Chapter Thirteen - Summer Holiday III
Chapter Thirteen - Summer Holiday III
Mid-August, 2018
James had to practically drag Albus out of bed. “Mate! When was the last time you even showered?—You stink!” James exclaimed, tugging Albus from the tangled sheets that seemed to cling to him like the weight of the world. Each pull felt like a reminder of the fatigue he couldn’t shake, a silent protest from his weary body.
Albus just shrugged, his heart heavy as he trudged toward the bathroom. The dull ache in his chest seemed to tighten with every step, a familiar pressure that threatened to envelop him. He turned the water on and let it cascade over him, hoping the warmth could wash away the suffocating sense of despair. Twenty minutes later, he emerged, showered and dressed, but the world still hung around his shoulders like an inescapable shroud.
As he made his way down to the entrance hall, the vibrant chaos of the house surged around him. There stood his mother, seemingly lost in a frantic search for something, her movements quick and erratic, a flurry of misplaced papers and lost items.
“Merlin, Al! You look awful! Don’t tell me you’ve spent all your time inside?” Ginny's voice was a mix of concern and exasperation as she assessed her second child. “You said you were going out!” She shot a look at James, her worry palpable. “James—didn’t you keep an eye on your brother?”
James shrugged nonchalantly. “Albie’s gonna be a second year—he can take care of himself.”
“James—” Ginny began, but Albus felt his head throb at the noise, the chaos of family life swelling around him like an overwhelming tide. Each voice felt like a separate, discordant note in a symphony that was getting louder and more frenetic. The familiar knot of frustration tightened in his gut, twisting until he felt like he might be sick.
“Do I have to go?” Albus asked, irritation creeping into his tone as he tried to rein in the rising tide of panic that threatened to pull him under. It felt like a vise was clamping around his chest, the world spinning in chaotic circles.
His mother turned, still halfway through her lecture. “Yes, Albus. You need to buy your school supplies.” Her voice faded into a dull hum as the pressure in his head intensified, drowning out the rest of her words. The room swayed slightly, and Albus pressed a hand against the wall, grounding himself in the familiar roughness of the brick.
By the front door, Lily was a whirlwind of energy, bouncing on her toes like a small, sugar-fueled tornado. “I want a snake pet!” she squealed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Lily! I’ve already told you snakes are not—” Ginny started again, her patience clearly wearing thin, her voice a sharp blade that cut through Albus’s frazzled nerves.
Albus felt like banging his head against the wall. The family theatrics could be suffocating; could they never have a calm day? It was all too much—the sound, the movement, the expectations. He forced a small smile, attempting to mirror a fraction of his siblings' enthusiasm, but it felt like a fragile mask that could shatter at any moment.
As he stood quietly, the cacophony of voices swirled around him like a storm, each shout and laughter a gust of wind pushing him closer to the edge. The walls felt like they were closing in, each breath becoming more labored as the chaos intensified. He waited for the storm to settle, for the tumult to fade so they could finally leave, but with each passing moment, the din only grew louder, feeding the panic that bubbled within him.
“Albus!” Ginny’s voice pierced through the chaos once more, pulling him back into focus. “Are you even listening?”
The pressure built to a crescendo, and Albus struggled to keep himself anchored in the moment, heart racing, breaths shallow and quick. “I—I’m fine,” he managed to say, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. The world felt like it was tilting, and he fought to regain control, to pull back from the brink as the noise enveloped him like a suffocating fog. “Can we just go?”
His mother’s expression shifted, concern deepening as she moved closer, hands on her hips. “Alright, but you need to talk to me later, Al. Promise?”
He nodded, the words stuck in his throat as he felt the weight of her gaze press down on him, squeezing him tighter. All he could do was swallow hard, hoping he could hold it together long enough to escape the chaos swirling around him.
“Let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, bracing himself for the day ahead, as if stepping onto a battlefield instead of a shopping trip for school supplies.
++++
As they wandered through the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, surrounded by laughter and chatter, Albus felt detached, like a ghost drifting through his own life. The sun hurt his eyes, its brightness overwhelming, while the vibrant shopfronts blurred into a dull haze, doing little to shift his mood. Even the prospect of new robes or supplies seemed hollow, as if they were mere distractions from the storm raging within him. He was just going through the motions, his mind elsewhere, longing for the summer to end, for Scorpius, for an escape from the pretense he maintained around his family.
James was prattling on about something supposedly Quidditch, a topic that had become his sole focus lately—Albus barely registered the words, annoyance simmering beneath the surface at his brother's carefree banter. “James, I’m going to shop on my own. See you later,” he muttered, slipping away before James could respond.
Albus drifted through the crowd, feeling like a specter among the living, aimlessly floating until his gaze fell upon a familiar shopfront: A’s Athenæum. Memories flooded back of passing it during the winter holidays, only to find it not opened yet, the door sealed and the windows fogged over with a sense of secrecy. Now, it stood open as if it had been there for years, the same strange allure tugging at him, as if the shop had been waiting for him all along.
Without hesitation, Albus stepped inside. The cool air greeted him like a whispered welcome, a brief reprieve from the oppressive heat outside. The change in atmosphere was instant; the noise of the street vanished behind him as the door closed, replaced by the soft crackle of a fire somewhere deep within the shop and the faint, soothing scent of parchment and incense. The space was lit by low, golden light that flickered like candle flames, casting long shadows that danced along the rows of shelves.
Albus let his eyes wander, taking in the eclectic mix of books, scrolls, and tomes. Some were ancient, their spines cracked and worn, while others were newer, bound with elegant designs that shimmered under the soft light. Titles in Latin and other languages he couldn’t quite place whispered promises of arcane knowledge and forgotten magic. Each seemed to hold its own story, waiting for the right reader to uncover its secrets.
His curiosity piqued. This was more than just a bookshop; it felt like an archive, a treasure trove of vintage tomes—some preserved, others bound to be lost to time if not for this refuge. There were books here on subjects he’d never heard of, magic that felt beyond his understanding.
