You think you know someone

Albus lay on his side in bed, cradling the sliver of glass like it might change its mind if he stared long enough. It never did.

 He’d whispered to the mirror every day since returning. At first, cautious, not wanting to hope too much. Then frustrated. Then pleading. Then, nothing at all.

 Not even a flicker.

 A week had passed since he had returned to his home dimension, and Albus was starting to think Harry had forgotten. Or maybe he didn’t want to remember.

 A soft knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts.

  Lily poked her head in. “Dinner’s ready.”

 “I’m not hungry.”

 She pushed the door open a little more. “You never are.”

 Albus gave her a look. She shrugged and padded in anyway, plopping beside him without being asked.

 “She misses you more than you think,” Lily said after a pause. “Mum, I mean.”

 Albus closed his eyes. “I know. . . I just didn’t think I’d be coming back.”

 “Don’t say that,” she whispered, fiercely.

 The door creaked again, and this time it was Teddy, towering as always, arms folded across his chest. He had been coming over often these days, Albus noticed.

 “You skipping dinner again?” he asked, not unkindly. He glanced at the shard in Albus’s hand but didn’t say anything. “Lily, your mum’s asking for you.”

 Lily hesitated, then slid off the bed. She lingered at the door. “You’ll come down?”

 Albus didn’t answer.

It felt. . . wrong to see the elevated, empty casket gently lowering into the ground. Yes, the body was never recovered—it was practically gone—and there was no plausible way to give Harry James Potter a proper burial, but alas, there needed to be a tombstone regardless of his body’s presence.

 Standing before his father’s tombstone in Godric Hollow had reignited the feeling loss. The sorrow clung heavily onto his soul, weighing down and pressing on his heart. Albus could barely breath as he saw the dirt showering down on the casket until the hole was flooded and closed, as though the spirit of his father could suffocate whenit was not here.

 Albus could only imagine how his mother and siblings were holding up; this grief was new to them, after all.

 Lily stood beside Albus sniffing as the tears silently slipped down across her face, drawing back the sobs that threatened to burst from her. Albus felt her hand reach toward his and he let her bury her face at his side as she used to do when she was four years old and he six.

 Their eldest brother, whose height surpassed both their parents, stood by their mother, wrapping a secure arm around her, lest she loses her legs give away and she dropped at any minute. It never occurred to Albus until now how the time he had spent far away had passed on both timelines; both his siblings had grown, as he sure had as well.

 His baby sister had grown taller, she was nearly the same height as Albus was. And James looked more like an adult with that somber look on his face. Gone was the undertone amusement his brother was known to carry. And the stubble forming onto his chin and faintly around his jaw was a further testament of how much time had passed since Albus had seen his family.

 His brother’s face appeared passive as he started ahead, but Albus could see the puffiness of his eyes that dried from all the tears shed before the start of the ceremony. Their mum’s eyes were the same as well. Albus could’ve been fooled into thinking that she was holding herself quite well had her grip on his shoulder not been so crushing. Although, truth be told, his mum had nearly refused to let go of him since the moment he returned to his home dimension.

 By the time the ceremony was over and the many, many guests began to leave, several of them chose to stay back to pay their condolences to the Potters before they left. His many uncles and aunts stayed back along with his only living grandparents. Albus could tell his mother was aching for the rest of those strangers to leave so she may collapse in peace at her husband’s grave, and a selfish part of him wished not to be here to see it.

 From the corner of his eyes, Albus saw the familiar face of the person he longed to see just as much as his own family. When gray eyes met green ones, Scorpius’ face broke into a tiny, rueful, smile as a way of greeting. This was the first time Albus had seen him, and he noticed the tiny details that had changed. Scorpius’ hair had grown longer, it could cover his eyes if he would let it. He seemed lankier somehow, though perhaps it was because he had grown taller. Albus wanted to see for himself.

 As he was about to walk toward the retreating Malfoys, Albus felt awful when he heard his mother’s breath hitch.

 “I won’t be gone for long, mum.” Albus said weakly. “I promise.”

 He did not dare move until his mother’s grip on his shoulder faltered, but it was only due to his brother’s interference.

 “He’s not going to disappear again, mum. Look, he’ll be right over there where you can see me, okay?”

