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twilightofthe · 5 years ago

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SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE EPISODE 9 BENEATH THE CUT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

S O . . .

Honestly I’m kinda really glad I spoiled myself for this movie because I got really really upset by the reviews and went in with my expectations basically on the floor, so I was actually able to be pleased and happy with a couple things in the movie, so I will start off with the few things I did like.

I loved the Rey/Finn/Poe dynamic. The actors’ chemistry works sooooo well together and I loved their adventure through the first two acts. You can see how much these guys all genuinely like each other-- even tho the script seems to try VERY HARD to stick Poe and Finn with the worst case of “NO HOMO NO HOMO”-ing I’ve seen in Star Wars since Anakin and Obi Wan in The Clone Wars lol. Seriously, the script is trying so so hard to pick fights between Poe and Finn, but blessed amazing Oscar Isaac and John Boyega manage to play it so the entire conflict reads more like Poe is jealous of Finn’s feelings over Rey, they act it VERY MUCH like quarreling lovers and it is completely 100% the work of John and Oscar and I love these two so much, I owe them my life.

I adore Rey and Finn’s chemistry too, they spend the entire film with Finn desperately worrying over Rey and Rey confiding her worries and fears to Finn and constantly giving each other looks and ugh, I love them so much.

Force Sensitive!Finn!!! Just for a second but it happened! They should have been more blatant but I like that he canonically is!!!

Just in general, I’ve always been a Jedistormpilot shipper, and I feel the ending really leaves that as an open option I will happily take.

The bits with the Resistance and Leia did the best they could with Carrie’s footage. It was choppy and kinda obvious that footage was all they had to work with, but they tried their hardest and given what little they had to work with, I will unhappily accept it and the fact that Leia had little to no role in the story. I’m still really upset about it and her character’s death was so damn anticlimactic, but it was what happened.

Billy Dee Williams was charming and awesome as Lando, I loved seeing him, and he did a wonderful job, even if he was just a nostalgia cameo.

3PO was entertaining as ever! I liked him! They definitely sidelined R2 way too much, but I was glad to see 3PO and I was glad that he didn’t permanently lose his memory! The only thing I was kinda ehhh about was the bit with the dagger and the Sith language because the way he was suddenly able to translate it after not being able to translate it????? Did not make sense at all???????????

Abrams fucking got me with the nostalgia for a second during the Luke Force Ghost scene. I’m sorry, but I was so happy to see that Leia had done a bit of Jedi training then chose to give it up, I loved the callback to Yoda lifting the X-Wing but then Luke’s ghost did it-- COMPLETE WITH THE OG MUSIC!!!!! Mark knocked it out of the park and I just love seeing him.

Same for Ian and Sidious! While I personally did not like the Sidious plot at all and I will expand more on that later, I loved seeing Mr. McDiarmid again and he always just fills me with a bit of glee being his dramatic Palpy self because he’s just as good and as hatable as he’s always been and I thank him for it.

I think that was about it for what I liked, and honestly that was all the work of the talented actors and me being happy to see them pulling off their characters to the best of their abilities. The plot itself??? Ehhhhhhhhhh.....

Look, as I mentioned before, I liked the Jedistormpilot mission. That was fun.

The entire Resistance plot? Way way way too staggered and jumped around too much, not going into detail, felt a lot like it was trying to cram in everything with little payoff and not much emphasis placed on the importance of its plan so the audience really doesn’t get time to register everything that’s happening with them, let alone care about them

Naomi Ackie did a charming job with Jannah, I would have liked it if her entire plot didn’t kinda invalidate Finn’s overall story arc. I get they were trying to say “oh look! Finn’s not alone! There are other ex-stormtrooper rebels! Just like Finn!!!” Instead what it looks like is saying basically that Finn isn’t special, Finn’s defection wasn’t important overall, literally everyone does it, and it means nothing.

(Also going off of this, it really felt like JJ caved to the TLJ hate and totally sidelined Rose, she did like jacksquat in this and I’m mad)

The thing is, I don’t think the Resistance plot and the search for Palpy mission would have been as scattered and rushed and disorganized IF: Rey Palpatine wasn’t a thing, Reylo wasn’t a thing, and Force Ghosts were utilized more.

Look, I was fine with Palpy coming back (on a condition). Someone had to be the big bad and Disney is too worried about toy sales for it to ever be Kylo, so I knew Sidious could work-- provided they brought back the Skywalkers whose stories were intertwined with his and involved them in his ultimate downfall somehow.

I was fine with Rey Nobody. I was a little mad all the Skywalker legacy was going to her without her earning it really, but I figured that if the final film connected her with the Skywalkers properly, it would be fine, she had time to earn it.

Instead, we got little to no Skywalkers-- one Luke scene that meant nothing to the plot, scraped together Leia footage they could only take so far, and a fucking muddled voiceover from the man who Sidious screwed over the most, the one who originally killed him, the one who should have been THERE. Look, I should have known they would never actually bring Anakin back, but dammit, he SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE. HE SHOULD HAVE. This was his story originally, like it or not, and the entire goddamn Sequel Trilogy never so much as said his name, even when they brought back the creep that destroyed his life and he was supposed to give his own to defeat.

Literally no one asked for the Rey Palpatine plot. It made no sense, you feel nothing for her “heroic” parents because you know literally nothing about either of them, the convoluted logic on why/why not Sidious wants her alive makes no sense. His goal makes no sense, it’s confusing, so he wants Kylo to kill her but he also doesn’t, he wants Rey there so she can kill him and he can transfer his life force into her and then he’ll bring the Sith back somehow with all that hooded crowd on the bottom of Exetor??? Where did they even come from?? What happened to the canon saying all the dead Sith were on Korriban? How is Palpy even gonna use Rey to bring back the other Sith???? When can his ghost/zombie corpse/whatever the fuck he is just fucking pull life energy out of people’s chests?

