Chapter Text
Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy are fourteen.
In the owlery, Scorpius is mostly chatting to himself, workshopping various time-turner-related headlines for his big break in the prophet. Albus takes note of his best friend’s vice grip on the bannister of the staircase. His legs, swinging over the side of the landing they’re sitting on, are wobbling. The fact comes pleasantly to Albus. Scorpius The Dreadless is still afraid of heights.
“We ought to make time turning a thing of the… past.”
Scorpius erupts into a fit of laughter upon the end of his joke, shaking the entire bannister. It’s a lot. The boy is hysterically slapping his knee. He then uses his free hand to grip Albus’s arm tightly. Albus is snapped from his observational trance by the contact.
“How’s that one, Albus? Think’ we’ll be famous with such a headline?”
Scorpius gives a crooked, innocent smile, the kind where the corners of his eyes crinkle adoringly. Albus huffs, feeling funny. He shrugs his shoulders, the effort’s enough to have Scorpius let go of his arm. The boy begins gently drumming his fingers on the landing. Albus truthfully hadn’t been paying attention to a single thing he’s said.
“Yeah, we’ll be famous alright. Famous for lying to the entire wizarding world about the location of Theodore Nott’s time-turner.”
Albus glares at the blasted object, firmly seated in Scorpius’s lap.
“Theodore Nott was a prat anyway.”
“You swear now?”
“I can do all sorts of things. Just gonna speak my mind, forever.”
Albus wonders what Scorpius speaking his mind forever entails.
“I just don’t see why you fancy getting in deeper trouble than we’re already in. I mean, imagine if the headmistress were to find out we lied again. I don’t particularly want to be the first fourteen-year-old in Azkaban.”
“A pity. We’d sport matching mugshots…” Scorpius shakes Albus’s shoulder, but the boy doesn’t budge.
“They’re not going to catch us, Albus. No one will even know this has happened. They think it’s at the bottom of the black lake, remember? We’ll destroy it and be done with the d’ast thing.”
Albus decides that Scorpius The Dreadless is relentless. He is, without a doubt, going to be the death of him one day.
Once the conversation has settled, he’s looking off at the various owls sleeping above them. From their perches, they ruffle their feathers and stir occasionally. The roof of the tower seems to stretch for an eternity, and Albus can’t catch where the pointed thatch ends and the sky starts. Parcels and letters dangle from the truss of the roof like beige yule ornaments.
Though Scorpius hates the heights, Albus thinks it’s undeniably peaceful in the owlery.
Albus looks back down. Before his eyes can catch up with his brain, his every hair stands on its end. Scorpius is glaring at Albus. Scorpius, who’d been fourteen mere seconds ago, is now twenty-two. He’s entirely still, still as a statue. Albus had never known brown eyes to be so piercing. He tries to speak. Nothing. Nothing’s coming out.
Then, he recognises that Scorpius isn’t looking at him at all. He’s staring beyond Albus. As though there’s something truly horrific lurking just behind him.
A sound rings out, something being beaten, a cry of an animal. Albus turns around,
A flashbang. Then a strip of blue. A piercing, blinding blue light is weaving through the drapes of a twenty-two-year-old Albus Potter’s bedroom window. It’s as though the ocean is dancing upon his wall, decorating the ancient wallpaper in luminescent waves.
Albus has just one leg hanging over the side of his mattress, clad in dark grey joggers. Belly down on the bed, head shoved under a pillow. He’s sweating bullets, not wearing a shirt because it’s nearing the end of June. London is past boiling outside. Chip, his ferret, begins to chirp in his cage.
Plaid patterned comforters are pulled up just far enough to shield his eyes from disturbances. Even through the heavy quilt, the light outside his window is so very brilliant. Albus reluctantly blinks himself awake, not exactly itching to return to the very strange dream he’d just had.
Then, Albus flips himself right-side up. He’s studying the light passing through his window. Trying to gain an understanding of the source through his delirium. The ocean of blue light dances and dances. Chip stirs once more. Albus is suddenly curious if their Muggle neighbours have managed to set the block on fire again.
Only then does he realise a faint sound. Peck.
Block fire is out of the picture. James has sent a pigeon to torment their father again.
James, who’s currently travelling the UK, living on Harry Potter’s fortune and a pipe dream to play Quidditch professionally. Only James Potter Jr would find spare time, and instead of doing something valuable, such as writing home, he would gather all of the pigeons in Muggle London and place them on one roof.