 It was at this moment that Albus felt an odd gratitude toward Jim. He’s the better son. For once, this thought did not occur with betterment nor envy.

 As he walked away, Ginny’s hand lingered in the air for him. Lily let go of Albus so that she’d be standing closer to their mother to hug her. And only then did that lingering hand lower to rest on the youngest Potter’s head, stroking the fiery red hair in rhythmic motions.

 Ginevra Potter had been beside herself ever since Albus had returned alone. At first, she, along with everyone, had been overcome with relief for seeing him—overjoyed even—to the point that it made Albus’ chest tighten uncomfortably at the inevitability of having to deliver the tragic news himself. Of having to explain why his father hadn’t come back to them yet. He could still remember the way her face had dropped in shock. At first, she and nearly everyone else had all been in denial. Harry Potter could not be dead. It was absurd to think of such a thing! But eventually everyone (from family and friends to the entirety of the magical commune and perfect strangers) had to process the news.

 Albus could not stomach their reaction. The wizarding world was mourning for their hero while simultaneously, perhaps even unconsciously, blaming Albus for their hero’s departure.

 This was precisely what made Albus dread coming home to begin with. While his family’s grief was unbearable on its own, he just knew this incident would feed onto his already disparaging reputation.

 As though seeing these thoughts written all over his face, Scorpius offered familiar words of reassurance after the two of them had broken free from their fierce embrace. But when those words had once lifted his spirits significantly, they now lacked the same uplifting force they possessed. Though that might have more to do with Albus himself. He was changed, in a way.

 Albus buried a hand into his pocket where he hid the shard of mirror that used to belong to Sirius Black. There were supposedly two shards that helped communicate FaceTime-style, each used to belong to Sirius Black and James Potter before Sirius had given James’ mirror to Harry, and now Sirius’ own had been given to Albus just before entering the veil.

 Yet, Albus had not heard from Harry since they said their goodbyes in the other dimension. Before going to the ministry to make the trip across dimensions, Professor McGonagall handed Albus a sealed envelope containing his OWLs results along with documented progress he had made during the term he spent in the other dimension’s Hogwarts. He barely even thought of it amidst the overwhelming emotions that came to him at having to leave another family of his.

 “I miss my dad.” Albus muttered as he took out the mirror shard from inside his pocket. He was not even sure he knew which one he was referring to. Maybe both.

 “I’d be surprised if you didn’t.” Scorpius said quietly.

 Albus could not tear his eyes away from the mirror, waiting.

 Why won’t he contact me?

 While the father he had known all his life was truly gone from his life, at least Harry wasn’t, right? Did he care for Albus still, or was he content enough to forget about him all together?

 Maybe the mirror just didn’t work across dimensions, otherwise, wouldn’t Harry and Sirius have been able to contact one another all this time when they were dimensions apart?

 A part of Albus hoped the mirror just didn’t work this time around as well, but unfortunately, he knew better. Sirius did say that he’d had an Unspeakable enchant the shard to become pliable and efficient in its purpose no matter the dimension it resided in. So there was no excuse for Harry not talking to Albus other than him not wanting to.

 “What’s with the mirror?” Scorpius pointed to the shard in Albus’ hand. “Is it charmed?”

 “Apparently not.” Albus sighed.

 Scorpius furrowed his brow but did not push, giving Albus the option whether he chose to talk about what troubled him or not. They had had so many moments like this before that it felt achingly tempting to share with Scorpius the knowledge of having a possible connection to the other dimension. Just as Albus was about to spill his heart out to the person he trusted the most, he heard a sharp sound of shaking sobs that he had never heard before.

 He did not need to ask who it belonged to, for he knew

 She was now fully relying on Jimmy for support now, and Albus could see the slight quiver in his brother’s lips as he was trying to remain strong for everyone else’s sake. But the sight of a parent breaking down had its tool on each three of them. Lily was openly sobbing now and Albus sped toward them without thinking.

 “Albus.” She breathed the name out as though it was a desperate prayer. “Not my baby—not him too—where is he?”

 “I’m right here, mum.” He let himself be pulled into her arms, which were now cradling his head just as they did when he first returned home.

 “W-where were you? Where did you go?”

 “He never left, muma.” He heard Lily saying.