What they should have focused on instead of the timeline devoted to Rey Palpatine was keep Sidious as the threat, keep all his other “raising the dead Sith” stuff-- just move his hidey hole to Korriban dammit --and have all the Rey’s parents plot shift to scenes with her interacting with Luke and Anakin’s Force Ghosts trying to figure out how to take down Palps together once and for all. Let her get adopted into the Skywalker family by the only two who actually carried the name, not just have her randomly take it at the end after interacting with Luke freaking once. She has seemingly close relationships with Leia and Ben, dammit, in that case she should have been Rey Solo or Rey Organa.

Also have Luke’s Force Ghost replace the nonsense with whatever guy Luke was apparently working with to track down Sidious on Exetor-- we never saw all of that and having aaaaaall of that background wordvomited onto us by 3PO at once makes it jarring and confusing and forgettable. Literally just have Luke show up and tell them!!!!

Han’s appearance to Kylo on whatsitsname Endor water moon??? Also should have been Anakin if they really wanted to show Kylo/Ben’s beginning to turn (really it should have been Leia but again I get why they couldn’t) back to the Light via a convo with the dead. Like omgggg let him finally talk to the grandfather he was trying to impress!! The opening was right there???? But nope, Han is there, and I guess whatever he says is suddenly enough to turn him good again???

(THIS ALSO MEANS MY FUCKING FANFIC WAS RIGHT. HAN SOLO IS A FORCE GHOST. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. THAT WAS LITERALLY THE ONE THING I PROCLAIMED WOULD NOT BE CANON. I’M THE NEW ORACLE OF DELPHI BITCHES. WHAT THE FUCK.)

Aaaaand this brings me to the romance. The fucking romance. Look, I’m sorry if you guys all do, I really am, and I respect if you want to unfollow, but I never have been able to stomach Reylo. Ever. I never saw the romance. I saw pain and abuse and one-sided obsession. Check that, I will admit that I always saw some sort of want from Kylo. Adam played him very much being obsessed with having Rey with him for some reason throughout all the films, but it also always played as toxic, and him not knowing what to do with that want, and just lashing out and abusing and forcing himself on her at every turn. It never played as a healthy relationship and it never played like Kylo should be rewarded for it. And this entire film???? I see still no romance???? Like the first half is just Rey being damn furious at Kylo, hating him, literally wanting nothing to do with him. I think another part of it is that I have never in the films seen Rey as having romantic or emotional feelings for Kylo, not ever. Not consistantly. It’s always just been an entire film’s worth of her despising him-- no not in an enemies to lovers UST despising, like actual hate and frustration --and then one singular bizarre scene that sticks out like a wart on a face where she suddenly does a 180 and is soft with him, like in the elevator scene in TLJ or the ending scene of TROS. I wouldn’t even say Rey feels soft for Kylo the first damn time she stabs and kills him before healing him. That to me seems a lot more like guilt to Leia her mentor over stabbing her son, and healing him for Leia’s sake than Rey actually wanting him alive. Maybe that’s just because from what I’ve seen, Daisy isn’t the biggest Reylo fan and just didn’t play it with her heart.

I’m glad Ben was redeemed, after what Sidious put that family through, I would have been upset with the last Skywalker descendant dying in Dark disgrace. But I’ve never been able to like his character really because they never fully let him be evil or an intriguing villain character, but they never showed him as good. I’m sorry, but the comics don’t do it for me either because it seems they’re just trying to slightly alter Anakin’s issues and problems and stick them onto him and go “see they’re the same!” and it just rings fake and irritating for me, and his sudden turnaround does not have the same weight behind it because I don’t even know what he really turned back to the Light for. Was it for Rey? That obsession didn’t look like love. Was it for Leia? We never got to see him speak two words to her. Was it for Han? Possibly?!?! That scene was not clear?!??!?!!?! It sure as hell wasn’t for Anakin or Luke because they weren’t allowed to interact with him at all. His return to the Light made no real sense because there wasn’t a clear motive besides “plot says so” and I Could Not See the logic in Rey suddenly wanting to make out with him, whether he saved her or not. Really the one good thing about it was that their lack of chemistry throughout the film means that if I ignore the fact that that kiss happened, it’s pretty easy to pretend they never got together ;D Plus, that Jedistormpilot hug at the very end tho, like I said, possibilities........

AND ANOTHER THING (god I really am a crotchety old lady), THE ABILITIES OF BEN AND REY TO BRING EACH OTHER BACK FROM DEATH. Rey effortlessly healed a straight saber wound through the gut that has fucking killed multiple trained Force users dead and even more non Force users, healed it in seconds. Now I probably seem like the biggest hypocrite here as I’m planning on having Anakin survive that same exact type of wound in a fic I’m writing (spoilers for those reading it lol but not really, did y’all actually think I was gonna kill him like that xD And that in no means says he’s gonna recover completely...), but the difference is that I’m not having him survive through someone else effortlessly curing the wound. If Ben survived that gut wound by healing himself, using his raw energy that all Skywalkers are supposed to have, I would be able to believe that. Self preservation will to live saved Vader on Mustafar, saved Luke, saved fucking Sidious.