Albus lies back down. He tries to toss and turn, cursing his brother under his breath. The tapping increases in volume, to the point where it can be heard through the pillow that Albus is tightly gripping over his ears.
Must not be a pigeon then, how about a falcon? Every falcon in Muggle London. Albus becomes weary of a falcon attempting to eat Chip, and debates leaping from his bed to ensure the little guy’s safety. So when the sound does not cease, Albus throws off his covers and storms towards the window. Throwing the curtains open, Albus realises that the source of his troubles hadn’t been James or a pigeon at all. And supposes he could only be dreaming.
There is a flaming peacock perched on the scaffolding of the Potters’ roof. It’s perched on the far side of the roof. As if it’s resigned itself to waiting for Albus.
Strange. Which cannot possibly be the strangest thing to ever land on the roof of 12 Grimmuald Place (ergo, the pigeons), but surely is the strangest Albus has seen at half past two in the morning.
The bird stalks back towards the window, and resumes its incessant tapping, then startsles. Albus glares into its empty, inflamed eye sockets. It glares right back. The moment he locks eyes with the creature, it rips the window open with its talons. Of which, it is done with a force that a peacock surely should be unable to possess. Albus stumbles backwards in a daze. The creature elegantly prowls around. Albus reaches for a wand that isn’t there, because, well, joggers.
“You’re awake.”
The bird says, matter-of-factly. Though its beak does not move. Albus gets an almost psychotic look around his bedroom. The voice is coming from somewhere, surely…
“With all that ruckus? Course’ i’m awake, you sod.”
Albus barks. He’s speaking to his ceiling, rather than directly to the radiant creature on his bedroom floor.
“You’re going to want to refrain from calling me that.”
Albus almost falls backwards when he realises the bird he assumed to be a one-way messenger can hear him. Only then does he realise the eloquent voice of this bird belongs to Draco Malfoy. Albus finds himself in a standoff with Malfoy… as a …peacock? That can’t be right.
The bird (Draco?) perches itself onto Albus’s dresser. Its tail, wispy and long, vanishes through the other side of the wall. As though it belonged to a ghost. Albus momentarily wonders if its feathered tail is now hanging over the headboard of Lily’s bed. She hasn’t come running yet. So perhaps not.
“Something has happened to Scorpius. I wouldn’t be sending a Patronus if I weren’t stressed that it was urgent.”
Albus registers that this is the first Patronus he’s ever seen outside of crude drawings in Scorpius’s history books, though he’s never seen a peacock Patronus. He supposes this makes sense. The manor is covered in them.
The bird ruffles its feathers, as if it wants to get his attention. Albus’s train of thought ends. Scorpius is in some sort of trouble. That’s what is important right now. He fumbles to get a word out, but then Draco is speaking once more.
“I’ve taken him to St. Mungo’s. He’s okay. Just comatose. I apologise for the inconvenience, I just thought you deserved the right to know if he were to…suddenly…”
The bird looks aside. It’s staring at Albus’s wall. Then, it stops speaking, and before Albus can question any of this, it ceases to exist altogether. As it vanishes into the open air of Albus’s bedroom, he absentmindedly reaches his hand into the wisps left behind. As though they could pick him up and apparate him right to St. Mungo’s.
Unfortunately, this does not happen. Albus is left staring at his bedroom dresser. Right where the Patronus had been mere seconds ago. He’s trying to put together the pieces of what’s just occurred. Scorpius… hospital… urgent.
Scorpius, who was in this very bedroom less than twenty-four hours ago.
Albus throws a shirt on and some proper shoes. He finds himself running down the stairs the fastest he ever has, not too concerned if the thud, thud, thudding of his feet wakes his little sister and mother. His feet slip on the ancient carpet, as though it knows just where he desires to go, it’s propelling him towards the fireplace in their living room.
He grabs at the floo powder, almost smashing the old vase it’s sitting in. It teeters and teeters and fixes itself rightside up. Albus can hear a door open somewhere upstairs. It must be Lily’s bedroom. The light is flooding down the hall and spilling out near the top of the stairs.
Quickly, before someone catches him, Albus throws the dust on the floor. He shakes and yells,
“Dad!”
In a flash of green, Albus is tumbling out of Headmistress McGonagall’s fireplace.
The woman jumps in her seat as he rolls onto her floor. She’s sifting through a stack of parchment that almost reaches the ceiling. Though, she should be accustomed to this occurrence. Every Potter-Granger-Weasley has used Minerva McGonagall’s fireplace during the most ridiculous of circumstances.
