now, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, all while his mind fell apart under the strain. Summer had been rough, worse than usual, and most days he found it difficult to care about anything. Yet here he was, expected to smile, to perform, to play the part everyone wanted him to play.
++++
15 of july, 2018
“Hey, mate! What’s got you so down? It’s a party!” Teddy bellowed into Albus' ear, far too close, his breath reeking of firewhisky.
“Teddy—are you drunk?” Albus asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Me? Drunk? Never!” Teddy declared dramatically, with a lopsided grin. Albus rolled his eyes, scanning the lively scene. Everyone seemed to be having a blast— except him.
The sun blazed in the sky, making the heat unbearable. They were gathered in the Burrow’s sprawling garden, which had been decked out with balloons and several long tables, each filled with food. A massive cake had just been served, and James, as usual, was soaking up all the attention from their relatives and friends. Even Professor Neville was there, along with a few others who had fought with their parents during the war—people whose names Albus couldn’t be bothered to remember. Not that they paid him any mind. He was the lone snake among lions. Well, not exactly—the thought of Gran Andromeda popped into his head, though she was currently deep in a heated debate with Uncle Bill, while Gran Molly and Grandpa Arthur sat nearby, looking half-interested, with a few too many butterbeers in them.
Albus sulked, still annoyed that he was seated at the children's table while James had secured a seat among the adults. It wasn't fair. They were only two years apart, and James was turning fourteen after all. Rose, stuck next to him, was chatting with Hugo, while Lily was talking Molly’s ear off. Molly, of course, looked even more envious of James than Albus. Louis, meanwhile, took delight in watching his cousin’s annoyance, egging Lily on with conversation about the most trivial things.
“I thought you were with Vic, Teddy,” Albus muttered, shifting slightly as he felt Teddy lean in closer, the warmth of his body adding to the discomfort.
“Nah, she’s arguing about the properties of dragon’s blood with Dominique and Fred. Not really my scene, so I thought I’d come over here!” Teddy flashed a mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he gestured wildly, nearly knocking over his drink in the process.
“Teddy, now that you can do magic outside of school, would you put a cooling charm on me?” Albus asked, fanning himself with his hand, the heat making his skin prickly. “I’m sweating like a vampire at sunrise!”
Teddy laughed heartily, his laughter infectious, almost causing Albus to smile. “Sure, mate!” He waved his wand a little too dramatically, a flair that often accompanied his antics.
A refreshing coolness washed over Albus almost immediately, a blessed reprieve from the oppressive heat. He let out a sigh of relief as the air around him chilled, making the party atmosphere slightly more bearable. “Thanks,” he muttered, half-hoping Teddy would wander off and leave him in peace.
“No problem, Al!” Teddy threw an arm around him, nearly knocking over Albus’s drink as he did so, his enthusiasm unyielding. “Now, what’s up with you? You’ve been moping around since you got here. This is supposed to be fun!”
Albus glanced toward the adults’ table, where James continued to bask in the spotlight, animatedly chatting with Dad, Uncle Ron, and others. They all seemed to thrive in the warmth of familial bonds and laughter. Albus, on the other hand, felt as if he were observing a performance from the sidelines. “It’s nothing,” Albus shrugged, dismissing Teddy’s concern, “just… it’s hot.”
“C’mon, mate, you can do better than that. I know that look.” Teddy squinted at him, adopting that infuriating all-knowing expression that Albus couldn’t stand. “It’s not about the heat, is it? Is it James again? He’s been in the limelight all day, but it’s his birthday. Don’t let it get to you.”
Albus scowled but said nothing. He didn’t want to engage in this conversation; he simply wanted to disappear into the background.
Just then, Rose, seated next to him, jumped into the conversation. “It’s not about James; it’s about the party.” Her voice cut through the tension, a hint of camaraderie in her tone as she glanced over at the adults.
Albus shot her a grateful glance, silently appreciating her effort to divert Teddy’s attention.
“I can’t believe we have to sit through two more of these,” Rose continued, shaking her head as she surveyed the chaotic gathering. The laughter and chatter of their family echoed around them, punctuated by the distant sound of fireworks being set off. Colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, casting shifting shadows across the grassy lawn of the Burrow.
Teddy grinned, his excitement evident in the way he bounced slightly on his heels. “Well, only one more for me! I have Auror training, so I can only go to the muggle one.” His eyes sparkled mischievously as he surveyed the scene.
“Lucky you,” Albus replied, a small grin breaking through his earlier mood.
“It’s going to be at the muggle bowling place again this year?” Rose asked, her brow furrowing as she scanned the other table where James held court, effortlessly charming their relatives with his stories and antics.
“Yeah. James really likes the pizza there, and he’s pretty good at bowling,” Teddy replied, his enthusiasm undeterred.