But the matter is, if Rey was so powerful that she could just heal Ben from dying like that, why the fuck in the prequels is Anakin so panicked over his loved ones dying ever? He’s supposed to be the most powerful Force user in existence, more powerful than Rey, shouldn’t he have been able to do that for say, Shmi?? One might argue, “but Rey’s had training!” Who trained her? Leia, who learned from Luke, who learned from Obi Wan and Yoda, neither of whom knew how to fucking do that and pass it down, don’t tell me they did. The other option is that Rey did it untrained on natural talented instinct, which again, in that case, why couldn’t Anakin figure that out? Why didn’t any Jedi? Rey worked off of emotion healing Ben, Anakin should have been able to figure that out too. I will accept Ben’s energy transfer to Rey saving her after she died later as that literally killed him, that makes sense, trading energy at an equal point-- and further canonizes my theory that Sidious was able to steal and drain Padmé’s life energy through her bond with Anakin to save him after he burned, which was the actual reason Pads died in Ep 3. But Rey effortlessly bringing Ben back like that???? I just can’t, that just doesn’t work for canon for me. I’m sorry, but no.

My final issue is the sheer amount of ignoring this trilogy did of the prequels. I’ve already ranted about Anakin not showing up when he should and I will not repeat myself, this rant got long and I’m getting tired, but he should have been there, dammit. He really should have. Luke should have had more screentime. That bit at the end where Rey hears all of the other Jedi’s voices speaking to her??? I’m sorry, but that really does break canon! It was supposed to be only Qui Gon’s line, or those he taught and could pass it down, who could become Force Ghosts, and as delighted as I was to hear Kanan again and Windu and Luminara and everyone else, their voices should not have been there as they are not Force Ghosts! (and this is only partially me whinging over the fact that in my Force Ghost fic I have already stupidly proclaimed that only Qui Gon’s line has become ghosts and now I somehow have to fix that o_o)

(ALSO also the appearance of Ahsoka Tano amongst the voices means that she is dead which means they had the actual audacity to fucking kill her off OFFSCREEN with no explanation which grrrrrr)

One last whine about the romance, everything with Zorri Bliss and Poe seemed really forced and just another way for the script to blare out “HE’S NOT IN LOVE WITH FINN HE’S NOT HE’S STRAIGHT SUPER STRAIGHT LOOK LOOK LOOK”, tho Zorri’s character herself was fun without the forced romance.

Look, overall, I really liked the characters of the sequels, but I felt the plot was really poorly executed, and I really felt that this was not the “Skywalker Saga”. The Skywalkers felt cast aside and put in the background and ignored and totally invalidated. They were my favorites and I feel the narrative let them down and it makes my heart unhappy. It really feels like abusers like Palpatine and Kylo got to win at the expense of their victims, and that really makes my heart unhappy. That’s just my personal feelings. Nothing wrong if you did like it, but it’s just me. I miss my Skywalkers and their happy ending and I probably always will. I probs won’t ever really be satisfied with what happened to them, tho I will work my hardest on it. I guess that’s it.

#WHEW that took a while #like i said just my personal opinions please don't take it as an offense against you guys #morai musings #tros spoilers #tros #the rise of skywalker #the rise of skywalker spoilers #star wars spoilers #sw spoilers #star wars #sw #episode 9 #episode ix #episode ix spoilers

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torestoreamends · 5 years ago

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Mine to Make: Chapter 2

Scorpius is ready to take on the league, and Albus is ready to face someone from his dad’s department. What neither of them are ready for, however, is to see each other for the first time in seven years...

Beta’d by @abradystrix.

N.B. This fic is complete on AO3, so binge read away if you want! Here on tumblr I’ll be posting a chapter every day until it’s all done.

Read it on AO3

II Home

“Hello.”

Albus jumps at the sound of the voice and looks up. There’s a girl standing in the entrance to the shed, grinning at him. She has bright silver hair that shines in the setting sun, and her coat is made of a myriad of glossy feathers that aren’t really black, but a thousand other colours – turquoise and midnight blue and emerald and deep purple.

He frowns at her. “Um... hello?”

She gives a slightly awkward little wave that reminds him a tiny bit of Scorpius, then she laughs and gestures around. “I saw you sitting here,” she says. “I wanted to know if you’re okay.”

Albus looks around at the broom shed and shrugs. Right now he’s fine; he’s out here, but he gets the point. Okay people don’t hide in broom sheds in their parents’ yard.

“I’m alright,” he says. “I like sitting out here. It’s quiet.”

She nods. “Okay. That’s good.” She hangs in the doorway for a second, then she steps forward and reaches out a hand. “I’m Delphi,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Albus takes her hand and shakes it. “Albus,” he says.

Her eyes go wide and she releases his hand, stumbling back a step. “Albus Potter? So Harry is your dad.”

Albus hugs his knees to his chest and nods. “Unfortunately.”

“Oh.” Delphi’s face falls as she looks at Albus. “Is that not a good thing?”

“Not really,” Albus mutters.

She pauses for a second, looking uncertain. She twists her hands together and seems to consider what to say, then she takes a step back toward Albus and sits opposite him on the floor, crossing her legs. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t really like my family either. But I always think that the family you make for yourself is more important than the family you’re born with.”

Albus looks at her for a moment, considering. He thinks about Scorpius, the only person he’d choose to be his family if he could. “I suppose so.”

“You can choose,” she says. “The people you want in your life. If your dad is difficult then... maybe you don’t need him. Maybe you just deserve better.”

Albus frowns, processing that. “Do you actually think that’s true?”

Delphi nods. “Of course it is.”