 Uncle George, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione came to tend to them while the rest of his uncles shielded them from others’ sight. When Albus heard the sound of disapparating, he knew that the Malfoys had left.

 Being surrounded by all his family but the one departed, Albus’ grip on the shard tightened in a way that surpassed safety. He could feel the blood tickling down across the sensitive skin of his palm, not a care about the scar it was bound to leave.

Thankfully, the day had come to an end they were back home in no time.

 It was long after the house had gone still, near midnight, when the mirror warmed in Albus’s hand.

 He sat up so fast he knocked over the lamp on his nightstand.

 The surface of the shard shimmered. And there he was.

 The very person who they held a funeral for just earlier today.

 Not his dad. Not this world’s Harry Potter. But it was him nonetheless, eyes wide with wonder, bruised under the eyes like he hadn’t slept in a week, though not as bad as it had been during the time in the infirmary. His hair was messier than usual—if that was even possible.

 “. . . Albus?” Harry’s voice cracked through the mirror.

 Albus swallowed hard, nearly dropping it. “I—I thought you forgot.”

 “No,” Harry said quickly, shaking his head. “I didn’t. Sorry I took too long—it’s been, er, a busy week, honestly.” He looked off-mirror’s surface for a moment, like someone else was nearby before his face reappeared again, looking sheepish. “Sorry about that.”

 Albus let out a breath that nearly turned into a sob. “I thought I imagined you.”

 “I could say the same,” Harry said, managing a tired smile.

 A beat passed.

 “Wait a moment,” Albus said, and without further explanation, he bolted from his room.

 He called both his siblings before making his way to the sitting room where he knew his mum spent most nights this past week. She would not retire to her own bed without him.

 Ginny Potter curled under a blanket in her armchair, a book open in her lap that she hadn’t turned a page of in an hour. The firelight cast shadows under her eyes.

 “Mum.”

 She looked up, startled by the urgency in his voice. He was already moving toward the fireplace.

 “I think you ought to see this.”

 She didn’t ask questions. Neither did Jimmy nor Lily, when they arrived moments later, bleary-eyed and barefoot.

 Albus balanced the mirror shard gently on the coffee table. The surface gleamed once, then came to life.

 The room collectively held its breath.

 Sixteen-year-old Harry stared back at them, startled for a split second before he gathered himself.

 Ginny reached out instinctively, brushing her fingers against Albus’ hand as he held the shard. Her lips were parted slightly, like she had something to say but didn’t quite know where to begin.

 Then the voice came through.

 “Er, Albus?”

 It was unmistakably him—Harry’s voice, but softer, younger. A sixteen-year-old who had no idea how much his presence, even through glass, would change the room.

 Ginny’s breath hitched. She inched closer, slowly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

 “Who. . .” she whispered.

 “That’s dad. Just. . . not our dad.” Albus said softly, his eyes never leaving the glass.

 In the mirror, the boy on the other end looked confused, then cautiously hopeful. “Are you—?” He glanced to the side, as if consulting someone offscreen, before focusing again. His gaze fell on her, then Jimmy, then Lily. His expression changed—saddened, amazed, overwhelmed. “You’re Ginny, aren’t you?”

 She nodded slowly. “I am. Though I suppose. . . not the one you’re used to.”

 The boy gave a crooked smile. “I don’t think I’m used to any of this.”

 Ginny blinked rapidly, trying to absorb the image of the boy she’d loved half a lifetime ago. “You look just like—of course you do.” Her voice broke, and she laughed despite herself. “Fuck. You’re so young.”

 Albus knelt beside her, watching her face. Jimmy stood to the side, arms crossed, trying not to let emotion crack through his smirk. Lily hovered close, eyes wide and hands fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

 When Albus smiled encouragingly, Lily crept closer, looking between the mirror and her brother. “Is it really dad? From the past?”

 “Another world,” Albus corrected, his voice full of something between awe and certainty.

 Harry smiled at her, soft and real. “You must be Lily. Named after my mum.”

 She nodded slowly. “You’re so. . .” she trailed off, then settled on, “scruffy.”

 Jimmy scoffed, though his eyes hid heavy emotions behind his smirk. “That tracks.”

 Ginny knelt by the table, facing the shard as though it were a living person. “I don’t know how much your godfather told you,” she said gently, “but the man you grow into. . . he never stopped trying to bring our boy home.”