Albus lands uncomfortably on his neck, so his natural reaction is to curse as loudly as possible. With a click of her boots, the boy finally notices her presence.
“You’ve landed in this office far more times than you’ve landed a passing score in any of your classes, Albus.”
Albus groans and lifts his head from the cold, ivory floors. He’d passed his classes just fine, thank you. But he knows better than to snark the headmistress of Hogwarts.
He quietly stares at the trail of soot he’s left behind, only annoyed because he’s ruined his joggers. McGonagall mirrors him.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to clean my floors at three in the morning, Albus Potter?”
No, he doesn’t…Then it all rushes back. What his business was here at all. Once Albus says nothing, McGonagall shakes her head. And as though she was reading his mind,
“I assume you’re looking for Professor Harry Potter?”
“Yes… my dad… Scorpius… he…”
With the wave of her hands, Albus is standing on his feet. The vertigo is only momentary. Albus nods with wordless gratitude.
“Go on then, you know where he is.”
McGonagall strides off, resuming her work as though none of this had just happened. Albus gives the office one last look before sprinting out of the room.
Now, he swears the staircases weren’t so confusing when he attended this school.
The few paintings that aren’t asleep are quietly discussing Albus’s presence, whom he considers asking for directions. There wasn’t nearly this much cardio involved in trying to locate the Slytherin dungeons. He almost wants to find the bloody sorting hat. Forget finding Dad. He needs to shake the hand of Salazar Slytherin for having his living quarters reside directly under the grand staircase.
He’s on what must be his thirtieth flight before finally turning into a recognisable hallway.
Praise, he finally reaches the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Albus is breathing so heavily from the effort, you could only assume a rogue student had attempted to strangle him on the way over. He’s just not an athlete, that’s for sure.
Harry’s in the corner of the room, just up a small staircase. Around him, stacks of paper are piled high, dancing around in the air. There’s a flying quill writing on a sheet. A large fixed lantern illuminates his presence. James’s owl, Veda, is perched on the window beside him, her grey feathers shining like slate. The beast cocks her head. Harry hasn’t even noticed him yet.
The classroom is rather beautiful during twilight, eerie, but beautiful. Slots of the moon’s brilliant light file in through the windows. Jars of preserved creatures and their respective skulls watch Albus’s every move. He’s making his way towards his father. Narrowly avoiding piles of stacked classroom chairs.
“I advise you follow your—“
Harry starts to scold him, likely assuming he’s some escapee student, then looks up at the commotion. Adjusting his glasses before realising the commotion is his son.
“Curfew…Albus, what in the world are you doing up at this hour…?”
“Dad! Scorpius, he—“
The moment Harry hears Scorpius’s name, he’s left his desk. As Harry stalks towards his son, his work becomes lifeless, plummeting to the surface of the desk. Thankfully, it all lands in neat piles upon the table. Well, as tidy as Harry had probably sorted them prior. Which, based upon Aunt Hermione’s regular complaints, isn’t very tidy at all.
“He’s comatose. They don’t know what happened.”
Harry’s quiet for a long while, visibly trying to think of what to say, how to react. They’ve come a long, long way from their strained relationship of the past. Harry likes Scorpius; he likes Scorpius a lot. He’s reminded Albus of this on many occasions. Once they’d grown past their original hiccup, and with the encouragement of Ginny, Scorpius was over for dinner regularly. He’d sleep over for days on end. Existing amongst the Potters as though he’d always been.
“I’ll send an owl.”
From her perch, Veda has flown onto Harry’s forearm. Her yellow eyes are almost glowing. Before Albus can protest, Harry’s already walking back to his desk, clearing a small space to write on some parchment. He’s rapidly scrawling something down. Albus becomes annoyed.
“Shouldn’t we go to see him now?”
“He’s a brave boy, Albus…”
“Not by choice!”
“Albus, it's half past three.”
“We have to go… I'll go!”
“St. Mungo’s isn’t going to let you in as a visitor at this hour, even if you were to go. What day is it? Saturday? We’ll go in the morning. We’ll take your mum and Lily, too.”
Whatever Harry had been writing, he finished. Sealing up the letter, he places a wax stamp on the lip. Veda coos, swiping it from the desk. She flies off with a valiant flap of her wings.
Albus sighs, watching from the open window as her silhouette fades into this seemingly never-ending night sky. A light breeze whistles in the stretching silence of the room. Once Veda’s blended in with the trees, Albus turns back to his father. He now has a plethora of books, flying above his head, fanning through pages all on their own. Surrounding him like a wreath. It’d be an impressive display of wandless magic if Albus weren’t so sick of his father’s theatrics.
