Chapter Sixteen - Resolve
Chapter Sixteen - Resolve
Albus had not gone anywhere near the Black Lake since that first day. Even the thought of water sent a wave of fear through him. When he showered, if his head dipped under for even a second, panic would rise in his chest. He felt ill—His mind, pathetic as it was, seemed to bring back the memory at the worst possible times. Often through nightmares, sometimes a vivid, unwanted flash while he was sitting in class.
He had not told Scorpius. He knew Scorpius would never judge him for it. Scorpius had been a victim, too. But—he had been unconscious. It wasn’t him fighting in that cold water. It wasn’t him thinking his best friend was dead, trying his hardest to keep him alive, to keep himself alive.
Albus’s breath shortened, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. He couldn’t breathe—his chest felt tight, like a vice. A strangled cry escaped him, a horrible sound that made him feel even weaker. His body began to tremble, shaking in a way he couldn’t control. Pathetic, his mind spat at him. So pathetic. His nails dug into his skin, sharp enough to draw blood as he tried to force himself back into control, but it wasn’t working—no, he wouldn’t let it affect him like this, he couldn’t—
Then the memory of Scorpius’s lifeless body, floating so still, so peaceful in the water. flashed before his eyes and–
He felt liquid surge up within him, almost choking him, he gagged painfully, as bile rose from his throat–He barely made it in time to vomit onto the floor.
His breath hitched, coming in short, rapid gasps as his bed frame seemed to close in around him, his eyes tearstained only seemed to produce more–
He pulled the blanket over his head, as if the soft, warm fabric could protect him from the cold, clawing panic inside his chest. But the blanket, warm as it was, couldn’t erase the memory of that freezing water. His body shuddered violently beneath it.
“They will not get away with this,”
Albus whispered, again and again, like a broken chantra. Rage, hate—those were the only things strong enough to cut through the suffocating weight of his fear, to free his mind from its own torture
The darkness around him thickened, mirroring the growing rage inside. His magic, ever-present and restless, surged in response, feeding off his fury. The need for vengeance burned in him–hot and primal.
He wanted them to pay—He wanted them to suffer—To see their faces twisted in agony, to hear them scream—His breath was shallow, ragged, his body curling in on itself beneath the blanket, closed off to everything except the fire burning in his chest
“I will make them suffer”
++++
Sep. 22. 2018
“It’s finally Mabon!” Albus whispered with a quiet cheer, his voice breaking the heavy silence in the abandoned classroom.
Scorpius glanced over at him, equally worn out, but less enthusiastic. “Don’t remind me,” he muttered, his brow furrowed.
“Come on, Scorpius! This is something good!” Albus pressed, trying to lift the weight of their recent days.
“We are not doing any blood rites, Albus!” Scorpius hissed back, his voice strained yet resolute as they sat on the floor, their backs pressed against the cool, stone wall. The classroom was filled with cobwebs and layers of dust that coated the old furniture.
Albus rolled his eyes, exasperation bubbling inside him. “We’ve already been over this! I have to do it!”
“That’s not true.” Scorpius’s voice was stern as he stared down into the book resting in his lap, the pages worn and faded.
Albus let out a groan, his back sliding down the wall as he let out an exhausted huff. “You don’t need to be there.”
Scorpius shot him a pointed look, “We’ve been through this. We don’t go anywhere alone anymore,” he insisted, his tone a mix of concern and frustration.
Albus felt the heat of his frustration rising. He turned to face Scorpius fully, grabbing his shoulder. “It’s Mabon! Everyone will be too busy celebrating—they won’t come after us!” His voice cracked with desperation.
Scorpius flinched slightly but kept his gaze steady, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his eyes. “It’s not just about today, Albus,” he replied, his voice softer now, filled with a gravity that made Albus’s heart sink. “It’s about everything. We can’t risk it.”
Albus took a deep breath, the tension between them palpable, the weight of their decisions hanging in the air like a storm cloud. “Either you’re there or you’re not,” he said bitterly, his tone laced with frustration.
Scorpius met his gaze, eyes flashing with defiance, and hurt. “Then go alone!” he shouted, his frustration bubbling over. “Go alone! And don’t come crying to me afterward!” With that, he shot up from the floor, his movements sharp and angry, and stormed out of the room.
The door slammed behind Scorpius, reverberating in the silence left in his wake. Albus stared at the empty doorway, his heart pounding in his chest. Anger mixed with a deep sense of loneliness, leaving him feeling hollow and lost. He couldn’t believe it had come to this—one moment they were laughing, the next, they were at each other’s throats.