A slow smile spreads across Albus’s face and he leans toward her. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Accio keys.” Albus directs his wand into the top of his backpack and waits. Nothing. “Accio keys,” he repeats, this time with considerably more force. A faint rattle can be heard somewhere in the depths of the bag, but still no keys come flying out. He sighs, closes his eyes for a moment to try and get rid of some of his frustration, then tries one last time, giving his words as much authority as he can. “Accio keys.” This time, a set of four silver keys come shooting out of the bag, miss his hand by inches, smack him hard on the forehead, and fall with a clatter onto the garden path.

“Ow,” he groans, rubbing his forehead. “Stupid things.” He snatches them up, finds his front door key, and stuffs it into the lock. It’s difficult in the dark, but even after a year away he hasn’t lost the knack, and a moment later his front door swings open to welcome him home.

He picks his bags up and steps over the threshold. There’s a freshness to the air when he inhales. It smells of home. After so long away it’s pure relief, and he closes and locks the door behind himself, shoulders relaxing as he does, because he’s here. He’s safe. He can be entirely himself for a couple of hours.

He kicks his shoes off and pads down the hall to the kitchen, feet sinking into the carpet.

It doesn’t feel uninhabited in here. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere, but that’s not unexpected. His amazing housekeeper, Mrs Peters, has been in twice a week while he’s been away, and it feels like he’s barely been gone. There’s a note on the kitchen table, and he leaves his bags by the door and goes across to read it.

Welcome home.

There are some bits and pieces in the fridge.

It’s good to have you back.

Mrs Peters really is an absolute hero, he thinks as his stomach rumbles at the thought of food. It’s been such a long and busy day – it always is in the lead up to a race – and he hasn’t even had time to think about food until now. If it had been left up to him he’d have had nothing to eat, but now... He opens the fridge and discovers two bowls of pasta salad and a whole lasagne sitting on the shelves among milk and butter and fresh apples. Now he has lasagne, and if that isn’t the perfect homecoming gift then he doesn’t know what is.

If he tried to do magic now he’d burn the house down, so he sticks a slice of lasagne in the oven and leans against the worktop while it heats up, rubbing his shoulder and enjoying the familiarity of his surroundings.

It’s not really a homely space. There are no photos or objects to remind him of the past. There are no memories here. But that’s a good thing. That’s the way he likes it, clean and clinical, with its ruby red (definitely not scarlet) doors on all his kitchen units, the glittering black granite of the work surfaces, all the kitchen utensils perfectly ordered and hanging from hooks on the walls where he can grab them, the Mimbulus Mimbletonia thrumming happily to itself on the window ledge, and his potion-making area set up and stocked with fuel and little bottles of ingredients. It may not be homely, but it’s home, and what’s more, it’s his home.

When his dinner is ready he wolfs it down as fast as he can, far too fast to properly savour it, then he grabs his bags and traipses upstairs. With his hunger attended to, his mind turns to his current biggest problem: tomorrow.

If there was one downside to coming home, back to the UK, then it’s this. When he’s here he’s in far greater danger than he is anywhere else in the world. Here his family have an all-consuming level of fame.

He hasn’t read a newspaper since he got back, but he’s seen the headlines in shop windows and on street corners and he knows his dad is mentioned in almost every single one. The chance of running into his family, or someone who knows them, or even worse, someone who recognises him despite all his attempts to disguise himself, is exponentially greater here, and that sits on him like a dead weight. It’s that jeopardy, that fear, that’s allowed him to stay out of the country for as long as he has. But he doesn’t regret coming home; he really has missed it, and occasionally, somewhere inside the bit of his heart that he tries to forget exists, he does wonder if being found wouldn’t be so bad after all.

One of his favourite things to fantasise about while he was lying awake at night during those long days touring Europe, was what would happen if someone one day did find him. He’s imagined his dad or one of the Aurors hunting him down, or running into his mum out shopping one day. If he closes his eyes he can summon up visions of a tearful reunion, full of hugs and apologies and forgiveness. It’s stupid, he knows, because it would never go like that, especially with his dad, but on his lowest, loneliest days it’s something to hold onto.

He nudges his bedroom door open, drops his bags on the bed, and crosses to the window. Night is falling outside, and the city lights sparkle in the river down the hillside below his house. He’s set high up here, with a view out towards more rolling hills and countryside. Flying almost non-stop for the last seven years has given him a good head for heights, and it’s hard to imagine living somewhere low down, but that’s not why he bought this house on the hillside. He bought it because, even though he can’t see it from here, he knows that somewhere across those rolling hills is Ottery St Catchpole, and if he flew in a straight line from this window, he would reach his parents’ house.

He leans his forehead on the cool glass for a moment and closes his eyes. When he opens them, past the mist of his breath on the window pane, he sees the state of his hair. If there’s one thing that’ll give him away faster than anything else, it’s his hair. The Aurors must have been given his description; everyone in the country probably has his description, and that description will include the words ‘hair like Harry Potter’.

With a heavy sigh he drags himself out to the bathroom. Tomorrow he has to face someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and if any Ministry official is likely to recognise him then it’ll be one of the people from his dad’s department. He can’t put a foot wrong tomorrow, especially where his appearance is concerned. That is, if he even decides to face the person from the Ministry. They could just run. That’s what Delphi wants to do.

He bows his head over the sink and draws his wand, starting to scythe away the overlong strands of hair, trying to get the shave as close to his scalp as he can without cutting himself.