“I don’t like it at all,” Rose said with a grimace, her eyes darting nervously to the adults. “You think we could talk ourselves out of playing?” She looked at Albus, her expression hopeful but aware of the futility of their request.
“Well, Teddy was almost banned from the place after throwing a ball through the ceiling,” Albus said with a neutral tone, trying to at least seem a bit eager in the conversation.
“I can’t believe you actually did that,” Rose said, giving Teddy an amused grin that transformed his mock-serious demeanor into an exaggerated display of offense. He clutched his heart dramatically, a wide smile creeping across his face.
“It was not my fault!” Teddy declared, his eyes glinting with mischief, his voice rising above the din of the party.
“It’s good that we are rich and that Dad paid for the damages; otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to get back,” Albus remarked flatly. Despite the humor of the moment, a flicker of desire to escape the event entirely crossed his mind, and he welcomed the idea of never returning.
“Yes, imagine the horror,” Rose said, rolling her eyes, her tone playful but the underlying tension of the day evident in her smile.
As the three of them laughed, Albus felt a small weight lift off his shoulders, even if just for a moment. Teddy, despite his drunken antics, always had a knack for lightening the mood. And for some reason, Rose acted like their earlier fight had never happened, and Albus was more than happy to play along.
Teddy leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, Al, you should really try to have some fun. Just because James is the star of the show doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself too.” Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he tried to coax Albus out of his shell.
A cheeky grin broke across Teddy's face. “And hey, if all else fails, you could always pull another stunt like I did at the bowling alley. Maybe make it a chandelier this time.”
Albus felt a familiar pang of disconnection. He wasn’t a kid anymore; the carefree days of feeling overshadowed by his brother felt distant. He thought about correcting Teddy, but part of him found comfort in the excuse that Teddy’s words provided for his lack of amusement. Why burst that bubble?
Albus chuckled despite himself, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. “I think Mum would kill me if I did that.”
“Totally worth the risk,” Teddy replied with a wink before downing the last of his firewhisky in one go, the vibrant red liquid glinting in the sunlight as he tossed the glass aside, momentarily distracted by a passing tray of treacle tarts.
Rose watched Teddy stumble toward the platter, her expression a blend of disbelief and amusement. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder how he’s going to survive Auror training.”
Albus shrugged, his gaze trailing Teddy. “Maybe Dad will pull a few strings.”
“Nepotism at its finest,” Rose quipped, a smirk tugging at her lips.
“Like you’re one to talk,” Albus shot back, a smile creeping onto his face.
“Seriously though, haven’t you noticed?” Rose whispered, her brow furrowing with concern as she surveyed the chaotic gathering around them. The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, but a cloud of unease seemed to hover over their corner of the party. “There seems to be something going on. Our parents are doing a good job at hiding it, but I can tell my mum is getting more stressed lately.”
Albus blinked, the weight of her words settling over him. He had noticed but didn’t care to dwell on it. It wasn’t as if his parents let him navigate the wizarding world on his own, anyway; he viewed it merely as a convenience that gave him more leeway to mope around.
“No, I haven’t,” he replied bluntly, his tone clipped.
Rose gave him a pointed look, her eyes narrowing slightly. Albus rolled his eyes, irritation simmering just below the surface.
“Okay, fine. Yes, I have noticed. It’s clearly about that New Traditionalist Movement. Father has been awful at hiding his distaste for all the Daily Prophet headlines,” he said dismissively, annoyance creeping into his voice.
Rose raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Mum’s been tight-lipped about it, but I’ve overheard things. Meetings late at night, discussions about old laws, even Pureblood families—ones like the Notts and the Zabinis.”
Albus's stomach knotted at the mention of those names, his thoughts flickering briefly to Scorpius before he quickly shoved them aside. Rose hadn’t mentioned him, and he wasn’t about to bring him up, either.
He huffed, irritation brewing as he sensed Rose’s attempt to pry information from him. “I’m pretty sure those are just speculations. Dad’s been very annoyed that he can’t make any arrests after all.”
Rose crossed her arms, her expression shifting from concern to determination. “Speculations or not, it doesn’t mean there’s nothing happening. You can’t just brush it off because it’s inconvenient for you.”
Albus rolled his eyes again, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the weight of the conversation pressed down on him. “I’m not brushing it off. I just… I don’t want to get involved in whatever political drama my father is dealing with.” His irritation flared, and he felt a surge of annoyance at what Rose was insinuating.
“Drama? Albus, be serious. If those families are getting involved with Uncle Harry's job—”
“Rose! This is exactly what I meant. I know what you’re implying,” Albus hissed quietly, his tone barely above a whisper, trying to keep their conversation under wraps to avoid drawing attention from the surrounding festivities.