Yet, what struck him most wasn’t just the variety of the texts but the energy they seemed to radiate. His magical senses tingled, almost overwhelmed by the sheer volume of magic in the air. Each book seemed to hum with its own aura, some crackling like lightning, others whispering softly like a breeze. The atmosphere itself felt alive, pulsing with centuries of power, history, and secrets.
As he stood in the hushed stillness, Albus realized that the shop was completely empty. No other customers wandered the aisles, no one browsed the shelves. For a place brimming with such knowledge, it seemed almost deserted. The silence added to the mystery, making it feel like a sanctuary that existed outside of time.
Albus moved deeper into the store, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet underfoot. His fingers brushed against the spines of the books, and he felt the faint crackle of magic each time. It was as if the tomes themselves were alive, humming with anticipation. His magic, always somewhat restless within him, seemed to spark and stir in response. He could feel the pull of the place, the unspoken invitation to lose himself here, to delve into worlds he hadn’t even imagined.
The air grew heavier the further he ventured, the lights dimming slightly as the bookshelves grew taller. A faint whisper brushed against his ear, beckoning him closer. And then, he felt it—a subtle pull, almost imperceptible, but enough to make him pause. Albus closed his eyes, letting his magic guide him, the quiet hum growing stronger as he followed the feeling.
His magic guided him like a soft breeze forward, and his eyes fell upon a worn book: “Blood Maledictions: Origins, Practices, and the Inheritance of Malefactions.” Albus grew perplexed; he had little to no knowledge of blood curses. He turned it over to read the back:
“Blood Maledictions: Origins, Practices, and the Inheritance of Malefactions is a comprehensive examination of the ancient and often misunderstood field of blood curses. Dr. Avius Quill explores the origins of these maledictions, tracing them back to ancestral practices in Asia and Africa, where legacy and karma shape the very fabric of magical bloodlines.”
“Through extensive research into the transference of familial curses, this text provides insight into the methods by which these maledictions are passed down through generations, often seen as a reflection of ancestral sin or karmic retribution. From the ill-fated Animagus curses of the Eastern Archipelagos to blood debts among African tribes, Dr. Quill offers a chilling glimpse into the dark history of wixen families plagued by these malevolent legacies.”
A shiver ran down Albus's spine as he absorbed the description. The idea of inherited karma and ancestral sins lingered uncomfortably in his mind, as if stirring something deep within. His magic tingled faintly, almost as though the book was calling to him, urging him to explore its pages further.
“Found anything exciting?”
Albus nearly jumped; he hadn’t heard anyone walk up, nor any doors opening. The voice was melodic, rich with a subtle accent. He turned to see a striking young woman standing beside him, her dark hair cascading in soft waves and sharp, intelligent pale blue eyes that seemed to see right through him.
“I... I was just looking,” he stammered, feeling a flush of unease creep up his neck.
The young woman stepped a little closer, her presence magnetic yet oddly comforting. “Ah, Blood Maledictions,” she said, a hint of curiosity in her tone.
“Like I said, I was just looking,” Albus replied more sternly, attempting to brush off her interest.
“Non, mon petit. I’m sure your magic guided you to this book, hmm?” she said, her smile warm yet perceptive.
Albus fell silent, unsure how to respond. He had been so careful all summer to hide his interests, and now it felt as if he had unwittingly revealed everything.
Ella noticed his hesitation, her expression softening. “Do not fret; your secrets are safe with me.” Her voice was smooth, reassuring. “There is no evil magic, only minds that have yet to understand. All magic deserves exploration, don’t you think?”
With a gentle smile, she turned toward the counter. “Are you coming?” she asked, beckoning him to follow.
“I’ll put a Glamour Charm on the tome,” she continued, “so it will appear as a history book on the outside. I’ll also add a Disillusionment Charm to keep prying eyes away; these charms will only last until you go to Hogwarts, though.”
Albus smirked. “I assume there’s an extra cost to these?”
“Of course,” Ella replied with a playful smile, flicking her wand to make the book package itself in a shroud of shimmering light.
As Albus watched the book transform, he felt a spark of excitement ignite within him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in far too long. The oppressive weight that had clung to him began to lift, replaced by an exhilarating sense of possibility. Perhaps this encounter was the escape he’d been seeking, a doorway into a world where he didn’t have to pretend or fit into the narrow expectations of his family.
“Have you ever felt as though a book was waiting for you?” he asked, surprising himself with the openness of his question.
Ella turned, her pale blue eyes sparkling with understanding. “Absolutely. Books have their own magic, just like we do. They can sense when a soul is searching for something—answers, solace, or even darkness.”
Albus found himself leaning closer, drawn in by her words. “I’ve felt... disconnected lately. Like I’m wandering through life without purpose.”
“Ah, the shadow of expectation,” she mused, tilting her head. “You know, embracing the darkness isn’t always a bad thing. It can be illuminating, freeing even.”
Her words resonated within him, striking chords he hadn’t known were there. Albus felt a rush of adrenaline, a flicker of rebellion against the constraints he felt suffocating him. “What do you mean?”
“Just that sometimes,” Ella said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “we find our truest selves in the shadows. That’s where the magic lies—where you can discover who you really are, not who others want you to be.”
Albus swallowed hard, feeling the stirrings of something deep and raw within him. A sense of camaraderie formed between them, the kind that felt electric, as if she was illuminating pathways within his mind he hadn’t dared to explore.
“What if I want to dive into the darkness?” he asked, emboldened. Hesitantly and vulnerable, he whispered the words, a dull sense of warning tugging at him for being so open. Yet, he felt an undeniable connection, as if he could trust this beautiful stranger.
“Then remember that this is always a place open for such inclinations,” she replied, her voice warm and inviting, like a soft caress.
Ella's gaze held his, steady and reassuring, as if she were weaving a spell around him, binding him to her words. “Knowledge is power. To explore the darker aspects of magic is to understand not just the world around you, but also the world within you. It can reveal truths that light may blind you to.”
Her tone was earnest, but there was a playful edge to her smile that hinted at a deeper intrigue. Albus felt his heart race again, the unease that had once clouded his thoughts transforming into a fierce curiosity.