He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the wall. The dim light of the abandoned classroom cast long shadows, amplifying the weight of the situation. Albus felt the walls closing in around him, the isolation settling in his bones.
Then he let his walls crumble. A horrible cry erupted from his throat, echoing through the vast, forgotten room. He felt himself fall inward, his fear, anger, and hurt consuming him, a dark tide he couldn’t escape. It was all too much—the mounting pressure, the relentless sense of humiliation, the burden of being the punching bag. His magic burned beneath his skin, a wild, untamed force clamoring for release. Scorpius didn’t understand—he didn’t know the dementors Albus fought against daily, the shadows that lurked in his mind.
Scorpius was privileged; he could celebrate the old ways without fear of hiding it from his family. Albus had missed two celebrations, each absence deepening the chasm of frustration inside him, each passing moment fueling his magic’s anger. It wanted to be unleashed, to be recognized and honored.
Albus sank to the floor, his fingers digging into the cool stone as the reality of his situation washed over him. He needed to appease it tonight—he couldn’t ignore it any longer. With a shaky breath, he focused inward, feeling the surge of power within him, a raging storm waiting to be unleashed. There was a way to channel this pain, to use it—He wiped his tears away, the anger and hurt morphing into resolve.
++++
Albus smuggled some food into his bag from the feast, his heart racing with excitement and nervous energy. The common room was mostly empty when he made it back—most had gone out to the Mabon celebrations. He seized the moment, sprinting up to the dormitory, letting out a grateful breath when he found it empty.
He quickly unpacked his offerings, placing the food alongside the other items he had gathered: fresh red apples plucked from the small garden tended by the house-elves, and bits of cinnamon he had carefully crumbled into the apple's hollow. He hesitated before laying down the sacrificial dagger that Fawley had lended him on the train. He had everything he needed.
With meticulous care, he tucked everything into a sling bag and draped a dark robe over it, concealing his treasures. He set off through the castle, navigating the lesser-traveled passages until he reached the hidden forest, enveloped in the cloak of night. He was careful to avoid stumbling into any other celebrations, moving deeper into the woods until the distant sounds of merriment faded.
The Forbidden Forest was never truly calm; the sounds of the night surrounded him, a chorus of rustles and whispers that sent shivers down his spine. But he pressed on, breathing out as he pulled down his hood, finally feeling the cool air on his face. He began to clear a small space for the rite, his magic thrumming beneath his skin, now a familiar warmth rather than the painful burn it had been before.
Once the area was prepared, he carefully laid out his items before a small pile of firewood and leaves he had collected. He took a deep breath, focusing his energy as he whispered, “Incendio.” Flames sprang to life, dancing merrily among the leaves and twigs. The warm light on his face felt like home, a beacon of comfort in the dark. A hum of contentment slipped from his lips as he prepared the offerings, his gloves set aside, his hands feeling free and connected to the earth.
The calm that washed over him was intoxicating, banishing any lingering fear as he began the ritual. He whispered, his voice steady:
“In tenebris, invoco te,”
(“In darkness, I invoke you.”)
The air seemed to pulsate, swirling around him—alive, sentient, as if waiting.
“Tributum solvo,”
(“I pay tribute.”)
Albus felt as if it recognized him, the flicker of warmth stirring within,
“De hoc Mabon,”
(“On this Mabon.”)
The air hummed, clearly pleased and waiting—
“Ad tenebris,”
(“To the dark.”)
It was as if everything around him held its breath—
“Per sanguinem meum,”
(“Through my blood.”)
With deliberate care, Albus took the dagger and dragged it across his left hand, wincing slightly as the sharp edge broke the skin. He let the deep red liquid fall into the fire, watching as the flames danced higher, absorbing his offering. He placed the dagger down, heart racing with anticipation.
“Accipe dona mea;” he finished, holding the remaining offerings in his other hand.
(“Accept my gifts;”)
One by one, he let them fall into the fire, the scent of cinnamon, pumpkin and apples mingling with the smoke, filling the air with warmth and a sense of purpose. The flames crackled, a primal energy surging around him, filling the air with a thick, intoxicating magic that embraced him as a mother's hug. In that moment, there was truly nothing better—nothing else mattered in its embrace. It was all-consuming, a mind-numbing relief from the chaos that swirled in his life.
The magic—it wanted to give him more.
“In tenebris, praesidium et fortitudinem peto,”
(“In darkness, I ask for protection and strength.”)
His voice strained, vulnerable, trembling. As the words hung in the air, he felt the magic respond, wrapping around him, coiling like tendrils of smoke. It whispered promises of safety and power, offering the very things he craved. He let his breath hitch, and cries flowed out of him, laying his heart bare for the magic.