Facing the Ministry would be reckless, he knows it would, but at the same time... If he does this and gets through it he’ll know for sure that his disguise works. Plus he likes it here, he wants to be home, and he can’t stay if there’s no league to race in. Helping to defend it is in his and Delphi’s interest. This is how they make their living after all. If the money doesn’t convince her, nothing will.

Running a hand over his now prickly scalp, he lifts his head to look at himself in the mirror. His hair is a disaster, it always is when he cuts it all off. Every bit of him is a disaster really, so at least the hair matches now.

The potion that changes his eyes to a deep, mahogany brown is starting to wear off, and they’re in the weird, hazel transition stage where his vision is a tiny bit blurred as the effects fade. Then there’s his shoulder, which is prickling again, like it almost always is. He strips his shirt off so he can inspect it, revealing the long, dark, curling tattoos down his arms – from shoulder to mid-forearm on the left and from shoulder to elbow on the right. They’re meant to obscure the scars he’s picked up from two separate accidents while he’s been racing, but he’s learned over the years that Fiendfyre burn scars don’t like to be hidden, and the one on his left arm is standing out as a particularly ugly, ferocious shade of red today.

He sighs and scrubs the heel of his hand against his eyes, then he opens the bathroom cupboard and takes out one of the many jars of burn salve he keeps in there, which he smears across his left shoulder and down his arm. It’s not instant relief, but it helps soothe the prickling pain a little bit, and he exhales as the salve starts to spread a gentle cooling sensation across his skin. He spreads more salve down his right arm, then he puts the jar away, closes the cupboard, and faces himself in the mirror once again.

His exhausted self, with the roughly shaved hair, tired hazel eyes, pierced ears, and scars that are beginning to fade from angry red to pink, stares back at him, and he blinks a couple of times. Things may not be perfect – things are never perfect – but being here helps. And now he’s here he’s not going to leave. Not for a few months at least. Delphi promised a few months. So tomorrow he’ll deal with whatever the Ministry and his dad have to throw at him, then he’ll get on with his life, just the way he’s been getting on with it for seven years.

“The future is mine to make,” he murmurs to himself, running his fingers over the small pair of wings tattooed on his left shoulder blade. Those have always been words he’s clung to, and now they’re more resonant than ever. They’ll get what they want out of tomorrow if they’re smart, sensible, and take control, so that’s going to be the plan of attack. Now he just has to convince Delphi...

In the end, Albus doesn’t have chance to convince Delphi. When he arrives at the training ground the next morning it’s to discover that he’s the first one there and Delphi is nowhere to be found. For a moment he wonders if during his absence the league has found a new training ground and he’s in completely the wrong place, but the fresh scorch marks on the pitch and the blackened Fiendfyre crates lying against one of the walls of the clubhouse tell him that this is exactly where he should be and that everyone else is just late.

He mounts his broom and kicks off from the ground; it’s nice to get a few laps in before the air gets clogged up with people. This was the first training ground Delphi brought him to, when he was still just seventeen years old. He’d been flying for years in secret at school and at home, practicing, getting faster. He found that even if his bullies were also on brooms, they couldn’t catch him. Flying was the perfect, sometimes the only, way to escape, and his desire to disappear from the world manifested in the sort of quiet work ethic that saw him spend hours flying every day, in rain, wind, storms, and snow as much as in sunshine. Still, as good and as quick as he was, nothing could have prepared him for his first visit here – this place gave him a literal baptism of fire. It’s strange to think how familiar it is now, seven years later, familiar enough to almost feel like home.

He banks round the end of the pitch, shoulder grazing the charms put in place to stop anyone who shouldn’t from seeing what they get up to in here. The magic ripples beneath his touch, and a couple of sparks fizz off the barrier and dissipate. He makes a hard left turn in towards the pitch and dives, hurling himself and his broom as fast as he can at the grass below.

The instant before he hits the ground, he pulls up and goes shooting across the pitch, the tips of his toes brushing the overgrown grass. His heart is pounding, and his whole body is alive with exhilarating adrenaline. Flying is so much like falling, except when he’s flying he knows it’s in his power to stop himself before he hits the ground. Flying lets him put himself in terrible danger and also lets him be his own saviour. That might be his favourite thing about it.

He weaves his way across the pitch, then zooms back up into the air for some more laps and dives. It’s not long before he’s joined by other racers and they begin a sort of mid-air ballet of trying to avoid each other’s manoeuvres. Albus survives the next hour unscathed and decides it’s time to take a break. He hovers just off the ground, the tips of his toes barely brushing the tufts of grass, while he takes a long swig from his water bottle. It’s at that point that Delphi shows up.

“Good morning,” she says, coming up from behind him and putting a hand on his back.

He manages not to jump so hard he falls off his broom, but he does dribble water all down his front and spills half the bottle on the floor as he grabs the broom handle for support.

“Delphi,” he gasps, wiping the water from his chin and twisting round towards her.

She grins and moves round in front of him, looking exceptionally pleased with herself. “I hoped I’d find you here. Have you been training?”

“Always. What have you been doing? You’re late.”

She checks her watch and shrugs. “Not that late. Anyway, I had a busy night.” She runs her hand up to his shoulder, and he twitches out of her grip. “You’re here. Does that mean you’ve decided you’re staying?”

Albus puts the cap on his water bottle and drops it onto the pitch. He takes a deep breath and looks at Delphi. “I’ve been thinking about it, and... I really do want to stay. This is home, you know? And I don’t want this league shut down. We can make money here. We’ve always made money here. It would feel strange to leave for good. And you did promise a few months, remember? You promised.”