“Some would call that dangerous” he murmured.
She laughed softly, the sound echoing in the dimly lit space. "Ah, danger is merely a perspective, isn’t it? The real danger lies in ignorance, in denying what you desire to learn. If you seek knowledge, you must be willing to embrace all of it—the light, the dark, the chaos.”
A shiver danced down his spine. He considered her proposition, weighing the thrill of delving into the unknown against the fear of the consequences, like he so previously had always considered, what Scorpius so often talked about. Her words resonated with the unvoiced questions he had carried all summer. The isolation he’d endured began to ebb, replaced by the promise of discovery.
“What if I want to learn more?” he found himself asking before he could stop himself. Barely above a whisper—
Ella’s expression shifted to one of intrigue and encouragement. "Then come back." and he found himself ensnared.
++++
Exiting A's Athenæum, Albus felt a rush of exhilaration unlike anything he'd experienced before. His skin tingled with excitement, every nerve alive, humming with energy. He moved through the alley with a renewed sense of purpose, his school shopping suddenly infused with new vitality. It was as if he’d just shaken off the Imperius Curse, he felt like he was in control for the first time in months.
For the first time in a while, he truly noticed the world around him. Diagon Alley seemed different—tense, charged with something unspoken. The usual bustle had morphed into hushed whispers, people seemingly afraid to be overheard. A faint crackle of magic hung in the air, hinting at a brewing storm. Change was coming, and Albus could feel it.
His gaze drifted from face to face, picking up on the strained looks, the fleeting glances exchanged between witches and wizards. It was like the alley itself was holding its breath. As he continued down the cobblestone street, his attention was drawn to a gathering crowd near a small stage. Curiosity piqued, Albus edged closer, slipping into the throng.
On the stage stood a sharp-dressed wizard, his voice smooth and compelling as he addressed the crowd. Behind him, a banner unfurled with the words:
The New Traditionalist Party—Preserving Magic, Protecting Our Future.
The wizard was speaking with passion, gesturing dramatically. "The Muggles, they tear apart the earth, devouring its resources, poisoning the air and water we all depend on. And what happens when their greed goes unchecked? When their machines and their wars strip the world bare? Magic suffers—we suffer. They are blind to it, of course, but we wizards can feel it. The very magic of the earth is weakening! Ebbing away with every tree they fell! Every river they poison! Every mountain they mine!"
The crowd murmured in agreement, and Albus found himself perplexed, unable to look away.
The speaker continued, his voice rising with urgency–
"We do not call for war—no, we call for wisdom! For separation! It is time to stop pretending that Muggles and wizards can live side by side. Their greed, their destruction—these are not our ways! We must protect our world, preserve magic for future generations, and that means we cannot let the Muggle world continue unchecked!"
Albus’s mind raced. He remembered the train ride home, Nott and Bowker talking about a traditional movement. He recalled the Daily Prophet headline about the rise of the new Magical Traditionalist Movement sweeping through Europe—along with the muggle news about heat waves, his parents’ breakfast conversation, his and Rose' conversation—His Father's increased workload. It all hit him at once. He cursed himself for being so absent-minded. Fear began to creep in. He knew no one had yet noticed him, but what would they do if they did?
Dread curled in his stomach. He knew he needed to leave, to disappear before anyone recognized him–
Before he could act, a hand gripped his arm, yanking him into a nearby alley. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat as he recognized the figure dragging him away.
Nott slammed him against the wall, his posh voice dripping with mockery. “Potter, Merlin, you look like you’ve spent the summer in Azkaban.”
“Hilarious,” Albus muttered, his tone flat.
The speaker’s voice grew louder in the background, but Albus couldn’t focus on the words. He was too aware of Nott’s grip, the intensity in his eyes.
"Muggles are drawn to power, are they not? They know, somewhere deep down, that they are missing something. That something is magic. And in their greed, their insatiable hunger for control, they will destroy anything they cannot have. Look at their history—wars, corporate empires, endless consumption. They crave what we possess. But we cannot let them destroy it. We must act, for the sake of magic itself!"
Nott’s expression shifted from his usual smugness to something more severe. He inspected Albus, as though trying to figure out what exactly he had been doing. “What on earth were you thinking, attending a New Traditionalist rally, Potter?” His words carried a mixture of shock and irritation, but his tone remained clipped and posh.
Albus pushed himself off the wall, straightening his posture. “It’s really none of your concern, Nott. Unless you tell me what you were doing there?” he replied with an amused sneer. How he loved these little social games—wasn’t it Fawley who called it ‘dancing’?
Nott shot him a withering look, but avoided the question. “Potter, you’re delusional if you think I’d associate with that lot.”
“I never made such claims, Nott.” Albus responded, feigning innocence.
Nott’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering. He crossed his arms, glancing back towards the crowd, where the speaker’s voice still rang out. “You’re not making claims, Potter, but you’ve got a way of looking for answers in all the wrong places.”
Albus smirked but could feel the tension rise between them. He maintained his calm façade. “I was simply intrigued. No harm in looking, is there?”
Nott's frustration showed as he stepped closer, closing the gap between them once again, forcing Albus’s back against the wall. “You should thank me for dragging you away, Potter. Not act so smug. Have you completely lost any sense of self-preservation?” His voice was colder, more biting. “Spent too long with a house full of lions?””
Albus’s breath hitched as Nott’s grip on his arm tightened, his face mere inches away. It wasn’t painful, but it made Albus feel small, cornered. His heart raced, but he couldn’t let Nott see it. Not now.
“I don’t need your help, Nott,” Albus said, forcing his voice to remain steady. “I’m not that delicate.”
Nott didn’t budge, his eyes narrowing as they flicked between Albus and the crowd behind them. “You think this is a joke? Merlin, Potter, wake up. That lot out there—if they realized who you were, it wouldn’t matter whether you’re on their side or not. They’d string you up for your father’s misdeeds.”