Rose raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Fine,” she said calmly, though the curiosity in her eyes flickered beneath the surface. Albus could feel her probing for more, and he knew he needed to deflect before the conversation dug any deeper.
“Anyway,” he said, shifting his tone and leaning in slightly, “it seems like the New Traditionalist Movement’s influence is coming from abroad.”
Rose’s expression changed immediately, her curiosity piqued. “Yeah, there’s been a lot of talk about traditionalist parties gaining power in different ministries across Europe. It feels like something bigger’s brewing. There haven’t been murmurs like this since—” She lowered her voice, glancing around as she leaned in conspiratorially, her arms crossing protectively over her chest.
“Since Grindelwald,” Albus finished darkly, his eyes narrowing as the implications of their conversation settled in. “The ideas… they sound familiar.”
The British wizarding community had long stood apart from its European counterparts, who were more tightly connected through groups like the EWA—the Eastern Wixen Alliance—and the MUOE, the Magical Union of Europe. Those alliances often collaborated on international treaties, making the rise of Traditionalist movements in Poland, a country under the EWA, and Italy, a MUOE member, all the more troubling. Unlike Britain, the rest of Europe had not been ravaged by the two wars with Voldemort, which they dismissed as Britain’s internal affairs.
“Honestly, it’s like they want to drag everything back a century,” Rose muttered, shaking her head, her expression a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “And here we are, just hoping it doesn’t spill over to us.”
“Europe’s always been more… traditional,” Albus replied, frowning as he considered the broader implications. “Like the Scandinavian Union of Magic. They’ve been leaning that way for ages.”
Rose snorted in disbelief. “It’s so ironic, considering how progressive their Muggle governments are.”
“Well, the British wizarding world has always kept itself more isolated. I doubt the movement will stick here the same way—especially after everything with Voldemort.”
“I’m not so sure, Albus. The way tensions are rising on the continent… it’s unsettling.”
Albus gave her a grim smile, his attempt at levity falling flat. “Well, let’s just hope another war doesn’t start before we’ve finished school, yeah?”
Rose rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a smirk. “You’re terrible at humor, Albus. You know that, right?”
Before Albus could respond, a loud crash echoed across the yard, the sound of splintering wood drawing their attention. Both cousins turned to see Teddy sprawled across the wreckage of a table, dishes and drinks scattered everywhere. It was clear he’d indulged a bit too much. Teddy lay snoring amidst the chaos, blissfully unaware of the mess he’d created.
Harry surveyed the scene with an exasperated expression, his hands on his hips, while Andromeda raised a single, unimpressed eyebrow at her grandson.
James was the first to break the silence, bursting into laughter, his infectious joy cutting through the tension. Soon, Albus and Rose were giggling along with the rest of the guests, the earlier weight of their conversation fading into the background. Even Harry couldn’t help but crack a reluctant smile at the absurdity of the situation, and Andromeda’s lips twitched in amusement as she took in the sight of Teddy lying amidst the wreckage.
++++
Summer, 2018
Albus loathed summer. Each day bled into the next, a formless blur that seemed to drag him further into the depths of his own despair. The passage of time had lost all meaning—days, dates, and even meals blurred into irrelevance, marked only by Kreacher’s silent, dutiful visits, as the house-elf delivered trays of food that Albus barely touched. He’d given up on getting out of bed, retreating from the world outside his window. The black curtains in his room were drawn tight, casting his sanctuary into an eternal night that felt safer, more bearable than the brightness beyond.
Here, in the dark, the rest of the house carried on without him. His siblings’ laughter and footsteps drifted through the silence like echoes from a world that no longer felt real. His parents, engrossed in work and long hours, seemed oblivious to the unraveling taking place under their roof. Kreacher, however, lingered—never asking, never prying, simply ensuring Albus didn’t starve. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a quiet agreement that Albus’s retreat into the shadows was better left undisturbed. Kreacher, too, preferred the quiet, forgotten corners of the house. They shared that, at least.
Curled up in bed, knees drawn to his chest, Albus absently stroked the pendant hanging from his neck. It felt heavier now, as if its weight had grown with each passing day. The small piece of jewelry was a constant, tangible reminder of Scorpius—a reminder of how much he missed him. The ache in his chest was persistent, sharper than he ever thought possible. How ridiculous, he thought, to miss someone so intensely. He missed Scorpius’s laugh, the way his voice cut through Albus’s bleakness like a beam of light in a darkened room.
More than once, Albus had considered writing to him, pouring out the confusion, the bitterness, the fear that gnawed at him. But he knew better. His parents would catch wind of it somehow, and then all the careful lies he’d woven about distancing himself from Scorpius would unravel. He couldn’t risk it, not now. Not with so much at stake.