He’s never been able to read her. He looks at her now, and she’s looking back at him with dark, obscure eyes, her gaze impenetrable. She’s thinking, that’s as much as he knows, and she’s scrutinising him, but he has no way of knowing if he’s said completely the right or completely the wrong thing. At times like this she’s unpredictable and more than a little bit unnerving.

After a few seconds of silence he opens his mouth to appeal to her, feeling like he needs to say something, but she gets there first.

“I agree,” she says. “That we should stay. I think there are opportunities here, and there are a lot of people that I need to meet and that you,” she puts her hand back on his shoulder and squeezes it in an uncomfortably tight grip, “need to meet.” She shoots him a dazzling smile. “I think we have a bright future here, and I’m glad we agree on that.”

Albus stares up into her dazzling eyes, searching for all her confidence and excitement for their future – his future – and when he finds it there he nods and relaxes. If she thinks it’s a good idea to stay then it must be, and it’s so rare for them to agree on something that he’ll take this as a sign. “Okay,” he says. “Good. That’s good.”

“It is,” she says brightly. “But Sev...” She glances over her shoulder then steps in close, leaning up on tiptoe so they’re at exactly matching heights as she lowers her voice. “Be careful. The person coming today is from your dad’s department. Remember what I said about not doing anything stupid. We need to keep you safe; that’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Albus looks down at his knees and nods. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I cut my hair last night, and I took the potion this morning. They won’t recognise me.” He lifts his head and smiles at her. “I barely recognise me.”

Delphi shifts her hand from his shoulder to his cheek, running her fingers gently down to his jaw. “I recognise you. Sev. My star racer.” She leans in and kisses him softly on the corner of his mouth. “That’s all you need to be today. It’s all you ever need to be for me. Just yourself.” She pulls back and looks at him, and he nods, as always too stunned by her proximity and attention to know quite what to say.

“Good boy,” she murmurs, then her hand is gone, fingers trailing the rest of the way down his neck and making him shiver before she pulls it away. “Well, today is going to be a disaster, so I should let you fly while you can. Have fun, but not too much fun. I’ll be in the clubhouse when you need me.” She rolls her eyes. “I can’t quite believe we’re going along with this.” Then she’s gone, leaving Albus to sway back and forth on his broom, brain a little fuzzy, the corner of his mouth tingling.

He reaches up to touch the edge of his lips, then he shakes himself. It still makes no sense to him why he reacts to her this way. They’ve been friends for years now – just friends, and colleagues – nothing more. He doesn’t even especially fancy her these days. Maybe he did once but that’s long passed. But she has this way about her that scrambles his mind and makes him completely stop thinking. She has a power over him that he’s never been able to describe and that she always laughs off. But it’s there – not a problem, of course. It doesn’t worry him. It’s just a strange facet of their relationship that he’s never been able to fathom.

He shakes his head to clear it and reaches down for his water bottle. Most of the contents have already been used to water the ground and the front of his t-shirt, but he downs what’s left and lobs the empty bottle in the direction of the bin. It bounces off, and he goes over to pick it up and throw it away properly before wheeling about and returning to the air, because she’s right. This day really is going to be a disaster, and the more practice he can get in before everything falls apart, the better.

He’s been flying for an hour and a half when it happens. There’s an outburst of noise and kerfuffle over by the gate to the grounds, and when he swings round in mid-air to get a look at what’s going on, he sees a figure in sky blue robes being blocked from entering the grounds by a couple of his fellow racers.

No sooner has he noticed that something’s going on than Delphi sticks her head out of the clubhouse door to see what all the commotion is. He flies down to her.

“The Ministry are here,” he says.

”I can see that. Last chance to leave. Are you sure you want to do this?” She looks at him and there’s a glint in her eye that says she already knows full well what his answer is going to be.

Albus glances in the direction of the crowd by the gates. “Yes, I want to do this. I’ll be careful.”

He hops off the broom and leaves it by the wall, then he rests a hand briefly on Delphi’s arm as he sets off towards the gate.

There’s a swarm of people gathering there now. Racers come flying in from all corners of the grounds, and their brooms among the crowd seem to form an intimidating barbed fence standing out even within the wall of bodies. Albus can sense Delphi trailing behind him as he joins the crowd and starts weaving his way towards the front. He’s too short to see over everyone’s heads, but at least he can hear what’s going on.

“Two points. First point, I’m not here to arrest anyone or cause any trouble, I just want to talk. Second point, more significant point, I have a warrant of entry from the Ministry of Magic, so technically you have to let me in.”

Albus’s heart stops. He knows that voice. He would know that voice anywhere.

“Excuse me,” he says, nudging his way past the person in front of him. “Sorry. Let me- I need to-“ He barges through the crowd without thinking. There’s part of him that’s screaming at him to stop, to run away, to walk as fast as he can in the opposite direction and find somewhere to hide, because this is the sort of danger he’s been terrified of for years. But the rest of him doesn’t care. The rest of him stopped thinking the second he heard that voice, which he’s been missing for seven years.

He bursts through to the front of the crowd, not caring that he’s leaving a disgruntled, elbowed wake behind him, and when he gets there he stops dead and stares.

Scorpius Malfoy has visibly grown up in the last few years. He’s taller, and impossibly skinnier, but he looks surer in his body now. When he was younger he always seemed surprised by his height and the length of his limbs, but now there’s a strength and control, almost a grace, to his movements, like he’s finally grown into himself.