Albus glared, refusing to give Nott the satisfaction of seeing him rattled. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
Nott scoffed, finally releasing him, though the tension between them remained palpable. “You’ve no idea what you’re dealing with, Potter. This—” he gestured towards the rally, “is far bigger than you think.”
Albus adjusted his robes, brushing off Nott’s words with a dismissive laugh. “I never asked for your opinion.”
“You didn’t need to,” Nott shot back, his voice sharp and clipped. “Things are changing, and fast. You might be in Slytherin, but the second they figure out you’re not on their side, you’ll be finished. All that talk about ‘preserving magic’? It’s only the beginning.”
Albus studied Nott, his mind spinning. He didn’t like being treated like he was clueless, but there was something unsettling in Nott’s tone—a mix of fear and urgency that made him wary.
“Why do you care?” Albus asked, quieter now, more curious than confrontational.
Nott hesitated, a flicker of something crossed his face before he replied, “Because I can’t afford to get dragged down by Harry Potter’s son.”
Albus scoffed. “Self-preservation, then?”
“Self-preservation, Potter, and a bit of common sense—something you clearly lack.” Nott’s voice hardened, irritation flashing across his features. “You’re playing with fiendfyre, and if you’re not careful, you’ll get burned.”
A dark satisfaction crept into Albus’s expression. “You seem overly concerned, Nott. More than just self-preservation. What if someone saw you dragging me away? What if your father saw?”
Nott’s face blanched, and for a brief moment, his mask slipped.
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Nott snapped, stepping back as if Albus had burned him.
Albus’s smirk grew darker. He had hit a nerve. “Really? Because I’m starting to wonder if your father isn’t just interested in the New Traditionalist movement but perhaps even a driving force behind it.”
It was reckless—Albus had no idea if Nott’s father was so interconnected with the movement, he only had a small suspicion, but Nott’s reaction confirmed he had struck a chord. The mention of Nott’s father hit home, and the way Nott backed up made it clear Albus’s guess wasn’t far off the mark. Nott’s expression hardened, but his earlier confidence had cracked, just a little.
“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Nott said, his voice cold, though a shaky undertone betrayed him. “You don’t know a thing about my father.”
Albus shrugged, his smirk widening. He leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Reckless, isn’t it? To play both sides. Must be exhausting.”
Nott’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and fear. For a moment, it looked like he would retaliate, maybe shove Albus against the wall again, but instead, he took a deep breath, trying to regain control.
“You’ve really lost it, haven’t you? I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s not going to end well for you.”
“There you are wrong. You see, I’m not playing; I’m not even on the board. I won’t let my father”—he spat the word—“drag me into more of his issues.”
Nott's eyes narrowed, clearly unsettled by Albus's growing confidence. He studied Albus for a moment, trying to gauge how much he truly understood, how much was bluff. The air between them was thick and charged like a storm about to break.
“You’re not on the board?” Nott repeated, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s exactly what people say right before they’re swept up in it. You think you can just stay out of it, pretend it doesn’t concern you? You don’t get to choose, Potter. Not when your name carries that kind of weight.”
Albus sneered, stepping closer again, sensing he had the upper hand. “Do not worry your little head about it, Nott. I’m sure you’ve got bigger dementors to fight” he spit.
“Though—back to your father. It’s very interesting… I wonder if my father knows? Doesn’t your father work at the Ministry?” He felt a dark satisfaction as the mask on Nott’s face broke, if only for a brief moment. Nott’s expression twitched, the flicker of fear unmistakable.
Nott’s expression faltered, his eyes flickering with something close to panic. “Don’t you dare—”
“Do me a favor, Nott,” Albus said, his tone almost sweet now, stepping away from the wall and allowing Nott space to breathe.
“A favor?” Nott’s voice was thick with suspicion.
Albus smiled, casually adjusting his robes. “Just a simple one. I need a proxy to send a letter.”
“To who?”
“Scorpius,” Albus said smoothly, watching Nott closely. Nott’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t ask any more questions. He was too smart for that.
“You’re mad, Potter,” Nott muttered, shaking his head as he finally stepped away, casting one last wary glance at Albus before disappearing into the crowd.
Albus exhaled, feeling the weight lift slightly. He glanced toward the stage, the speaker’s words still echoing, but all he felt was irritation—irritation at Nott, at the rally, and, most of all, at himself for his father’s shadow that seemed to follow him everywhere.
++++
After his confrontation with Nott, Albus felt lighter, almost as if a forgotten part of himself had reawakened. The vibrant streets of Diagon Alley bustled with life, the crowd alive with energy. Thanks to his smaller frame, he slipped easily through clusters of people, avoiding the curious gazes of anyone who might recognize him. He was painfully aware of the ticking clock; he needed to finish his shopping before his family noticed his extended absence.
Albus made quick work of collecting his supplies, opting for pre-packaged kits that included everything required for the upcoming school term. He indulged himself, spending freely from his father’s vault. Each item disappeared into his extension-charmed bag, bringing a sense of satisfaction tinged with guilt as he passed Muggle-borns struggling under the weight of their uncharmed bags, oblivious to the magic easing his own load.
With his “Premium Ingredients” for second-year Potions safely stowed away, Albus made his way towards the bookstore, the final stop on his list. As he wandered through the shops, something shiny caught his eye—a pair of silver bracelets displayed in a window, radiating a subtle magic. They seemed to hum with significance, as though they promised something more profound than mere friendship. A flash of blonde hair crossed his mind, and before he knew it, he was stepping inside to examine the bracelets up close.
A shop assistant, no older than eighteen, approached with an eager smile. “Looking for something special?” she asked brightly, following his gaze to the bracelets.
Albus nodded, his eyes fixed on the jewelry.
“These are enchanted to heat up when the other is touched,” she explained. “They’re sold as a pair, meant to—”
“I want them,” Albus interrupted, his voice firm, though excitement buzzed under the surface.
The assistant hesitated. “They’re quite expensive and are typically—”
“I don’t care,” Albus cut her off, his impatience clear. “I want them.”
With a nod, she fetched the bracelets, guiding him to the counter. “Would you like one gift-wrapped?” she asked.