The flames flickered wildly, shadows dancing in rhythm with his heartbeat. Albus closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment, allowing himself to be enveloped by the dark magic he had longed to embrace once more. Each heartbeat resonated with the forest's power, making him feel more alive than ever. When he opened his eyes, he stared into the flames, unwilling to leave their burning embrace.
He reached into the fire, feeling the flames travel around his hand, as if they recognized his pain and sought to heal him. The sensation enveloped him, warm and caressing, dancing over his skin and burning away the remnants of his anguish. It felt as though the magic were mending every scar, every bruise he had ever endured. Tears streamed down his face as he surrendered to the warmth, allowing the magic to cradle him.
He didn't care if it consumed him, if it ate his soul—magic like this could never be evil. In that moment, the magic responded with a hymn, a melody that resonated deep within him. A light, carefree laugh escaped his lips, and he knew—that this was love. A fierce, undeniable love that transcended pain, fear, and loneliness. It was a connection that filled him with purpose, weaving through the very fabric of his being and binding him to the dark.
Here, in this sacred communion, he found not just solace but a sense of belonging. The dark magic enveloped him like a warm embrace, and he was home.
++++
“Albus!” Scorpius's voice echoed through the empty dormitory as Albus quietly returned. The boy looked almost frantic, his eyes wide and filled with unspoken worry, as if he hadn’t been able to relax for a moment. In an instant, he sprinted from his bed and engulfed Albus in a deep hug, pressing his face against Albus’s shoulder, inhaling his scent—
Albus felt no hesitation, only warmth as he wrapped his arms around Scorpius’s waist, pulling him closer. He rested his head against Scorpius's shoulder, which felt reassuringly higher than his own.
As Scorpius slowly pulled away from the embrace, their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. Scorpius crept back beneath his blankets, and Albus made his way over to his wardrobe, changing into his pajamas—a simple Muggle T-shirt and gym shorts—Once dressed, he turned back toward Scorpius and slipped into his bed, letting the other boy pull him into his warm embrace once more. The cocoon of blankets and their intertwined bodies created a sanctuary where their fears could momentarily dissolve.
Scorpius buried his head in Albus's neck, inhaling again—his brow furrowing as he tensed. “You smell like smoke,” he murmured, his voice laced with unease.
Albus chuckled softly despite the tension, the sound tinged with melancholy. He knew what Scorpius was smelling of him–what was radiating so strongly, making him still light headed—it was the residue of the dark magic. It had left a dark residue that clung to him like a shadow. As if sensing the weight of that darkness, Scorpius hugged him tighter, a flicker of fear in his eyes, as if he were afraid of losing Albus to the allure of that possessive magic— In that embrace, Albus sought solace, holding onto Scorpius as if he were the anchor in a tempest.
There was something unspoken–-And he feared it would tear them apart.
As Scorpius began to drift off to sleep, Albus carefully slipped out of his friend's bed, pulling the covers over him before heading back to his own. He could feel the magic still buzzing beneath his skin, a restless energy dancing inside him. He hoped that, for once, it would allow him a night of peaceful slumber—one without nightmares.
++++
Mabon had been a strange turning point. Ever since that quiet, personal ritual he'd conducted in secret, Albus had felt something shift in him. His magic seemed sharper, more in tune with the world around him. The hexes thrown his way seemed to miss him more often than they struck, veering off course at the last moment. But that strange luck came at a cost—what missed him often hit Scorpius.
And Albus didn’t know how to feel about that.
He hadn’t told Scorpius about his Mabon celebration, about the way the magic had stirred inside him. But he was sure the other had noticed. He’d expected questions, maybe even concern—a lecture about being more careful of him being reckless. yet there had been none, and that unsettled him. Even more disturbing was the change in Scorpius. Normally, Scorpius was the bright one, always laughing and deflecting their troubles with a joke. Now, more often than not he was quiet, withdrawn, his mood souring in ways that Albus had never seen before.
It felt as though they had swapped roles, a thought that would have seemed ludicrous to Albus just weeks ago. Yet here they were—Albus, feeling almost lighthearted despite everything, and Scorpius pulling further and further into himself. Albus knew his own change was due to the magic from Mabon, the grounding it had given him, but Scorpius’s withdrawal? That was something else entirely.
Even the relentless bullying from their housemates—the curses hurled their way, the whispered slurs, and the near-constant threat of hexes and their near brush with death—shouldn’t have affected Scorpius like this. Scorpius had always brushed those things aside, feigning an almost insane optimism. No, this went deeper. Albus watched him with growing concern, trying to understand what had changed in his friend, and for all the magic in the world, Albus didn't know how to fix it.