Back to his work. Albus is… agitated. He pulls down one of the stacked chairs. Slamming it on the floor, because he’s allowed the dramatics. Albus takes a seat. He balances his head in his hands.
“It has to be urgent, it has to be. Mr. Malfoy sent a peacock to my bedroom window.”
Albus realises far too late into his sentence that he sounds ridiculous.
“A peacock?”
That rouses Harry, because his books stutter through their pages. He glares, suddenly interested in his son’s entire situation. Without proper context, one can only imagine Draco Malfoy has an army of sentient peacocks.
“A peacock, Dad. His Patronus.”
“Malfoy… a Patronus…”
His father is trailing off, then. The floating books begin to pile up.
Some sort of silent succession. It’s truly fascinating, and makes Albus sort of wish that he were anything but decent at magic. They’ve decided all on their own that work shall continue another day. Retiring to their neat piles on his desk, right beside the piles of ungraded homework. The desk on which Harry is now leaning his weight.
He appears irked, then becomes suddenly amused.
“Would’ve assumed it was a ferret, though.”
“A ferret?”
“There was this time during our fourth year when… Er nevermind. Peacock makes sense, too, I guess. Tons of them in front of his house.”
The room goes silent.
“Point stands. He has no business mailing to you. That’s usually Ginny’s forte. You and Scorpius get all sorts of…ideas…”
Albus does not appreciate the reminder of a certain time-turner-related incident.
“And you hardly got up to any trouble at fourteen?”
“Keep a window open for Veda.”
Which is his father’s way of saying get the hell out of my classroom.
Surprisingly, Albus does not get a moment of sleep the entire night. Neither does Chip, though. Who’s curled up on his stomach.
Albus watches the sun rise from a window of 12 Grimmauld Place and imagines Scorpius in a coma. He’s desperately trying not to think about how scared he must be, if he’s feeling much of anything at all…Albus supposes he must stop, or he’ll end up going mad. Scorpius The Dreadless does not fear whatever in Merlin’s beard a coma entails.
Albus is lying upside down on a couch, feet in the air. He’s studying the Black family tapestry on the wall of their guest room. Counting how many faces he can recognise on the tattered thing. Of course, he can’t name many. Then, you bring Scorpius over, and he can name everyone precisely. Can name their favourite hex, how they take their tea, what they had for breakfast every morning…
Ginny walks in. A large quilt is folded across her arm, and she’s holding a cup of tea. It’s honeycomb and clotted cream, Albus identifies. The smell pleasantly fills the room. It’s nearly seven in the morning now. Albus rubs his eyes, which beg for the release of sleep.
“Ah…this old thing.”
Ginny relents, getting a quick look over the wall, then she sits next to her son. She places the warm cup of tea on the side table. It waits there for Albus.
“Dad’s already told you what’s happened, hasn’t he?”
“Secrets don't stay secrets for long in this house.”
“If these walls could talk…”
Ginny’s laugh is warm; she swaddles her son, her twenty-two-year-old baby son, in the giant quilt.
“You’re going to suffocate Chip!”
“He’s already crawled off.”
“You’re going to suffocate me!”
Albus flips himself right-side up. His hair is all tousled, his eye bags darker than usual. Ginny reaches forward, gently massaging his dark circles. Her eyes crinkle lovingly. Albus bats her away, all grown up with a pout just the same.
“What are you doing waiting here, anyway?”
“Dad’s told me to leave a window open for Veda.”
“Draco’s writing then?”
Albus merely nods in response.
“Well, I'm sure Draco isn’t averse to you allowing yourself something to drink, Albus Potter.”
With the wave of Ginny’s hand, the tea is fashioned directly in front of Albus’s face. He makes a show of rolling his eyes and grabs the saucer. It does taste delicious. Albus offers the cup to his mother. She takes it and sips.
“Your father’s home, by the way. We can go visit Scorpius once Lily’s up.”
“I truly don’t understand why we all have to go.”
“He’s family, isn’t he?”
Albus’s heart thumps an extra beat. The prospect of his mother calling Scorpius' family is far too much to handle in the AM. He can almost feel his hands shaking from the implications alone.
“Invite the whole Weasley clan, why don’t you?”
“Albus, you are as mouthy as I was at your age.”
Albus grins, it’s downturned and awkward, a momentary relief.
“You, nap, now. I’ll wait up for Veda.”