“Yes. Premium wrapping.” Albus barely paid attention to her as his mind wandered to Scorpius’s birthday. He’d initially planned to give him a rare book, but this felt more meaningful.
A smug grin tugged at his lips as he left the shop, the weight of the cost meaningless. His final stop was Flourish and Blotts, where he filled his basket with the best editions of his school books. He moved leisurely through the aisles, a title in the history section catching his eye: The Rise and Fall of the Wizarding Dynasties by Bathilda Bagshot. It seemed innocuous enough not to raise suspicion, so he added it to his pile.
He moved to the Charms section, picking up a few other books that piqued his interest. As he exited the bookstore, his foot caught on something, and he nearly tripped over a young Muggle-born boy, who had dropped his pile of secondhand books. Frustration flickered in Albus’s chest as he looked down at the flustered first-year, scrambling to pick up his scattered belongings. The laughter of nearby witches reached his ears, mocking the boy’s clumsiness.
“Idiot—definitely a Muggle-born!” one of them jeered, while others joined in the ridicule.
Albus sighed internally, feeling the weight of his family’s reputation press on him. He knelt to help the boy, forcing a smile. “Here you go,” he said, handing him the last book. “Be more careful next time.”
The boy looked up, gratitude mixed with embarrassment in his wide eyes. “Thanks,” he stammered.
Albus swallowed the urge to roll his eyes. "Are you a first-year?"
The boy nodded. “It’s all just... new,” he mumbled. “My parents are—”
“Muggles,” Albus finished for him. “Yeah, that’s what wixen calls non-magical people, which makes you a Muggle-born.”
The boy blinked, processing the unfamiliar term. “So, are you...?”
“I’m Half-blood,” Albus said nonchalantly. “Father’s side has some Muggle ancestry.”
“Oh,” the boy said, clearly trying to make sense of the social hierarchies of the magical world.
“You’ll get used to it. There’s always going to be someone judging you for your blood, but it’s best to ignore them. They’re no different from racists in the Muggle world.”
The boy nodded, looking somewhat reassured. “I didn’t think it would be like this,” he admitted. “I thought everyone would be... welcoming.”
Albus shrugged. “Some are, but Hogwarts will sort itself out. Don’t worry, you’ll find your place.”
The boy brightened slightly, nodding in gratitude. “I’m Sam, by the way.”
“Albus. See you at Hogwarts, Sam.” Albus offered a brief smile before turning to leave, glancing back briefly. Something about the boy’s uncertainty tugged at him, but he brushed it off.
As he walked, a simmering irritation towards the fixation on blood purity welled up within him. It was absurd that something as arbitrary as blood could determine worth. Muggle-borns were like blank slates, untouched by magical society’s biases, open to learning and adapting in ways others couldn’t. Albus smirked at the thought.
“Who was that?” Lily’s voice startled him as she hurried to catch up, her eyes curious.
“Just a new first-year,” Albus replied with a grin. “You might end up sharing a house.”
Lily glanced at the boy, concern flickering in her expression. “He looked a bit lost.”
“He’s fine,” Albus said dismissively, though he could feel her lingering concern.
“Albus!” His mother approached, worry etched across her face. “You can’t just walk away like that!”
“Mom, please, it’s fine. I’m already done with all my shopping.”
“That’s not the issue. Albus, you can't walk around alone!” she insisted, glancing back at the bustling streets as if expecting trouble to leap out from behind the crowd.
Albus rolled his eyes. “Really, I’m fine.”
His mother sighed, clearly unconvinced. “Just be careful. You never know what could happen, especially with—”
“Especially with what?” Albus interrupted, curiosity piqued if his mother was going to mention the New Traditionalists.
Ginny opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it, sensing she had the attention of all three of her kids.
“Just promise me you won't do that again,” she urged, her eyes narrowing slightly, concern etched in her features.
“Got it, Mum. I’ll be careful.”
As they continued walking, James playfully punched Albus in the side before putting him in a semi-chokehold from behind. Albus maintained a neutral expression, despite the clear discomfort of his brother’s hold. Thanks to all that Quidditch practice, James had grown stronger and seemed oblivious to his own strength.
“You can’t just run off on me like that, mate,” James said casually, a teasing grin plastered across his face.
Albus rolled his eyes but kept his expression in a poised smile.
++++
“Mother, Father, could I have a word with you?” Albus’s voice was calm, almost distant, as he stood at the entrance to the drawing room where his parents sat.
"Sure, Al! No need to be so polite," Harry replied, but Albus didn’t acknowledge the familiar warmth in his father’s tone. He nodded, eyes fixed on the floor, and made his way to the armchair across from them, sitting down without lifting his gaze. He kept himself at a deliberate distance, choosing the chair farthest from the fireplace where his parents sat together on the couch.
“I want you to reconsider your decision... about my friendship with Scorpius,” he said, his tone flat, nearly emotionless. He didn’t look up, his eyes fixed somewhere on the lower part of his mother’s face, avoiding anything more personal.
“I thought you'd be over that by now,” Harry's voice cut through the room, sharper than he intended. Albus didn’t react, keeping his face blank and composed, though his fingers dug into the arms of the chair, tightening their grip.
“I just want you to reconsider,” he repeated, his voice tight but controlled. “I did what you told me. I distanced myself, and it was hard.” His knuckles whitened as his fingers pressed harder into the armrests. “That’s why I’m asking again. Please... think about my feelings this time.”
Harry’s expression softened, but tension remained in his posture as he leaned back, crossing his arms defensively. Ginny’s brow furrowed, her gaze darting between the two, but she said nothing.
“Al... it's not that easy,” Harry said after a pause. “The situation’s even more tense now than during the second term.”
“Are you talking about politics? What does that have to do with me and Scorpius?” Albus asked, his tone still devoid of warmth, as though the conversation wasn’t truly his concern.
Ginny’s voice broke through, soft but unsure. “It’s not Scorpius we’re worried about, Al. It’s... it’s his family. We just want to keep you safe.” Her words were laced with hesitation, but Albus only sank further into his seat, as if the weight of her worry meant little to him.