And his magic seemed aware of it too—Late nights had become unbearable for Albus. There was a pull, a magnetic force tugging at him, growing stronger with each passing day. His magic was trying to guide him somewhere, to show him something, but Albus resisted. He didn’t want to push things further, not when Scorpius was already fighting dementors Albus couldn’t see—Dementors that clung to him like shadows, sucking out his usual happiness. Whatever darkness Scorpius was grappling with, Albus feared that meddling with his own would only make things worse.
Yet his magic was growing impatient with his hesitation. It pulsed beneath his skin, crackling with barely-contained frustration. He could feel it lurking, demanding his attention, and when magic felt neglected, it had its own ways of punishing those who ignored it. It was becoming relentless, cruel, even.
By the fourth night of sleeplessness, Albus couldn't take it anymore. His eyes were heavy, body aching from exhaustion, but his mind refused to quiet, his magic buzzing in his veins like an incessant whisper. He had tried to block it out, but it wouldn’t let him rest, and the longer he resisted, the more unbearable the tension became.
That night, something inside him snapped.
Without fully understanding why, Albus let his magic take control. It dragged him from his bed, his feet moving on their own accord as if guided by an unseen hand. He moved silently through the dormitory, careful not to wake Scorpius and the others, whose breathing was shallow and uneven in sleep. His magic knew where it was taking him, even if he didn’t.
It led him to his own trunk.
Albus hesitated for just a moment, but the pull was too strong to resist now. His hand reached inside, digging past the old robes and schoolbooks until his fingers brushed against something cold and familiar. A Tome—one he had long tried to not think about. The book slid out easily, its worn leather cover rough beneath his fingertips. The title, barely visible in the dim light, seemed to shimmer in the darkness. He knew this book. It was not one he could easily forget:
Blood Maledictions: Origins, Practices, and the Inheritance of Malefactions.
His exhaustion did nothing to ease the knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach. Why had his magic led him here? A question he'd been asking himself since he first felt that pull in the shop. But something inside him, deep and unshakable, reassured him that the answer was near—and that thought filled him with dread.
He ran his fingers over the title, feeling the eerie, almost living pulse beneath the leather cover. The book had been waiting for him.
Blood maledictions—dark, ancient curses that bound families for generations. Their origins were lost to time, their effects devastating and unpredictable. Some were inherited, passed down like a twisted legacy, while others could be invoked intentionally.
His throat tightened. Forcing himself to breathe, Albus opened the book, the pages brittle and yellowed with age. He knew he would not find sleep tonight, not until he had read every word.
++++
Albus had become hyper-aware of Scorpius’s every move, every subtle shift in demeanor, every calculated silence. All of it led him closer to unraveling the mystery that Scorpius so desperately tried to keep hidden. Albus felt a twinge of guilt for his probing questions—asking about the letters, his family, their summer, and even his holiday plans for Yule. Every time, Scorpius would tighten up, though no one else would notice, of course. Scorpius was a pureblood heir, raised in one of the most noble houses of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. His mask was impeccable, worthy of someone of his birth.
But it didn’t fool Albus. Just as Scorpius could see through Albus’s own mask, Albus had learned to see through his.
As autumn settled in, the days growing darker and colder, Albus’s magic felt different—stronger, somehow. Mabon had grounded him. The teasing and the hexes from the other students didn’t matter so much anymore. His nightmares were less frequent, his attention drifting elsewhere. He felt a slow-burning desire inside, a need to play the game. He wanted revenge. To show them all what happens when they mess with him.
They were such pathetic beings, unable to think for themselves, content to drift along with the crowd. Albus knew the reason for it, of course. He, too, had clung to self-preservation in his first year, holding tightly to the belief that it was the only way to survive. But now he saw it for what it was—weakness. A weakness he could exploit. The same cowardice that had turned his house against him was what would ultimately lead to his own success.
So what if they turned their robes with the wind? He would just become the wind.
But that was easier said than done. The whole house was against him. Even with his quiet allies who lurked in the shadows, he knew he held little influence. He hadn’t been playing the game, after all. He hadn’t wanted to. But that conversation with Nott over the summer haunted him.
"You’re not on the board?" Nott had repeated, his voice dripping 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 had hated how smug Nott had been, how sure of himself. He’d declared that he wasn’t playing the game, that he wasn’t even on the board. But maybe Nott was right. Maybe it wasn’t a choice. But he would let himself become a piece on a board, in a bigger game, no he needed to be the player.
He would carve his own path. The future was his to make, after all.
++++
Scorpius stopped abruptly behind him, nearly making Albus stumble. “Albus, you’re doing it again,” he said, concern etched across his features as he studied Albus’s face.