Ginny scolds and snaps her fingers. The manoeuvre sends the empty saucer out of the room. Albus stares out the open window, leaning his head on his mother’s shoulder. He pulls the blanket wrapped around him tighter. Then, he stares and stares, thinking about flaming peacocks until sleep overtakes him.
When Albus wakes, everyone seems to be busying themselves around the house except for him.
It’s Lily who first spots him. She’s wearing a maroon sweater underneath an eclectically patterned vest. Her jean skirt seems to contain a differently arranged, clashing, eclectic pattern. Her very short hair is done up with a headband. She reminds Albus of a… what do American muggles call them… rodeo clowns?
“Gods, I thought you were going to sleep forever.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
“A good time? Snogging Scorpius in your dreams, then?”
It was truly an architectural mistake to place his bedroom directly next to Lily’s. She’d walked in on them one time, and now…
“If I died right now. On this couch. If that was the last thing you’d ever said to me.”
“I’d have to miss your funeral, I've got class at one thirty.”
Albus absentmindedly reaches for a pillow to his left, throwing it into his sister’s face with the force of a thousand bludgers. She wails and throws the pillow right back, square onto his stomach. The two siblings pensively lock eyes. Then, Lily leaps forward.
They tussle for a solid minute on the rather small couch. It creaks with all their effort.
“This thing’s probably a family heirloom.”
“I’m okay with desecrating Bellatrix Lestrange’s couch, actually.” Albus barks.
Not long after, Lily’s trapped under Albus. She’s a little taller than him, but he’s larger. Consequently, her means of escape is to bite Albus on the arm. Albus gasps, scandalised, lifting his arm to examine the set of human teeth punctured into his skin. Lily uses this distraction as an opportunity to slither away.
“Lillian! No biting! That’s not fair!”
“My name is Lily!”
With one final shove, Lily rolls off the couch, opting to loom above her brother. Albus covers his eyes with his arms. He mockingly faints, hanging half of his torso off the arm of the rickety couch.
“I’ve got it. Bite Of A Mad Dog. Take me to St.Mungo’s.”
“Bright idea, Al. Could put your bed right next to Scorpius’…”
“Lily.”
“You could spoon all night… the healers would vomit every time they entered the room…”
“Lily!”
Lily’s bent over now, truly belly laughing at her incessant teasing.
“Could you please get lost for at least five more minutes?”
With a fond roll of her eyes, Lily walks off into the kitchen.
After those five peaceful minutes, Albus throws himself off the couch and makes his way towards the kitchen. Since that’s where everyone has decided to reside at this exact moment. Not an unlikely place to be at ten in the morning, though.
His father stood at the stove, tossing some eggs in a pan. Veda’s sleeping on a perch near the kitchen window, which can only mean...
Mum is at the table, writing furiously on a sheet of parchment. She’s clutching a Muggle newspaper in her other hand. Albus can hear her mumbling to herself about the state of two tennis teams. Sports have never interested Albus, wizardry-based or not, but they do mean a whole lot to his mother.
“What kind of university has classes at one-thirty on a Saturday?”
Albus complains as though he’s attending the class himself. He takes a seat at the table. Harry sets a plate of fried eggs in front of his son, rubbing him on the shoulder carefully. Albus thanks his father and glares at Lily.
She’s now got a pygmy puff on each shoulder. Dinah and Corwin, respectively. The fuzzy creatures give him the stink eye. Which he hadn’t figured was possible until this second.
“The Muggle kind.”
She tuts, glaring right back. When Albus doesn’t respond, but instead stuffs a sliver of egg into his mouth, Lily goes on,
“Least I’m going to university, Albus.”
Albus scoffs, about to pick the fight of the century, but then Ginny reaches into her pocket, setting an unopened letter down in front of Albus’s plate. He almost throws the entire table over in a rush to get it. Spilling a vial of Ginny’s ink in the process. Lily frets and quickly steadies the table. The vial of ink flips itself right side up.
With the point of her wand and a whisper of Scourgify, the stained tablecloth is cleaned by Lily. Once the mess is cleaned, she piques interest in her brother’s struggle to rip the wax seal open.
The boy scans the letter faster than he’s ever read anything in his entire life. No update on Scorpius, unfortunately, but Mr. Malfoy has informed the healers at St. Mungo’s to allow the Potters’ and any extended family to visit on his behalf during Scorpius’s time there.
Albus’s anxieties are not quelled, given the lack of an update on Scorpius’s health, but he can settle for a guarantee to visit whenever he needs.
“Good things, I hope?” Harry starts, sitting down beside his son.