“What if you met him?” Albus asked quietly, his voice more measured than hopeful. He shifted slightly, glancing up briefly before lowering his gaze again. “Maybe if you got to know him, you’d see him differently. I could write to him, invite him over. You could meet him here.”
“That will not happen, Al,” Harry responded, his tone firm.
Albus’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked briefly to his father, then to his mother, searching her face with a silent, distant plea.
Ginny’s heart twisted at the sight of him—her son sitting there, so controlled, so closed off. His posture spoke more than his words, the way he held himself so stiff, so detached. She glanced at Harry again, but the silence stretched unbearably.
“Don’t worry, dear,” Ginny finally said, leaning forward slightly, her voice gentle. “Your dad and I will reconsider, seeing how much this means to you.” She forced a small smile, though Albus’s eyes didn’t lift to meet it. “But we need you to accept whatever decision we make, okay?”
Albus’s expression barely shifted. His eyes flickered, a fleeting moment of acknowledgment, but the lingering doubt in his gaze never left. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice distant, as though rehearsed. There was no relief, no hope—just a nod, as if he were conceding rather than agreeing.
Ginny reached out, placing a hand gently on his knee, but the gesture felt hollow against the space between them. “We just want what’s best for you, Al.”
“So I’ve heard, countless times,” Albus replied softly, without any trace of spite. His gaze dropped back to the floor, his face betraying nothing. The weight of the conversation still hung heavily in the air, like a storm waiting to break.
++++
Later that evening, as the soft glow of the fire flickered in the drawing room, Ginny sat quietly beside Harry, who was leafing through the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. Yet, her mind drifted far from the cozy space wrapped in warmth and familiarity. The earlier conversation with Albus lingered, the unease in his eyes haunting her. His sadness clung to him like a shadow, evident in the way his shoulders had slumped and how he barely met their gazes. The weight of it pressed heavily on her heart.
The winter holidays had been tough, but when Albus had returned home, there had been a spark in his eyes—a glimmer of joy that lit him up, especially when he spoke about Scorpius. Now, after a term of enforced distance, that spark had dimmed to a flicker, and Ginny couldn’t shake the guilt settling in her chest. Had they truly made the right decision?
She could never fully trust the Malfoys. How could she? Their history was marred by sneers and insults, a bitter legacy that made her skin crawl. Even though Draco had distanced himself from the darkness of his family's past, the scars remained; some things could never be forgiven. She respected the Malfoys' loyalty to family, but their methods were unforgivable. The stinging memories of being called a blood traitor for her father’s work at the Ministry and the taunts aimed at her Muggle-born friends still echoed in her mind.
The thought that Albus might be influenced by the same twisted ideals filled her with dread. He was already vulnerable, ensconced in Slytherin, surrounded by children whose families had stood on the wrong side of the war. Death Eater legacies, pureblood heirs—Ginny couldn’t bear the idea of her son being swept into that world.
Yet, how could she ignore the change in Albus since they’d forced him to pull away? That summer had brought a flicker of hope after their visit to The Burrow; Albus had played with James and Rose like the little boy he used to be. But as tension in the wizarding world grew, so had the demands on Ginny and Harry’s time. They were consumed by work and politics, leaving Albus feeling increasingly isolated.
James was always out, reconnecting with friends, and Lily basked in the last remnants of her Muggle childhood at summer camp. But Albus? Day after day, Ginny returned home to find him curled beneath his blanket, curtains drawn, retreating further into shadows. This wasn’t just sadness—it was complete withdrawal. The familiar ache of helplessness gnawed at her, reminding her of the Albus she had seen struggle before but had never seen this profoundly lost.
She had asked James about Scorpius, fishing for insights. Though James hadn’t met him, he painted a picture of a boy who made Albus light up in a way that others couldn’t. The guilt of having taken that away gnawed at Ginny. Had they been too harsh? By forcing Albus to distance himself, they had hoped to protect him, but all they had done was leave him more isolated than ever.
Sitting in the quiet room, Ginny felt her heart ache with doubt. Terrified of the consequences of their decisions, she whispered into the heavy silence, “He’s clearly upset, Harry. Maybe we were too harsh in forcing him to distance himself from that Malfoy boy.”
Harry looked up from the paper, the crease of concern etched on his brow. “He just looked so... sad,” Ginny continued, her voice softening. “I thought he’d be happier after spending the summer with family, but now it feels like something’s been missing all along.”
The flames crackled, casting flickering shadows across the room. “I think it’s Scorpius. He’s been worse since we made him stop seeing him,” she admitted, a tremor of worry threading through her words.
Harry sighed, running a hand over his face, revealing the strain etched in his features. “Seems that boy had more influence than we originally thought. Even though Albus is clearly in pain, I don't believe we made the wrong choice.”
Ginny nodded, her heart heavy with understanding. “I get that, but seeing how much this friendship meant to him... I wonder if keeping them apart was really the right thing.”
The fire crackled in response, a reminder of their struggle as Ginny swallowed the lump in her throat. “I don’t want him to feel like we’re against him or that we don’t trust him to make his own decisions. Maybe we need to reconsider.”
“It hurts me too, seeing him like this,” Harry confessed, the weight of his words heavy in the air. “Honestly, it broke my heart—the way he talked was so polite, distant.” Harry glanced into the flames, the flickering light reflecting the turmoil in his eyes.
“I wonder where that little boy went. Sure, he had always been more closed off, shy. But now it’s different.”
Harry leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring into the flames as if searching for answers. “I wonder where I went wrong. Why can’t he see that we only want to protect him?”
“I miss that little boy. I wonder where he went. I wonder if we somehow made him disappear,” Ginny said, barely above a whisper.
“We can't believe that. There has to be some kind of influence we are not aware of.”
“I'm not sure, Harry. Maybe it is really him? Maybe we just need to accept him?”
“No, that can't be. I don’t—Ginny, the thing he said during Christmas, it was like it was someone else. You don't change like that so quickly.”
“Maybe we can ask someone else?”