“What?” Albus snapped, the edge in his voice sharper than he intended.
“Your eyes,” Scorpius replied softly. “They’re…different. You look like you’re about to explode.”
Albus clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take a breath. “I’m fine,” he muttered, but the lie felt heavy on his tongue. Scorpius knew him too well, and Albus hated how easily he was read.
“Let’s just go to the library,” Scorpius suggested gently, his voice soothing. “We can study or something.”
Albus sighed, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. “Yeah, okay. But I don’t think studying is going to help much,” he replied, trying to inject a bit of humor into the moment, though it fell flat.
Scorpius offered a small smile, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “We’ll figure it out together, right?”
Albus nodded, grateful for his friend’s unwavering support. As they walked toward the library, Albus couldn’t shake the darkness curling at the edges of his thoughts, but for now, he would cling to the warmth of Scorpius by his side.
++++
“Al! Come on! You can't keep letting this go on–”
Albus's irritation flared, a heat that radiated through him. “I’m not the one letting this go on! It’s Rose; she clearly wants to prove some dumb point, and I won’t be a part of it.”
“Come on, Albus! You can't let this rift come between you.” James's voice was urgent, almost pleading, but Albus felt his resolve hardening.
He breathed out, trying to calm the storm brewing within him. He knew there was no use getting mad at his brother; it would only lead to more frustration. James was family, after all, but Albus was acutely aware of the secret James was keeping for him. Even if James hadn't used it against him yet, the knowledge weighed heavily on Albus's mind. He had to navigate this carefully.
“I’m fine with Rose. You can’t force me to befriend her friends.”
“But Al! Rose befriended Scorpius!” James's eyes were wide with exasperation.
Albus shot him a pointed look. “James, you were there on the train! She told him to his face that she wouldn’t become friends, that she’d only act civil because of me.”
James grimaced, the reality of the situation setting in.
“Then why can't you–”
“I can,” Albus interrupted sharply, “I just won’t apologize.”
James groaned, burying himself in his assignment, frustration etched across his features. Albus rolled his eyes, but a flicker of sympathy surfaced.
“James, you don’t have to play the peacekeeper. You’ve got enough on your plate. Haven’t your grades been really bad this term? Won’t you be taken off the team if you don’t get good enough marks?”
James let out a low groan, the weight of expectations pressing down on him.
“Look, James,” Albus said more seriously, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I understand what you’re trying to do and why. But it’s not your responsibility. Please let me deal with Rose. Focus on your own life, yeah?” His voice softened, a genuine concern threading through it.
James raised his head, showing a tired expression. “Thank you, Albie. I just want everyone to be happy.”
“I know,” Albus replied, his heart aching for his brother. “But I want you to be happy too. That means I don’t want to see you stressed over this. I’ll try to handle it, okay? But you have to let me do it my way.”
“Now,” he added with a sly grin, “you won’t leave until you finish this assignment.” The teasing tone cut through the tension, but it was met with James's horrified expression.
From the other side of the table, laughter erupted from Scorpius and Sam, who had clearly witnessed the entire exchange.
++++
The Forbidden Forest loomed around them like a beast poised to strike. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of twigs, sent Scorpius flinching, his eyes wide with terror. The air was thick, suffocating, as if the trees themselves were closing in, preparing to swallow them whole. Above, the pale light of the moon barely penetrated the twisted canopy, casting long shadows that seemed to move on their own. The oppressive silence, broken only by the distant call of creatures, made the situation feel all the more perilous.
For the second time that term, Albus and Scorpius found themself in a life or death situation, and it wasn't even Samhain yet.
Albus should have expected this. He really should have. And yet, as they sat bound to the tree, dangerously close to the acromantula colony, Albus felt a strange detachment settle over him. Scorpius was visibly shaking beside him, his breath coming out in sharp, shallow gasps. “This can’t be legal,” Scorpius whispered, his voice trembling, his words edged with frantic disbelief. “We could actually die this time—someone has to know, right? They wouldn’t just leave us here?”
Albus didn’t bother pointing out that they very much could have died in the lake. That reminder wouldn’t help Scorpius. He only managed a grimace as a response. His focus was elsewhere, his mind turning over the intricacies of the ropes binding them. Enchanted, obviously. Could they break free without wands?
“We’re going to die,” Scorpius muttered, his voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.
Albus shrugged trying to break the tension, he offered a weak attempt at humor, “You think the spiders are going to get us first?” he asked, The joke fell flat, met with Scorpius’s horrified stare.