His face has lost the last of its childlike roundness. His jaw is strong and defined, and his cheekbones are sharp. The white blond Malfoy hair shines as bright as ever, almost silver in the summer sunshine, and it’s a touch longer than it used to be, long enough for the soft, stray curls to frame his face and graze the nape of his neck, just about reaching the collar of his sky blue Ministry robes – he works for the Ministry now, for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and even though Albus knows that was never among his ambitions he can’t help but feel the role still suits him. It lends him an authority that’s impressive and not at all surprising. Scorpius Malfoy as a Ministry official feels like the fulfilment of some sort of promise. It feels right.

Albus realises suddenly that he’s been staring with his mouth open. He snaps it shut and swallows hard. His heart is thudding in his chest and his mouth has gone dry. It’s been so long and now Scorpius is here, looking like this: like heaven, like home, and Albus doesn’t know what to do about it.

Except he does know. He knows exactly what to do. What he needs to do is to run and get as far away from here – from Scorpius – as he can. But before he can move, Scorpius turns and looks at him, and Albus finds himself unable to move.

Scorpius doesn’t say a word, but there’s something in his gaze – something sharp and attentive, a slight widening of those eyes that today are the heavy grey of rain clouds – that tells Albus that Scorpius knows exactly who he is.

Scorpius take a step towards him. “What are you-“

“I’ll deal with this,” Albus says, raising his voice so the entire crowd can hear him. “He can talk to me.”

Gareth emerges from the crowds next to him. “Sev... I think we should all talk this through together. You’ve been away for so long, you’re not up on what’s been happening.” He lowers his voice. “There’s safety in numbers here.”

Albus takes a deep breath and nods. “I know, but...” He looks up at Gareth, one of the first people to accept him seven years ago, and he doesn’t know how to explain. It’s always been an unspoken rule that Gareth speaks for all of them, and he has no right to take that away, except...

He draws himself up with all the strength and authority he can muster, trying to stand the way Scorpius is standing, like he has a right to decide what’s going to happen here, and he raises his voice a little so the other racers can hear. “That may be true, but I’m-“ He cuts himself off, not knowing where he was going with that sentence. But I’m his best friend. But I’m his boss’s son. Neither of those things are really true anymore...

“Trust me,” he tries instead. “I know what I’m doing. I can make this go away, I promise.”

The other racers glance at each other, and a murmur sweeps through the crowd as everyone starts discussing what to do. Finally Gareth raises a hand and cuts off the hubbub.

“You’d damn well better do a good job of this, Sev. If you can sort this out, then-“

“I promise I can.”

He nods. “Then get on with it. We’re all counting on you.”

Albus swallows and looks around at the expectant faces of the crowd, wondering if he’s done the right thing here. Then he glances over his shoulder and sees Scorpius standing there, watching him with a perplexed, slightly stunned look on his face, and any apprehension he has melts away in an instant. This is all going to be entirely okay.

“We should get out of here,” he says, turning his back on the crowd and going over to Scorpius. “There’s a nice cafe round the corner. We can go there and talk.”

Scorpius gestures past him, in the direction of the grounds. “But I’m supposed to- I can’t just leave without doing anything.”

“And we can’t talk in here with this lot,” Albus says. “They won’t leave you alone. It’ll be much easier elsewhere...” He pauses, then plays what he hopes is his trump card. “Your iced tea is on me.”

If Scorpius had looked ready to dig his heels in before, now his expression seems to thaw, and a small, glowing smile crosses his face. He sighs and waves a hand. “Fine. Fine! But it had better be a really good iced tea.”

“It will be,” Albus promises, returning the smile. “Come on.” He puts a hand on Scorpius’s arm and is about to guide him out of the gate when he feels a tug on the hood of his jacket that snaps his head back just enough to get his attention. He wheels round to push the person away, but sees Delphi there at the front of the crowd, smiling a dangerously sweet smile, her eyes like daggers of ice.

He deflates. “Give me a second,” he tells Scorpius, then he turns to Delphi and steps in close to her so no one else can hear. “What are you-“

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” She hisses, tone so high pitched she sounds almost hysterical.

“Fixing this,” he murmurs back, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Delphi-“

“This doesn’t look like being safe,” she says, slapping his hand away. “It doesn’t look like being sensible. This looks like a disaster.”

“It’s fine!” Albus says soothingly. “He’s- it’s fine. I promise I’ll be careful. If it makes you happy I’ll be back in time for dinner. I’ll tell you what happens.”

Delphi glares at him, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much animosity in her eyes. Maybe directed at other people, but never at him. “I really really hope you know what you’re doing,” she says, voice low now, and a little bit dangerous. “Albus Severus-“

“I do,” he snaps, cutting her off. “I’m an adult. I can handle myself. I’ll see you later.” He plants a kiss on her cheek despite his burst of irritation (why does she need to be so controlling?) then turns away and waves for Scorpius to go ahead of him out of the gate. “Come on. Let’s go.”

They walk in silence for about a hundred metres down the street before Scorpius stops dead. Albus stops too.

“Are you-“

“It’s you,” Scorpius says, and Albus can hear that his voice is trembling. The smile on his face looks shaky too, like he can’t decide whether he wants to grin or burst into tears.

Albus swallows and nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. “It’s me.”

Scorpius opens his mouth, closes it again, then draws in a very deep breath. “What happened to your eyes?” He asks. “They’re... they’re brown.”

“Oh,” Albus says, twisting round to look at himself in the window behind him. “I-I suppose they are. It’s a potion.”

“A potion,” Scorpius says dubiously. “Why? The green is so...”

“It’s supposed to stop people knowing who I am,” Albus says.