“Who? Albus is so closed off.”
“Scorpius. The Malfoys.” Ginny suggested, her voice low yet hopeful. “You’ve always been great at judging others, at sensing if something’s off. Maybe we really should try harder—for Albus.”
Harry’s gaze met hers, and she could see the conflict in his eyes. Years of mistrust and a long history between their families clashed with the fierce love he felt for their son. “For Albus,” she repeated softly, her gaze steady. “I don’t want him to keep feeling like this. If it means talking to the Malfoys, maybe it’s worth it. At least we’d know more about what’s really going on.”
Harry sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck, the gesture familiar and grounding. “It’s not easy, Gin. Especially with the new tensions in the wizarding world and the rise of this new traditionalist party. I somehow think the Malfoys are connected.”
Ginny’s heart quickened. “Really? You think Draco is part of it?”
“I’m not saying he is the one behind it, yet we know how the Malfoys usually operate.”
“Through funds.”
“Exactly,” Harry said grimly.
“And it makes sense then, why Draco would try to get our boys to become friends, so they could somehow use him against us.”
“You really think so?” Ginny said with a concerned voice.
Harry nodded and continued
“We don't have proof. But like that last traditionalist rally, I have become more suspicious.”
Ginny gulped. “I was so scared that day—when Albus somehow got away in Diagon Alley and I couldn't find him. There was a big rally—that turned violent.”
“Yes, I remember. I needed to send some Aurors over; we did seize a few individuals that day.” Harry's face turned to anger. “But we had to let them go. We didn't have enough evidence to hold them.”
“I fear for our children even more now. That this will affect them.”
“We won't let that happen. Always vigilant, right? Therefore, we can't let that Malfoy boy gain more influence. Albus is still young; he will get over it.”
“He won’t like this,” Ginny said sadly. “But you're right. What matters most is their safety.”
++++
The morning sun filtered through the kitchen window, its warm rays illuminating the space, but Harry felt as if he hadn’t truly seen it at all. He had been awake for hours, tossing and turning in bed, his mind a whirlwind of doubts and fears. The weight of the previous night’s conversation with Ginny clung to him, a suffocating reminder as he attempted to prepare breakfast.
Standing at the stove, the sizzle of bacon and the aroma of frying eggs filled the air, but Harry hardly registered the comforting scents. His movements were mechanical, driven by a desperate need to stay busy rather than any sense of routine. He felt utterly drained, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to the restless night he had endured.
As the children began to shuffle in, Harry forced a smile, but it felt brittle on his lips. James was the first to enter, yawning widely as he plopped down at the table. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked, his voice still thick with sleep as he glanced at the spread before him.
“Your favorites,” Harry replied, attempting to infuse some enthusiasm into his tone. “Bacon, eggs, and toast.”
“Brilliant!” James grinned, eagerly loading his plate, his excitement momentarily brightening the atmosphere.
Lily followed, her hair a wild mess of tangles. “Did you make pancakes, Dad?” she asked hopefully, her eyes sparkling with expectation.
“No pancakes today, but there’s plenty of everything else,” Harry said, pouring her a glass of juice. The brightness of her smile was a small comfort, yet it did little to ease the tension building in his chest.
Ginny was the last to enter, her gaze immediately landing on Harry. She noticed the exhaustion etched into his features and the subtle slump of his shoulders. Offering him a small, knowing smile as she tied her hair back, she settled into her seat at the table.
Albus took his place between his siblings, his head bowed, looking as worn out as Harry felt. There was always a heaviness about him in the mornings, but today it felt more pronounced, as if the weight of the entire world had settled on his slight frame.
Ginny cleared her throat gently, her tone carefully warm as she broke the silence. “So, Al, as you asked, we’ve thought about your request.” Her voice was steady, yet Harry could sense the tension rippling beneath the surface.
Albus’s eyes flicked up, though he remained silent, an unspoken storm brewing behind his gaze.
Ginny took a breath, her hand resting on the table as she spoke carefully. “We’ve thought long and hard about this, Albus. But with everything going on in the wizarding world right now, we don’t think it’s safe for you to see him anymore. We need you to keep your distance from Scorpius.”
The room seemed to still, the quiet settling around them like a thick blanket. Albus stiffened, his jaw clenched, tension radiating off him. “Of course,” he said, sarcasm creeping into his tone as he struggled to keep his eyes from rolling.
Harry leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “I don’t like that tone, Al. You agreed to accept our decision, whatever it would be.”
Albus’s eyes were dull, almost lifeless as they met his father’s gaze. “You can't blame me for being upset.”
Lily and James exchanged uneasy glances, shifting in their seats as they watched their brother with concern. The tension was suffocating, pressing down on them all as the conversation hung precariously on the edge of something more explosive, clearly anticipating another outburst.
“Albus,” Ginny interjected softly, reaching out to touch his hand. “We know how much he means to you, but sometimes friends can lead us down dangerous paths. We’re trying to protect you, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”
“I get it,” Albus replied, his tone devoid of emotion. “I will continue to keep my distance.”
James shot him a pointed look from across the table, but Albus ignored it, his focus solely on his plate. The silence that followed was thick, and for a moment, it seemed as if his parents had expected more resistance—more of a fight. But Albus remained quiet, returning to his toast.
Sensing the absence of an argument, Ginny slowly relaxed her shoulders, exhaling as though she had been holding her breath for too long. She exchanged a brief glance with Harry, who, despite her relief, looked far from reassured.
Harry turned his gaze to Albus, searching for any sign of what was truly going on behind those tired eyes.
++++
The evening sunset cast a warm, golden glow through the bedroom window, but Harry felt as if the warmth had eluded him all day. He lay on one side, surrounded by scattered work documents and books, while Ginny sat nearby, engrossed in a novel. The gentle rustle of pages turning contrasted sharply with the weight of worry pressing down on Harry's chest.
“He’s never that accepting, Ginny,” he murmured, glancing at her, hoping for a hint of reassurance.
“Maybe he’s finally come to terms with it,” Ginny reasoned, her eyes still fixed on her book. “We can’t fault him for listening to us.”