“No!” Scorpius shook his head, silver strands of hair sticking to his clammy skin. “We can’t just give up! Someone will come looking for us!” His voice cracked with desperation, but his hope was thin—frayed like the edges of his resolve.
“We have to stay calm,” Albus finally muttered, forcing the words out like they were part of some script. He met Scorpius’s gaze, who’s eyes were panicked– “Panicking won’t help.”
Scorpius’s eyes were wide, frantic. “Albus! How can you be so calm—this is insane!” His voice cracked, hysteria seeping in with every word.
Albus didn’t answer. He wasn’t calm—not even close. Every nerve in his body was on high alert, coiled tight, ready for something—anything—to leap at them from the shadows. His heartbeat pounded in his chest, and his ears strained to pick up every noise, every whisper of wind. But panicking wouldn’t help. He couldn’t afford to let it take over, not now. Why couldn’t Scorpius understand that? They needed to think, to act—and fast. There would be time to break down later. But Scorpius was falling apart already, too scared to think straight. Albus could see it in his trembling hands, the wild, darting eyes.
Scorpius let out a hollow laugh, the sound desperate, jagged. “It’s just a prank, right? They wouldn’t really leave us here—” His laughter died in his throat, turning into a weak whisper. “We aren’t… we aren’t really in danger, are we?”
Albus rolled his eyes, irritation fraying the edges of his composure. “Scorpius—”
Scorpius swallowed hard, his voice barely holding steady. “Even if they did leave us—someone has to come. They can’t just… leave us out here. Someone will come, right?”
“Scorpius, no one’s coming,” Albus cut in, sharper than he intended. He wasn’t trying to be cruel, but he didn’t have the patience to sugarcoat it. “The only ones who know about this are Slytherins.”
Scorpius’s face went pale, his eyes widening in horror. The reality of their situation finally hit him. “No! No, that can’t be true! They wouldn’t just leave us here, would they?” His voice trembled as he looked at Albus.
Albus sighed, feeling anger boil inside of him. “Scorpius, think about it,” he said, his tone heavy with bitterness. “They threw us into the lake the first night back. They hex us every chance they get. They throw tripping hexes at us on the stairs—I don't think they care about our safety.”
“This is mad,” Scorpius muttered, his voice barely audible. “They weren’t like this last term.”
“Of course not,” Albus snapped, his voice bitter and sharp. “Nott kept them in line. But now? Now we’re fair game. We’re blood traitors to them, Scorpius. Targets for all their ill will and anger.”
Scorpius’s breath hitched, panic fully setting in as he pulled at the ropes. “Albus, we have to do something. We can’t just sit here and wait for them to come back and… and finish us off.”
Albus glanced toward the shadows of the forest, the distant rustle of something moving. He chuckled, dark and humorless. “Pretty sure the spiders will get to us first.”
Scorpius flinched at the mention of the spiders, his body trembling. “No… no, please don’t joke about that. We can’t just sit here.
Leaning his head back against the tree, Albus let out a sharp, unsettling laugh. The fear, the tension—it all started to feel surreal. It all felt strangely distant, yet so overwhelming at the same time. “Scorp,” he said, voice strained, “this is so fun.” His grin was wide, unsettling, as if he had lost touch with reality.
Scorpius stared at him, horrified, as if he were looking at someone who had completely lost their mind.
And maybe Albus had.
But as the wind howled through the trees, and the darkness pressed in around them, Albus could feel it. The magic. His magic. It pulsed beneath his skin, deep and dark, alive with energy, so close to Samhain. He grinned wider, feeling it coil inside him like a serpent ready to strike. They had underestimated him.
Albus felt the magic pulsating, thrumming in the air around them, a dark force licking at his skin. It was everywhere, surrounding them like a cloak, seeping into the very earth beneath their feet. Samhain was so close, and with it, the veil between life and death, light and dark, was thinning. The energy was palpable, seductive in its whispers, and it called to him—beckoned him to reach out, to take hold of it, to unleash it.
His heart raced, but it wasn’t from fear. No, this was something else. Something raw and untamed, coiling inside him like a serpent ready to strike.
“Do you have anything sharp, Scorp?” Albus’s voice was disturbingly calm for the chaos that surrounded them and inside of him, an eerie contrast to the rising tension. It was as though he were asking about the weather, not plotting an escape from near-certain gruesome death.
Scorpius blinked, confused and startled by Albus’s sudden shift. “What? Sharp? What are you talking about?” His voice was shaky, his fear clear in the tremor of his words.
Albus’s grin only widened, the thrill of the moment wrapping around him like a vice. “We were at the Owlery, remember? You must have something—like a letter opener.”