“I suppose. They still don’t know what’s happened, but we have permission to visit whenever. I just hope he’s okay.”
The table sits in silence for the first time this morning.
“With what happened to his mum, I’ve been wondering if it’s—“
“Albus, don’t say that.”
Ginny’s quill stops. She’s got a look in her eye, almost offended at the implication.
“I’m not being entirely ridiculous, am I?”
‘He’s going to be okay, eat up.”
“Will James be over tomorrow?”
Lily swiftly changes the conversation topic, and Albus almost wants to thank her. Though it’s an odd segue. Last anyone checked, James was in Ireland, partying with his Quidditch buds.
“Tomorrow? Why?”
Albus speaks with his mouth full, and Lily gags.
“It’s Litha, slugs for brains.”
No… no, Albus couldn’t have forgotten entirely. Forgotten the bloody summer solstice.
“To answer your question, Lily, yes, he’ll be over. Along with all the Granger-Weasleys.”
“And Teddy?” She asks, a lilt of hope in her tone.
“And Teddy.”
All of a sudden, Albus has tunnel vision. Momentarily stunned by the prospect of having to survive an entire family reunion without Scorpius. During which, they typically skip off, hiding in Albus’s room the entire duration of whatever event his family has decided to use as an excuse to get pissed. (Which they commonly use as an excuse to get pissed, too.)
And wine drunk Scorpius… a sight to behold… Albus could slap the kitchen table.
It’s just. The thing is. Albus doesn’t want to get wine drunk with his cousins. With Rose Granger-Weasley! Rose is so… adult now. He almost misses the days when she was a cheeky brace-face at Hogwarts. Because then, at least someone in his family besides himself was a total loser. Now she has at least ten apprenticeships with the ministry, not to mention that she’s incredibly skilled at all sorts of things. Albus can’t even remember what he’d eaten for dinner last night.
Having to sit in a room with all his cousins is torturous enough; now Albus is about to have to do it entirely sober. Where will Scorpius be? To bear the weight of Albus’s constant conversational fumbles? In a hospital bed, of course. And Albus… alone…
In a room with his entire extended family?
During the longest day of the year?
“Earth to Albus!”
Lily’s waving a hand in front of her brother’s face. He hadn’t even noticed, but the rest of his family had already cleaned up and left the room. Albus is holding a fork, smashing a rather large bit of egg into his cheek. Must’ve missed his mouth.
“Put on some proper clothes, unless you plan on visiting Scorpius in the joggers you’ve been wearing for the past five days.”
“Least I don't look like I'm about to go join the circus.”
“Fine! You’re free to reenact Sleeping Beauty with Scorpius in whatever get-up you please.”
Albus wonders where he’d gone so wrong in the past that he’s allowing himself to be bossed around by his younger sister. He gives up on his half-eaten breakfast.
Albus can count on his fingers the number of times he’s driven a car. On the contrary, Lily drives them to St. Mungo’s in her bug, because she does that now. Albus always feels a bit irked being driven around by his younger sister, no matter how normalised it has become. There was a time in his life when she wasn’t even born, when she couldn’t even speak, and now she’s driving him around London like it’s clockwork.
Once the Potters arrive, they all quietly shuffle out of the car and into the facade of the abandoned department store. Once inside, the building transforms into the hospital every klutz in the wizarding world has become accustomed to. Ginny’s got a vice grip on her son’s shoulder. Harry’s holding a brand new bag of pepper imps, and Albus is flattered that his father has remembered Scorpius’s favourite sweet.
Harry approaches the healer at the front desk while the rest of the family sticks behind. They’re sitting in the corner of the waiting room, trying to avoid eye contact with the other wizards sitting there. People have asked Harry for an autograph in far less appropriate locations than a hospital waiting room.
Once Harry’s finished, a stout young woman eventually gathers the rest of the family up to take them to see Scorpius. On the walk there, Albus can overhear her discussing Scorpius with Harry.
“He’s a sweet boy, Sir. He’s been in an apprenticeship program with us. Would never hurt a fly, that’s for sure. He’s got wit to him, though. It’s been an honour seeing him flourish, and a pity to see him like this.”
Albus becomes nauseated by the anticipation. He’s anxious, more anxious than he’s been over the past ten hours. His hands start to tremble, so he shoves them into the pockets of his jumper. Ginny must notice, because she’s suddenly rubbing gentle circles on her son’s back.
They reach Scorpius, who’s being held in a more private, long-term care wing of the hospital. Harry gives the healer an astute nod, who then walks off. He knocks twice on the door before entering.