“It just feels a bit suspicious…” Harry trailed off, his brow furrowing in thought.
“Like last Christmas? Yes, I see your point. But I think this could be a good change for him, Harry,” she replied, finally meeting his gaze, her expression a blend of hope and concern.
“It feels like he’s distancing himself even more,” Harry said, his voice tinged with anxiety. Just as Ginny opened her mouth to respond, a knock echoed through the door, breaking the tense atmosphere.
“Come in!” Ginny called sweetly, instinctively putting her book aside.
The door creaked open, and James stepped inside, his expression betraying a swirl of emotions. He walked over to the bed and climbed in between his parents, the familiar comfort of their presence momentarily easing his anxiety. Harry’s arm instinctively wrapped around him, drawing him closer, while Ginny exchanged a knowing glance with Harry.
“Long time since you did this, huh?” Harry said, a grin breaking through the worry etched on his face.
“I almost thought you were too old for that now!” Ginny teased lightly, her tone playful.
James laughed softly, but the ease in his demeanor faded, replaced by something more vulnerable. He shifted, the weight of his unspoken words palpable in the air.
“Mom... Dad... I have to tell you something, but before I do—” he paused, taking a shaky breath, the vulnerability in his eyes growing. “Please don’t get mad at me or Al. I don’t want to make things more difficult.”
Ginny leaned in, her expression softening with concern. “James, whatever it is, we’ll listen. We just want you to be honest with us.”
Harry kept his hand on James’s shoulder, a steady presence. “We won’t get mad. We just need to understand.”
James nodded, the conflict evident on his face. “Al… he hasn’t been honest with you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And neither have I.”
Ginny’s eyes widened, but she remained silent, encouraging him to continue.
“I’m sorry,” James rushed out, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve been feeling so guilty about it for a while. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I was afraid—afraid Al would pull away again, and... and that he’d never let me see him!” The words spilled out in a frantic rush, the pressure of keeping secrets weighing heavily on him.
Ginny’s brows furrowed, confusion growing. “Wait, James—you’re not making sense,” she said softly, her voice laced with concern. “Just slow down.”
Sensing his son’s distress, Harry tousled James’s hair gently, a comforting gesture. “Breathe,” he encouraged, his tone steady.
James took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing. “Albus... he didn’t distance himself from Scorpius like you asked. They’ve been hanging out all term,” he confessed, guilt flooding his words. “I confronted him about it, but... he made me promise not to tell you. After the Christmas holiday, I just—” James paused, his voice trembling. “I was afraid to lose him again, so I kept quiet.”
Ginny sat back, her expression a mix of surprise and sadness. “James…” she began softly, her voice filled with empathy.
Harry remained quiet for a moment, processing the information. His hand stayed on James’s shoulder, a gentle, comforting presence. “You didn’t want to betray your brother,” he said quietly. “I understand that.”
James’s voice steadied as he spoke, tears brimming in his eyes. “I didn’t want to lie anymore, especially if you think it’s unsafe. I care so much for him… I just want him to be safe,” he said, his determination evident. “But Albus… he’s hiding something. I can tell. Something happened this term. I don’t want to say he’s changed—more like something’s shifted.”
Ginny’s expression softened as she listened, though her concern was palpable. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier, Jamie?” she asked gently.
James hesitated, biting his lip. “Honestly? I think he had a point… You two don’t know how it was for Al last time. I barely do, but I saw how the others treated him. And I saw how close he and Scorpius seemed to be. Honestly, I was jealous—there was this understanding between them. Just these glances, grins, and small touches that you’d miss if you weren’t really looking.”
He took a shaky breath. “After I confronted him, he was just… so good at making me feel guilty, at making me want to take his side.”
Ginny’s eyes widened slightly, and Harry’s jaw tightened, concern deepening in both their expressions.
“He made it seem like no one else could understand him, like Scorpius was the only one who did,” James continued, frustration creeping into his voice. “I didn’t want to betray him, but now… I don’t know. I’m worried. I just don’t want him to get hurt.”
Harry let out a slow breath, exchanging a glance with Ginny before turning back to James. “You’re right to be concerned, James. We need to understand what’s really going on between them. But more than anything, we need to make sure Al knows we’re here for him.”
Ginny reached for James’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you for telling us,” she said softly. “We’ll figure this out, and we’ll do our best to help Al. But you don’t have to carry this alone anymore.”
James’s voice trembled with uncertainty but grew resolute. “I don’t want you to confront him, Mum and Dad. I think that’ll just make everything worse. I’m sure he’ll keep seeing Scorpius this term, and... I want him to feel like he can trust me, so he can tell me what’s really going on. But I also don’t want to lie to you.”
He paused, searching their faces. “Can you trust me? To keep an eye on him? If anything happens, I’ll tell you. I promise.”
Ginny exchanged a look with Harry, her concern clear. She wanted to protect both her sons, but James’s earnest plea tugged at her heart. She sighed softly, reaching out to place a hand on James’s shoulder.
“We do trust you, Jamie,” she said gently but firmly. “But this is a lot of responsibility. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”
James nodded, though the weight of the situation was evident. “I just… I feel like I’m the only one who can get through to him right now.”
Harry, who had been silent, spoke up, calm yet serious. “We trust you, son. But you need to understand—if something feels off, if Al’s in real danger, you can’t carry this alone. You come to us, no matter what.”
James swallowed hard and nodded. “I will.”
Ginny leaned in, pressing a kiss to James’s forehead. "That’s my little lion, always so brave and caring," she said fondly, her voice warm with affection.
Harry nodded in agreement, a soft smile forming on his lips. "I’m proud of you, James. It takes a lot of bravery to be honest with us like this."
James smiled, though tension still lingered in his shoulders. “Thanks, Dad. I just... I want to do the right thing.”
Ginny smoothed a hand through his hair, her eyes filled with both pride and concern. “You are, sweetheart. And we’re here for you, every step of the way.”
James gave a small nod, the weight of the conversation lingering, but for the first time in days, he felt a little lighter.