Chapter Text
Prologue
It was raining. He walked tensely along the street, not noticing the puddles. All his attention was concentrated on the box in his hands. His legs carried him over the wet asphalt on their own, splashing water, not watching where he was going.
He burst into the house, slamming the door so hard the windows rattled. Wet footprints on the parquet floor, heavy breathing, and then he was standing in the middle of the living room, clutching in his hands an object that belonged to someone else, yet felt so intimately familiar.
A head of hair was already poking out from the hallway, and somewhere upstairs, another door slammed.
"You won't believe it," he began, his voice cracking, dissolving into a hoarse whisper.
"No way…" — not waiting for him to continue, they interrupted him. They had recognized the thing at first sight, too.
"What is it?"
"A bloody album..."
He stood there, holding not just an album. He was holding an entire life, contained between leather covers.
Without another word, he cracked open the aged spine and opened to the first page.
The first spread. A date. A title. And below it, that familiar, neat, confident handwriting.
01.09.2023
The Beginning.
Found this little book in the back of the library. Why not turn it into a collection of thoughts? For history's sake, at least. Let's make it an experiment: how long will my enthusiasm last?
A new school year is always a blank slate. New people, new events, new memories. I wonder what will find its way onto these pages. I won't drag this out. I hope this is the start of something good…
p.s. it's impossible to get a normal family photo, so this will have to do
***
12 Grimmauld Place. London, England.
"Albus. I’m saying this for the last time. Put. The. Phone. Down. And eat," Ginny Potter flitted between the stove and the table, setting out plates.
James appeared in the doorway. He sniffed the air, and a satisfied grin spread across his face.
"Mum, you don’t understand. How can anyone think about food when—"
"James Sirius Potter, bite your tongue!" Ginny didn't even turn around, flawlessly guessing the nature of his thoughts from his tone alone.
Albus, glued to his screen, just sank deeper into his chair.
"Albus, I'm not joking," she flicked a tea towel in his direction.
"Delicious, Mum," James mumbled with theatrical chomping, stealing a pancake straight from his brother's plate.
Albus stayed silent. Any reaction in this case was just fuel for the engine named James. The older boy ate with obvious sound effects, reveling in the impact he was having on his brother.
"Don't choke, James," Ginny tossed out automatically, running a hand over his back. "Lily! I'm counting to three!" she called out, then pulled on a sports jacket and threw one last look at her sons. "I'm going for a run, I'll be back soon. If you're not ready by the time I return, you're going to school with Percy."
"Absolutely not," the oldest brother raised his hands in surrender.
Voluntarily listen to Percy's lectures? He’d rather walk in a hurricane.
The front door shut behind her, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
"You're a pig, James," Albus said, finally looking up from his phone.
"And you're a snake, but I've put up with you in silence."
"No, you did it by chomping," the dark-haired boy met his gaze.
James just laughed and ruffled his hair, hopelessly tangling the black curls and somehow managing to get maple syrup in them.
The fireplace flared suddenly, and Rose burst into the kitchen like a red whirlwind, slightly out of breath, curls flying in every direction.
"Good morning to everyone except James!" she burst out, gasping for air.
Potter got up, dumped his plate in the sink, and with his hands in his pockets, headed for the door.
"Morning, Rosie," James tossed out over his shoulder.
The redhead, ignoring him completely, flew over to Albus, pecked him on the cheek, and, taking the seat next to him, snatched his mug of coffee from right under his nose. She took a sip. Her face contorted into a grimace. She spat the bitter liquid back into the mug and returned it to its owner.
"Thanks. Must be delicious," Potter grimaced, pouring the contents down the sink.
"Oh, don’t be dramatic!"
Rose, waving it off easily, looked around.
"Where are Ginny and Harry?"
"Dad was called into the Auror Office this morning. Mum’s out running."
Lily entered the kitchen, beaming radiantly, her eyes never leaving her phone.
"Hi, Rose! No Hugo?" Lily asked immediately.