Draco Malfoy is sitting in a chair beside Scorpius. He’s staring into space before taking notice of Harry.
“You came.” Draco shakily starts. The man’s eyes are glistening. They’re practically bloodshot. Albus can’t imagine that the man has slept at all.
“Course’ we did.” Ginny’s giving a polite smile. When no one else speaks, Harry walks to Scorpius’s bedside table and places the pepper imps there. Alongside the bag of sweets is Asclepius, Scorpius’s owl. He’s sleeping soundly in a rather luxurious cage. Albus imagines he’s there just in case Scorpius were to wake up while Draco’s away.
How considerate, to make sure he wouldn’t be alone.
Draco doesn’t notice Harry’s addition to the table. He’s not noticing much at the moment, Albus figures.
“The healers have been trying to determine the source of…this. No word yet.”
Albus sits in the chair beside Draco’s. Scorpius looks peaceful. His chest is rising and falling as though he were merely asleep. His near white hair is fanned around his face. It’s grown longer since they were younger, but it suits him. It’s wavy like his mum’s.
Ginny tugs Harry’s arm, giving him a look. Then she’s leading him out of the room. Lily follows both of her parents without much hesitation.
“We’ll give you a moment.” It's all Ginny says before gently shutting the door. Draco was speaking almost immediately, as if he were waiting for the rest of them to leave.
“He was fine. Just getting ready for bed. Things got quiet, awfully quiet, then he wasn’t awake anymore. I can’t help but wonder if it’s—“
Draco’s voice breaks off. Clearing his throat, he starts again,
“I don’t want to even think about it.”
They sit in silence for a long while. Listening to Scorpius breathe.
“I did hear…something.”
Draco has apprehension laced in his expression. His lip quivers, as though he doesn’t trust what he’s about to tell Albus.
“Before I found Scorpius. I heard the most awful sound…some sort of creature. I’m used to hearing the fowl outside, the horses. This was different. My blood ran cold, Albus. It was as though I instantly knew… It is not my intention to give you any outlandish ideas. But I’d never have noticed Scorpius’s state if I hadn’t heard it.”
Albus’s throat is tight. Draco looks haunted. Rightfully. Considering the unknown is risky in the wizarding world. Albus doesn’t desire scaring him further, doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, and face being scolded out of the room, questioned for an eternity.
He doesn’t want to say, well, of course Mr. Malfoy, you mean the same sound I heard in my rather cryptic dream last night? Which occurred around the exact minute Scorpius was found out cold? You know us Potter kids, always at the scene of the crime!
So, he says nothing. Draco stirs a bit in his chair, possibly uncomfortable by the lack of a reaction from Albus.
“I apologize for disturbing you last night, with the messenger. It was intended to reach your father. A Patronus tends to have a mind of its own, unfortunately…”
Albus nods. As though to say no problem at all.
After a beat, Draco gets up and rounds the hospital bed. In an attempt to change the subject, the man visibly peers at the bag Harry had placed on his side table.
“Ah. Potters’ got him pepper imps.”
He looks just as charmed with Harry’s ability to remember his son’s favourite candy as Albus was.
“They’ll figure out what’s wrong, Mr. Malfoy. I’m sure of it.”
With a knock on the doorframe, Ginny and company re-enter the hospital room. Lily’s snacking on a bag of crisps, she whispers something to her father, who shoots back a disapproving look. Ginny beckons for her son, who quickly stands.
“We’ll get out of your hair, Draco. Thank you for allowing us to visit. We hope Scorpius feels better soon.”
Draco curtly nods.
“Anything for Scorpius.”
Preparing for Litha without Scorpius is no fun, Albus quickly discovers.
The boy sort of misses a certain six-foot blonde being absolutely rubbish at hanging party streamers. Trying to inflate balloons with his wand and failing miserably. Always flashing Albus’s father a thumbs up to ensure his hard work is recognised… in which Harry would give a crooked yet encouraging grin back.
The two Potter siblings are decorating the house, as they have been all morning. Albus, as always, wants to ask his father why they can’t just Accio all of the decorations into place. Albus, as always, receives a response in the form of a highly depressing story about how Harry had never been allowed to have real Muggle parties growing up.
Albus decides on his fifth set of the table that he’s about to pass out from lack of sleep. Then, he hears the front door open. He knows not to fret, due to the wards which conceal their home from the Muggle population. In walks James Potter Jr, Albus goes to wave towards his older brother, but he’s being picked up and swung in a circle.
“Al! Look at you! You’re the exact same height!”