His thoughts drifted toward Bowker, whose steady presence had become something of a lifeline. Albus found himself scribbling the occasional note to him—and sometimes to Nott or Zabini, though their replies came slowly. Zabini was off in Italy for the summer, and Nott had retreated to his family’s estate in the countryside, leaving Albus feeling more isolated than ever. He didn't even consider sending anything to Fawley–Not after their last conversation.
In the oppressive stillness of his room, his mind wandered back to Scorpius. He imagined him at the Malfoy villa in France, basking in sunlight, surrounded by warmth and laughter. The contrast to his own existence was almost painful—Scorpius in the golden light of the French countryside, while Albus remained entombed in his self-made darkness. How effortless it seemed for Scorpius to escape, to live in a world unburdened by the weight that clung so heavily to Albus.
The more he thought about it, the further Scorpius seemed to drift from him. It was as if the warmth of their connection was slipping away, dissolving into the sunny hills of France, leaving Albus trapped in his shadowed room, alone. He gripped the pendant tighter, his eyes squeezing shut as emotions churned within him, threatening to spill over. But the silence remained unbroken, and with every passing hour, he felt another thread of that connection pull away until the one person who had made life bearable seemed impossibly distant.
Darkness swallowed him whole, a consuming void that made him question his own existence. Panic fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird, its frantic wings beating against his ribs. Fear gripped him, and he didn’t dare to leave his room, terrified of what waited outside. His breath hitched, each inhale becoming shallower, more ragged. He felt detached from his own body, as if he were an observer of a dying star; was he dead? Had he succumbed, starving himself to death? His mind spun, racing in chaotic circles, and his trembling hand traveled up to his nose—he was still breathing, though it felt hollow, distant, as if he were trapped in a dream from which he couldn’t wake.
His heart pounded, a relentless drumbeat echoing in his ears, fierce enough that he feared it might leap from his chest. The walls seemed to close in, each breath growing more constricted, the air thickening around him. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the world narrowed to a suffocating tunnel of shadows and uncertainty. What if he never escaped? What if he faded into nothingness, lost to the silence? His breath quickened, each inhale sharp and shallow, tightening his throat until it felt as though a vice were clamped around him.
A sudden noise—a faint pop—jolted him from his spiraling thoughts, but it was drowned beneath the roaring tide of panic. As if emerging from water, he clawed at the surface of his mind, struggling to grasp the reality that flickered just beyond his reach. In the chaos, a vial was pressed into his trembling hand. Like a man who had been deprived of water for days, he swallowed the liquid in one desperate gulp. The taste was horrid, thick and acrid, coating his throat like soot. It smelled of sulfur, biting and rancid, but he didn’t care; he needed something to pull him back from the brink.
The effects were immediate, and Albus felt as though he had been dragged from the depths of an ocean, gasping for breath. Before him stood Kreacher, looking even more worn than usual, worry etched across the elf’s ancient face.
“Thank you, Kreacher.” Albus uttered, his voice strained and cracked, unsure when he had last spoken.
“Little Master reminds Kreacher of Master Regulus.”
Albus took the old elf in, remembering that he had always had a soft spot for him, perhaps due to his age, or the way he had been treated, or maybe simply because he was the one house-elf his father disdained. Albus recalled how Kreacher had uttered this sentiment before, during the Christmas holidays, after his own outbursts.
“Why do you say that, Kreacher?”
“Master Regulus always fought with Dementors. They ate his mind.”
“What did Master Regulus do to stop it, Kreacher?” His voice came out desperate, a plea cloaked in urgency.
Kreacher hesitated, the weight of his response lingering in the air. “Master Regulus,” he began slowly, “He found a way. He sought the truth hidden in dark places.”
“Tell me, Kreacher.” His voice was strained, hoarse.
“Kreacher can’t tell. Master Harry will not allow.”
Even with the potion easing his mind, Albus could feel anger bubbling beneath the surface.
“Kreacher, I order you to tell me,” Albus said in a dark voice, a dangerous mix of anger and desperation lacing his words.
Kreacher flinched at the sharpness of Albus’s tone, his ears drooping slightly as he shifted back, a blend of fear and disapproval crossing his ancient features. The air grew thick with tension, the dim light in the room casting long shadows that mirrored the darkness within Albus himself.
“I… I cannot, Little Master,” Kreacher stammered, his voice quavering. “Master Harry would be most upset if Kreacher disobeyed him.” There was a tremor in the elf's voice, a sign of his loyalty to Harry Potter that clashed with the vulnerability he sensed in Albus.
“Then leave, Kreacher,” Albus spat coldly, before letting himself fall back into the bed, the weight of his anger and despair sinking him further into the abyss.