"He’s moving a bit slowly today. He’ll be here in a minute," the redhead answered almost on autopilot, not really listening to her cousin.
"Just today?" Potter muttered under his breath, smirking slightly.
Albus watched his sister, who, pointedly ignoring the stack of pancakes, took a drinking yogurt from the fridge.
“That’s not much of a breakfast,” Albus said. “Mum’s been cooking all morning.”
“They’re made with regular milk,” Lily replied, rolling the small metal ring in her nose. “Maybe worry about what you eat.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and left.
“I can’t wait to get back to school,” Rose said, glancing at Albus like she might be checking him for fever. “I’m going to be Head Girl! I’ve wanted this since first year.”
"Yeah, besides diligently doing your homework, hanging out in the library, and attending extra classes, now you'll also have a ton of pointless work to do," he stated mercilessly.
"Don't be boring!" she waved off his words.
"You’re the only boring one here," he smiled his most charming smile, hoping to avoid retaliation from cousin for his comment.
"Cheeky!" she squealed, overly dramatic. "Anyway, Slytherin will probably keep Scorpius."
The name landed like a switch being flipped. The air in the kitchen suddenly grew heavy. Albus fell silent. His gaze glazed over, staring into the void somewhere beyond the wall. All his recent irritation dissolved. Rose realized her mistake and squirmed in her chair, guiltily lowering her eyes.
"I don't care," he muttered finally.
"And there's Hugo!" Rose exclaimed with relief, pointing towards the living room from where a fit of heart-rending coughing erupted.
Half an hour later, the car felt like a mobile torture chamber for Albus. Every sound hit his nerves with precision: Hugo's raspy cough; the piercing blast of pop music from Lily's headphones, which, judging by the volume, were purely decorative; Rose's clingy, endless whispering right in his ear. And towering over it all, like the fanfares of the apocalypse, was James's voice, commenting on everything from the colour of the sky to the idiocy of city traffic.
Albus pressed himself into the corner of the back seat. The only normal person was his mother at the wheel, whose calmness amidst the chaos seemed supernatural and almost mocking.
Finally, he gave up and buried himself in his phone, trying to build a digital wall between himself and the family madness.
The silence, however, lasted exactly forty-seven seconds.
"Why’d it take you so long, bro?" James's voice pierced his brother's fragile peace.
"Couldn't find my phone," came Fred's voice on the other end. "Hi everyone!"
"Great," Albus thought. Before he could even blink, the brown-haired boy had put him on speaker.
"Nice ear, idiot!" Potter howled with laughter, while Fred, awkwardly forcing a smile, looked at the screen.
"James, don't call Fred an idiot!" Ginny's voice was firm, but stifled laughter could be heard in the background.
"Say hi to Fred," James grinned, and started shoving the smartphone into everyone's face, one by one.
He got to Albus.
"Hey, grumpy, say hi. Come on."
Albus felt a familiar, sharp wave of irritation run down his spine.
"We’ll see him in twenty minutes. Exactly.”
"Is one word that hard?"
"Hi, Fred," Albus forced out, looking somewhere into the space between the seats. "Now can you get that out of my face?"
Catching a glimpse of Ginny in the frame, Fred's laughter came through the speaker.
"Hi, Aunt Gin!"
"How are you, dear?" Ginny asked, her voice instantly softening, becoming warm and homey.
"Mum, seriously?" James interrupted, not letting Fred get a word in. "Do you really care?"
"Yes, I care how my favourite nephew is doing," Ginny parried, playing along with his game.
"Hey! We're here!" Rose and Hugo protested almost in unison.
"Oh, come on," Ginny laughed, catching their eyes in the rearview mirror. "My favourite is Lucy, and that's not up for debate."
"Well, can't argue with Lucy," Hugo shrugged.
The girl really was the walking embodiment of innocence; even James wouldn't dare pick a fight with her.
"Bet Lucy gets sorted into Hufflepuff today?" Fred chimed in.
"Gryffindor, you idiot!" James barked, forgetting everything else.