James is laughing rather obnoxiously. Albus swipes a hand across his brother’s face, sending his glasses flying. He can hear Lily yelp and cast, “Wingardium Leviosa!”
However, he can't see the glasses suspend themselves midair, due to a currently failing attempt to slither himself out of the sweater he’s trapped in. Albus’s head is almost halfway down the middle of his jumper when James tightens his grip.
“Not my fault you’re a damned giant! Let me go! Let me go!”
Albus shrieks and squirms and tries to shove himself free. Unfortunately, James is much stronger than he is. Albus spends a solid minute in the air. He is then dropped, and Lily consequently spends a solid minute in the air.
“Didn’t know you missed us that much.” Albus finds himself laughing, a little delighted by his brother’s enthusiasm. It’s different from how the atmosphere’s been since he’d left. Albus had hardly noticed until now.
“Course’ I did! How long’s it been? seven months?”
James punches Albus on the arm, and he feigns an extreme injury.
“Six and a half since Christmas. You spend all six of those months getting pissed every night?”
With all his might, Albus punches him right back.
“Depends… you spend all six getting shagged into next Sunday?”
James is grinning at Lily’s scream of terror that follows. Albus can physically feel his face heating up. James notices this, getting a kick out of his brother’s supposed embarrassment. Albus stops punching his brother and quits moving entirely.
James laughs that loud, obnoxious cackle of his.
“Where’s the little scorpion prince, anyway? Thought’ he’d be living in my bedroom at this point. I'm itching to see if he’s finally reached my height.”
Lily cringes at James’s clear obliviousness, digging her palms into her eyes.
Albus had enjoyed being able to forget about Scorpius, even if it were just for five minutes. Which, retrospectively, sounds quite selfish. His face must be glowing. Albus prays Scorpius hasn’t suddenly gained coma-induced mind-reading powers.
The three siblings are now standing in an awkward semicircle. James shrugs his shoulders and looks off, misunderstanding what had killed the energy in the room.
“Sorry, Al. I didn’t mean to say—“
Lily saves the day,
“Scorpius is in the hospital, James.”
“Oh…”
Everyone’s eyes are on Albus now, and he decides he doesn’t like the attention. There are very few things Albus hates more than being the centre of a room… the attention of it all is one thing, pity is a whole other category of emotion Albus can’t properly process.
The boy just sort of stands there, swinging his arms. James grabs his brother up and gives him a much gentler hug than he had received moments ago.
“Was anyone going to inform their father that all three of his kids are finally back in the same room?”
In walks Harry, clad in a cooking apron and matching red oven mittens. Ginny’s trailing behind in a black jumper, a tennis jersey worn over the top. Albus realises at this moment that James is wearing the same jersey.
Almost instantly, James leaps and hugs his parents with significantly less strength than he’d hugged his siblings, but with a matching level of enthusiasm. Ginny laughs, delighted. She quickly starts conversing with James,
“Now, you best tell me all about your Quidditch buds…”
Then they walk off, and Albus quits paying attention.
Albus throws himself onto their living room couch. It’s dramatic, but as he’s stated before, he’s allowed to be dramatic right now. Albus stares into the fireplace, supposing that he should clean his soot mess from yesterday’s venture to Hogwarts.
Before he can give much thought to that, Lily wordlessly sits down next to him. He hadn’t realised before, but she’s holding her frog, Lolly-Gag. Nasty little bugger. She’s stroking the spot between his eyes and cooing to him. It makes Albus’s skin crawl.
After a while of this, she looks at him instead,
“You alright?”
“I guess so. Just dreading having to hang out with our cousins while sober.”
Which clearly isn’t the answer she’d expected. Lily’s face crinkles. As though she’s eaten a lemon.
“Who said you can’t drink?”
“Being off my face without Scorpius is like… being an angel without wings, Lillian. Pointless!”
“You are obsessed with him.”
Lily pronounces obsessed as though it’s a swear word.
Albus supposes that he is.
“If you’d allow space in your mind for anyone else to occupy it, you’d realise your family is quite fun, Albus.”
“Are you trying to lecture me into having fun?”
“No. He is.”
Lily then places her rather humongous frog in Albus’s lap. The amphibian blinks, one eye at a time. Both Albus and the creature are unamused.
“Dare I say, you sort of look like him… uncanny resemblance.”
“Someone ought to call the RSPCA on you.”
Before Lily can formulate a justification for the sheer number of creatures kept in her bedroom, the Potters’ fireplace is hacking green flames.