 Harry avoided her gaze then, looking almost guilty. “I’m so sorry. I—I understand that he’d travelled with Sirius here to do more than bring Albus home. He had—he fulfilled the prophecy in my place, and it had cost him his life to do it—”

 But Ginny shook her head. “You have nothing to apologize for. My husband is a stubborn man. He made his decisions, and he was certain of them. We mourn him, yes, but he did not die in vain. You and Albus’ survivals are proof of that.”

 Albus was momentarily taken aback by his mother’s fierce voice of conviction. It seemed that the very sight of Harry had managed to reignite the strength that had been absent during the funeral. She seemed nearly back to her usual self.

 Harry’s image began to blur, static rippling across the surface.

 Albus blinked.

 “Wait!” Lily cried.

 But it was too late. The mirror shimmered once more, then went still.

 Silent.

 Albus sat back, staring at it like it might still bring Harry back.

 After a moment, Jimmy clapped him gently on the shoulder. “You did good, Al.”

 Ginny reached over and gripped her son’s hand. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

 The mirror stayed quiet.

 But the room did not feel empty.

It had taken nearly a week for Ginny to stop hovering. And not entirely—she still watched Albus as if he might vanish mid-conversation, and she hadn’t let him out of the house alone yet, but something in her had eased since the mirror call. Something fragile and grieving that had been locked up behind her ribs had finally exhaled.

 After months of chaos and unspoken tension, the house was starting to feel like a home again.

 Or rather. . . as normal as it could be with the absence of a parent.

 Still, progress was progress.

 So when Ginny had come into his room that morning and said, “Scorpius is in the sitting room,” and then added nothing more—no warning, no don’t-go-too-far-away—Albus had felt something unclench in his chest.

 He found Scorpius by the fireplace, fiddling with a snow globe that hadn’t seen snow in years.

 “You kept the globe,” Albus said, stepping into the room.

 Scorpius looked up, eyes wide. “You’re here.”

 Albus blinked. “Where else would I—?”

 But the words barely left his mouth before Scorpius had crossed the room and hugged him.

 It was awkward at first, a bit too tight and too fast—just so Scorpius—Albus didn’t pull away. He truly missed this.

 “You’re acting like you haven’t seen me in a year—”

 “Well, I haven’t!”

 “We saw each other at the funeral though.” But even as he said it, he found his hands gripping Scorpius’s sleeves, not out of politeness, but necessity.

 “It was too formal there.” Scorpius brushed off before he mumbled: “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

 Albus raised a brow.

 “I mean—I hoped, but—you should’ve seen your mum. And your brother kept pacing and swearing under his breath like it was some kind of anti-jinx.”

 “I did come back,” Albus said, voice quiet. “And you’re still a hugger, apparently.”

 Scorpius flushed and pulled back just enough to glance at him. “Only when you’re being emotionally dense.”

 “I’m not—”

 “You are.”

 They fell into the couch together, limbs tangled more than seated properly, like boys who hadn’t yet worked out how to make their bodies less dramatic.

 “I thought you might’ve forgotten me,” Scorpius said, too softly.

 Albus turned his head to look at him. “I didn’t. Couldn’t.”

 Scorpius’s mouth twitched. “Even after making friends with your dad?”

 “Especially after,” Albus said.

 The silence stretched. The snow globe finally gave a sad little clink as it settled.

 “I missed this,” Albus added. “You. My phone. Even the bloody common room fireplace that smells like wet socks.”

 “Yeah,” Scorpius said, voice small. “It’s been kind of awful without you.”

 They sat like that for a while. No rush to say more, no pressure to make it profound.

 Eventually, Scorpius nudged him with his foot. “So, what now?”

 Albus tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. “We catch up. Slowly. You tell me all the gossip I missed, and I pretend I haven’t aged emotionally by about six years.”

 “You’re going to pretend?” Scorpius smirked. “That’s adorable.”

 “You’ve grown annoying in my absence.”

 “And you’ve grown taller.”

 “So have you. . . and don’t change the subject.”

 “I’m not. I’m just observing the facts.”

 They grinned at each other, old rhythms sliding back into place like puzzle pieces long lost and suddenly found.

 Things might turn out just fine, in the grand scheme of things.