"James!" A solid smack sounded. The car swerved slightly.
Silence finally fell in the car. Even Fred on the phone quieted down, watching the events unfold through the pixelated image.
"Mum, we all know who your real favourite is," James broke the silence, beaming with a triumphant smirk.
"What makes you say that?" Lily turned around, tearing herself away from her smartphone.
"Dream on," Albus muttered nearby.
"Calm down! Want to start fighting now?" Ginny scolded, but the corners of her lips twitched treacherously.
From the phone came Fred's booming laugh, accompanied by muffled sounds of him moving around the house.
"Sorry, Mum, I forgot that was supposed to be a secret," James whispered, loudly enough for everyone to hear.
"One more word, and a Bat-Bogey Hex will seem like a child's prank," Ginny promised through gritted teeth.
"Ouch!" James flinched, even though no one had hit him this time. "Wait, are you guys still at home?"
"Yeah, waiting for Dad to get home from work," Fred answered, still choking with laughter. "He was supposed to be back by now, unless Uncle Ron got stuck in his paperwork."
"He's stuck," Rose interjected.
"Got it," Fred abruptly flipped the camera. Roxanne's gloomy, tired face flashed on the screen. "Look, Rox is in her usual form today."
"Fred, don't film me."
"Just like our Albus," James added with feigned sympathy; Albus just rolled his eyes.
In the background, George's voice was heard: "Fred, Roxanne, get ready!"
"Okay, well, Dad's back. See you at the station," Fred said quickly, and the screen went dark.
The silence in the car lasted exactly until Hugo's next coughing fit. The car rolled on towards King's Cross. Albus closed his eyes again, internally counting down the seconds until he could escape this metal box.
All that was left was to endure.
***
Malfoy Manor. Wiltshire, England.
"Mr. Malfoy, please, don't skip breakfast. It's going to be a long day," the house-elf persisted, trying to persuade its master to eat.
"Thank you, Tippy. I'm not hungry," he said carefully, fastening cufflinks onto the sleeves of his new shirt, not even noticing the silhouette that appeared in the slightly open doorway.
Draco Malfoy, leaning against the doorframe, stood in the opening. With a gesture, he dismissed the house-elf and quietly watched his son. They had never spent much time together, so these rare moments of simply being near him were something precious and sacred.
"Tippy has a point. The feast isn’t until evening, and stuffing yourself with sweets on the Hogwarts Express—" his calm voice gently cut through the silence.
Scorpius startled and spun around.
"How long were you standing there?"
"Long enough to question your awareness," the elder Malfoy smiled.
"You sneaked up on purpose, didn't you?" he smirked slyly. "Anyway, I don't have any sweets with me, so your moralizing is pointless."
"Don't pretend you don't know I bought you a whole bag of peppermint humbugs," Draco triumphantly pulled a small pouch from the folds of his robes. It smelled of mint and childhood.
This small, silly tradition – a bag of sweets for the journey – had become their bridge across a chasm of silence. After Astoria's death, Scorpius had become not just a son to Draco, but a beacon in an ocean of meaningless existence. Delighting him with such trifles had become a vital need.
Who knew that one day Malfoy would become such a caring father.
"Wimbourne Wasps called again. They're showing interest," Draco said cautiously, loading the words with the weight of unfulfilled hopes.
Scorpius sighed, turning to the window. Quidditch. His father talked about a career, about fame, about a dream that had once been his own and now, like a baton, was being passed to his son. For Scorpius, it was just a hobby – a talented one, but still an escape from reality, not a calling.
"I'm not sure I want to do it for the rest of my life," he murmured, then turned to see his father's reaction. "That was your dream, not mine."
"And yet, you're more successful," a smile of pride, tinged with sadness, was fixed on his face.
"I don't want to discuss it," Scorpius shrugged, abruptly cutting off the topic. He didn't know what he wanted, but it certainly wasn't this.
"How's Albus? Has he recovered?" Draco asked, and Scorpius felt something lurch beneath his mask of calm.