“Albus…” Scorpius’s voice wavered clearly with anger—uncertainty and concern filling his features.“I really don’t think—It’s reckless to use blood magic without a proper circle, you can’t just—”
“Scorp, we don’t have time for this,” Albus spat out, his patience slipping, the hunger for power gnawing at him mixed together with his nerves. His eyes gleamed with a manic intensity, his mind already made up. “You have something sharp, don’t you?” His tone left no room for argument, and Scorpius could see the determination, the dangerous edge, in his friend’s eyes.
With trembling hands, Scorpius hesitated, then slowly reached into his robes, pulling out a small letter opener. The blade glinted faintly in the moonlight, sharp and thin, barely more than a sliver of metal.
Albus’s grin widened as if he had just won some secret game. “I knew it,” he said softly, almost playfully, though his voice carried an undercurrent of something darker—something feral. Scorpius stared at him in disbelief, his expression a mixture of shock and dread.
“Cut my hand, Scorp,” Albus instructed, his voice low and edged with a dangerous excitement. “Make it deep.”
Scorpius recoiled, his hands shaking more violently now. “Albus, no—this isn’t the way, you can’t—”
“Do it,” Albus snapped, his tone laced with impatience, the fire in his veins begging for release. The magic was swirling around them now, almost visible in the air, whispering to him, promising him power. His grin twisted, becoming more manic, more dangerous. He welcomed the thought of the pain. He craved it. “Now.”
Scorpius looked at him, defiance filled his eyes. “Albus, I won’t—”
“You’d rather let the spiders have a feast?” Albus’s voice cracked, his anger spilling over. His words sliced through the tension like a blade. “I’m sure you hear them too!” he yelled, his desperation and fury breaking through his normally cold exterior. His voice echoed off the trees, sending birds scattering into the night.
Scorpius’s breath hitched. as if he could hear them, the faint rustle of legs in the distance, the eerie skittering that made seemed to make his blood run cold.
With trembling hands, Scorpius obeyed. He flicked open the blade, the moonlight glinting off the sharp edge. His heart pounded, his stomach churning with nausea as he raised the letter opener to Albus’s hand. His fingers shook as the blade met skin.
The cut was deep. Blood welled immediately, warm and thick, and Albus’s eyes fluttered shut as if he were savoring the pain. His breath hitched, but instead of wincing, his lips curled into a smile.
It was as if the pain had fueled the dark magic surging inside him, and Albus gripped the rope binding them, muttering under his breath.
“Per tenebras, te invoco,” he whispered, his voice steady, powerful.
(“Through darkness, I invoke you.”)
“Tenebrae, amplectere me.”
(“ Darkness, embrace me.”)
“In umbris tuis, potentiam meam quaero.”
(“ In your shadows, I seek my power.”)
“Estuans funem.”
Albus’s blood shimmered, then ignited, transforming into flame. The fire snaked its way along the ropes, devouring the bindings as though they were drenched in oil. The flames licked at the air, burning impossibly hot, and Albus stared at them, mesmerized. The fire was his—it was born from him. It was him.
The ropes crackled and burned, Albus’s breath was ragged, the fire didn’t stop. It spread, creeping over the rope, engulfing the and the veryair around them.
Albus could feel it—He welcomed it—as if the flames were an extension of his own being.
The flames licked dangerously close to his skin, searing the edges of his robes, yet he didn’t flinch. His breath quickened, a dark thrill running through him as the fire burned hotter, hungrier. He could hear a scream—a high, panicked sound that cut through the night, but he couldn’t pull himself away from the flames. He was caught in their spell, unable to distinguish where the fire ended and he began.
Then it was gone.
The fire vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving behind only smoldering ash. The ropes had crumbled into dust, their ashes scattered in the dirt. Albus sat in the aftermath, chest heaving. His hands were blistered, his skin scorched, but the pain was distant, numbed by the raw euphoria still coursing through him.
Suddenly, rough hands grabbed him, shaking him violently—Scorpius. His heart raced as he registered the look on his friend’s face. Scorpius wasn’t just pale, his expression was contorted with concern and barely restrained anger.
“Albus!” Scorpius’s voice broke, harsh and raw. “What did you do?!”
Albus, still intoxicated by the magic, grinned wildly. “Did you see that, Scorp? Did you see what I just did?”
Scorpius didn’t answer. His eyes scanned Albus frantically, as if searching for something familiar. He stared at Albus as though he were looking at a stranger—someone he no longer recognized.
Albus’s grin faltered, his chest tightening as anger boiled inside him, rising so fast he couldn’t control it. The fire that had blazed within him moments ago hadn’t gone out; it was still there, simmering, feeding off his frustration, off the look of fear in Scorpius's eyes. And that look—it infuriated him. He could feel it gnawing at the edges of his sanity. His insides churned with something darker, a betrayal that twisted into fury.