Albus was fine. And for a whole year now, he hadn't spoken to him, hadn't met his eyes in the corridors, hadn't answered his letters. Lying to his father that the incident with Delphi had only brought them closer had long become part of his defensive armour.
"Yeah, he's as fit as a flea. Can't wait to see him," he said, and the phrase held a sliver of truth and a whole universe of lies.
"Well, that's good."
Draco put an arm around his shoulders, briefly, in a manly way, and in that gesture was everything: blind faith in his words, unspoken anxiety, and that complicated love they had only recently learned to share.
***
Vorontsovo Estate. Siberia, Russia.
Sofia Vorontsova stood before massive oak doors, hugging her brother and sister one by one.
"So, all responsibility is on you two now," she said. "And Dad's nerves, as a bonus."
The twins, Vanya and Masha, snorted in unison, identical grins spreading across their faces.
"No, Sonya, you’re taking his nerves with you," Ivan whispered so only the three of them could hear.
"I won't tolerate such talk," their father's booming bass sounded right behind her, making even the walls shudder.
Sofia turned, and her face lit up with a wide smile. She took a step and practically jumped into his arms. Mark Vorontsov hugged his daughter tight and for a second touched his lips to the top of her head. A sparing gesture of tenderness he allowed himself only occasionally.
She was his copy. Not just in features, but with the same steely stubbornness, the same cold fire in her eyes, the same ruthless logic that so often placed them on opposite sides of the barricades. And that infinite, complicated respect that was stronger than any simple affection.
"The day has come," the beginning was promising; the continuation, probably less so. "One year. Exactly one year to appreciate the comforts of home and return, begging for forgiveness."
More precisely, he was giving her a year to "sow her wild oats". She, quietly, was making grandiose plans for all the time after that, seeing this as a ticket to another life, to freedom from expectations and supervision.
"Dad, you know, a year might be a bit short," she said in a deliberately sweet, falsely agreeable tone just to annoy him.
By agreement – she was going with a delegation of three Koldovstoretz students to Hogwarts as an exchange student. And she would return the following year.
According to her father's convictions – she would do something unacceptable to the British by September, and she'd be sent straight back before finishing even a year.
"It's only for one year, I'm so…"
"Let me guess, you're so decided?" she interrupted, and a spark of lively challenge flared in her brown eyes, sweeping away all pretense.
"Sofia, my decisions are not up for discussion. Period."
"Mark, for heaven's sake, stop!" their mother, Elena, intervened, squeezing his wrist in a futile attempt to cool the fervor of the two most stubborn people in her life.
Diplomacy rarely worked when these two clashed in their ritualistic battle. This perpetual argument was their way of communicating.
"So what am I supposed to do with your period now? Decorate my room with it?" Sofia knew exactly which phrase would finally push him over the edge.
She hit her target perfectly.
"Sonya," he said, warningly, almost in a whisper.
But she was faster. Pretending to look at her own wrist, where there was no watch, she made exaggeratedly frightened eyes.
"Oh my god, I'm going to be late! Mum, hurry up, they won't wait for us!"
A quick kiss on her father's cheek, one last tight hug for the twins, and she was scooping up a handful of Floo powder. A moment later, in a swirl of emerald flame, she was gone. Only crackling embers remained in the huge fireplace.
"Devil," Mark swore with genuine admiration, staring at the empty space. He was always amazed at how precisely she reflected him.
His wife just sighed, kissed him on the cheek goodbye, and stepped into the fireplace after her.
The three of them were left alone in the empty hall.
"But Dad, at least your nerves will get a rest," said the smiling boy, glancing at his father.
"No talking in the ranks!" Mark couldn't suppress a slight smile breaking through his stern mask.
The kids immediately, as if on command, saluted, playing the part of model soldiers.
The fear of the unknown hung in the frosty air, thick and tangible. Here, in the family estate, wrapped in layers of protective charms and family traditions, everything was under control, predictable. But out there…