“Don’t you dare look at me like that!” Albus snapped, voice sharp and venomous. “I saved us! I did something! What did you do? Sit there, crying like a baby, while I saved us again!”
Scorpius's face twisted in a mix of concern, anger, and irritation. “Saved us?! You nearly killed us, Albus! You don’t even know what you’re playing with! Dark magic like that—it’s dangerous!” His voice was rising, a storm of emotions crashing through him—fear, anger, confusion—betrayal. “What were you thinking?!”
Albus’s rage flared hotter. “What was I thinking?” he spat and laughed bitterly as he gripped Scorpius by the shoulders, his hands tight and unyielding. “I was thinking of a way out of this mess! While you were too weak to do anything! You just sat there, pissing yourself!”
Scorpius's face contorted with anger as he yanked Albus’s arms off of him, shoving him away with more force than either of them expected. He took a step back, fists clenched, his whole body shaking as he struggled to keep himself in check. His voice trembled with emotion as he shouted, “You reckless idiot! You don’t understand! You could’ve—” His voice cracked, the rest of the sentence lost in his throat.
Albus's eyes darkened, his expression hardening. He took a step back, his voice dripping with venom. “You sound just like them,” he spat, his tone laced with bitterness and hurt.
Scorpius flinched at the accusation, his anger faltering as he stared at Albus, disbelief etched across his features. “That’s cruel, Albus,” he said in a voice filled with betrayal.
The air between them was thick with tension, charged with emotions neither of them fully understood. Albus stepped forward again, closing the gap between them, his expression twisted in a mixture of defiance and desperation. “I did something. I saved us.” He jabbed a finger into his own chest, his gaze burning into Scorpius’s eyes.
He reached out, gripping Scorpius by the collar of his robes, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, after I saved us. Again.”
Something in Scorpius's gaze made Albus hesitate—a flicker of disappointment. Albus froze, his grip tightening involuntarily. The rage that had been fueling him faltered, giving way to something darker—fear, guilt. He let go, his hands falling to his sides, trembling as his voice cracked in a low whisper. “I saved us.”
Scorpius didn’t move, didn’t even blink. The silence hung heavy between them.
The rage inside Albus began to crack. His voice wavered, the anger splintering into something raw, something painful that clawed at his insides. Albus could feel the weight pressing down on him, suffocating him. He hated the silent treatment—the look Scorpius was giving him. It was too much like the looks he got from his parents, from his father’s disappointed eyes, his mother’s silent disapproval. The similarity hit too close to home, ripping him open. It hurt—something deep inside—and it was breaking him.
His vision blurred as tears stung his eyes, his body shaking from the force of everything he had been holding back, from the fear of losing Scorpius. Losing him to this—this disappointment, this scrutiny.
He shook as the fury dissolved into something deeper, something far more unbearable: fear, guilt, vulnerability—all the emotions he had been trying so desperately to bury. A sob—raw and jagged—tore from his throat before he could stop it, before he could shove it back down where it belonged. He pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to stifle the sound, trying to hold himself together, but it was useless.
And then, in a single moment of vulnerability, Scorpius pulled him close. The embrace wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, filled with all the emotions neither of them could voice. Scorpius held him tightly, so tightly Albus thought he might choke, but he didn’t care. He wanted it, craved it, and needed the solidity of Scorpius’s arms around him. It was the only thing keeping him from completely falling apart.
“I’m sorry, Albus,” Scorpius whispered, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean—”
Albus shook his head, his face buried in Scorpius’s robes as sobs wracked his body. Scorpius’s arms tightened around him, holding him as though the embrace alone could shield them both from the weight of everything that had happened.
“I’m sorry, Albus—I’m so sorry,” Scorpius whispered again, his voice soft, trembling with guilt, regret, and a desperate need to make things right.
And Albus—who had fought so hard to keep it all in—finally let go. He let himself break, crumbling into Scorpius as the tears came. He sobbed, his body trembling uncontrollably as everything he had been holding back poured out in painful, gasping breaths.
He buried his face in Scorpius’s robes, the fabric quickly soaking with his tears, as all the anger, the fear, the confusion drained out of him, leaving him hollow, empty, and exhausted.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to be vulnerable, to let someone else carry the weight for him. And in that moment, as he clung to Scorpius, his grip so tight as though he was afraid of losing him, Albus felt the crushing weight of everything—his darkest fears, his deepest insecurities, and the terror of losing control—finally overwhelmed him.