Scorpius hesitates for a moment, then grins. “Well it’s not done a very good job, has it? You can’t wear that-“ he tugs gently on one of the white strings of Albus’s favourite green hoodie “-and not expect people to recognise you.”

Albus folds his arms and lifts his chin. “It’s worked for seven years, hasn’t it?”

Scorpius considers for a moment, then shrugs. “Touché. You mentioned iced tea?”

Albus smiles. “I did.”

They start walking again, and as they do they keep glancing at each other. Twice Albus catches Scorpius looking at him, and their eyes meet. For some reason Albus’s cheeks feel very hot, and the day may be warm but it’s not that warm.

“Was she your girlfriend?” Scorpius asks after a few paces. “You know, the one with the-“ he makes a wriggling motion with his fingers over his head.

“Who? Delphi?” Albus looks across at him and pulls a face. “No, definitely not. She’s more like my...” He trails off, not sure he knows what word he’s looking for. Delphi’s relationship to him is undefinable. She’s a friend, a confidant, a sister, a manager, and a teacher all rolled into one. Who she is to him is too much to explain in a word. She’s been everything to him. “She’s Delphi,” he says with a shrug. “But I don’t... she’s not my type.”

Scorpius frowns and looks down at the ground. “But you-“

“It’s just something we do,” Albus says, not sure why he feels such a desperate urge to explain that fact. “It doesn’t really mean anything. It’s... it’s weird I suppose. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know why he apologises either; it just feels like the right thing to do. Scorpius nods and bows his head as they keep walking in silence.

Albus notices that now they’re not in front of the crowd anymore Scorpius’s posture has crumpled. He’s lost all the authority from his stance, and now his shoulders are hunched, his head down. He looks small, and a little bit lost, especially inside those sky blue robes that suddenly seem far too big for him, and are definitely far stiffer than any of the clothes Albus thinks of as being the sort of thing Scorpius feels comfortable in.

“So you work for the Ministry now,” Albus says softly. “For- for, you know...”

“A very very, very junior official,” Scorpius says, with this little twisted smile that looks like it hurts, although Albus can’t fathom why. “But yes, an employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And you’re an illegal broom racer.”

“It’s a job,” Albus says, and Scorpius’s difficult, painful smile melts into a real one.

“That’s one word for it.”

They reach the cafe, and Albus holds the door open for Scorpius to go in ahead of him. While Scorpius weaves between the chairs and tables, making a beeline for the squashy sofa in the corner, Albus pauses and watches him.

This feels like a dream. Scorpius Malfoy, his best friend, who he hasn’t seen in years, is right in front of him, about to have coffee with him, and he can’t believe it. This is a fantasy. This is one of his midnight imaginings coming true. It can’t be real. But then Scorpius flumps down on the sofa, arms flopping to either side, head dropping against the back cushion, relaxing into it, and he turns his head and smiles at Albus, a warm, bright smile, and Albus’s insides flutter. This is so real. Why did he run away from this? This is wonderful.

Albus orders the drinks and joins Scorpius at the table, sinking into the equally squashy armchair opposite him, and they begin to talk.

They talk about nothing in particular. They talk about iced tea, and how nice the loaves of bread they’re selling behind the counter look, and then they talk about Albus’s favourite bakery in Paris, and Scorpius asks about Europe so Albus sketches round the details of that. Not once do they talk about broom racing or the Ministry or the seven year chasm in their friendship. In fact it feels to Albus as if he’s never been away; Scorpius is as easy to talk to as he’s ever been.

There’s a sort of bright, humorous breeziness to everything Scorpius says. He’s full of positivity and light, the way he always has been. It makes it easy for Albus to steer clear of talking about any of his hardships, or any of the darkness in his life. It’s not that he normally talks about those things, he avoids it at all costs, but usually the not talking aches, like there’s so much inside him that he wants to get out but can’t that he feels like he might burst. But with Scorpius it’s as if the bad things simply don’t exist. Scorpius is like a ray of sunshine through a window on a summer’s day, chasing the shadows away and making everything feel warm and bright.

“Did I tell you my dad bought more peacocks?” Scorpius asks after two hours of chatter, stirring the ice cubes left at the bottom of his tea with a straw to make them melt faster so he can drink them.

Albus grins and downs his third shot of espresso. He’s buzzing with giddy happiness, and he can’t tell anymore if it’s the coffee or just Scorpius’s presence.

Scorpius nods. “He did. Without telling me. I came home from work one day and this enormous, iridescent bird was sitting right outside the front door, refusing to let me in.” He leans back in his seat and shakes his head. “They really do have a vendetta against me. But at least the new ones are colourful, not those awful, creepy white things grandfather had.”

“You know,” Albus says, setting his coffee cup down. “There were nights where I’d lie awake wondering how you’d have changed over the years, but you really haven’t.”

“Whereas you’ve changed everything,” Scorpius says, gesturing to him. “Your hair, your eyes, your name...”

Albus doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he wipes his finger round the inside of his coffee cup to pick up the last dregs of his espresso, while Scorpius noisily sucks up the last bits of melted ice cube through his straw.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Albus asks after a moment of silence. “There’s a really nice park round the corner. I don’t want to- I mean we haven’t even talked about the legal stuff yet. We should do that at some point.”

“We should,” Scorpius agrees. They get up, clear their table, and start walking.

It’s a warm day and the sun is high in the sky above them as they head off along the river beneath leafy trees. Albus rolls the sleeves of his hoodie up to his elbows but it’s not warm enough to need to take it off. Twice their hands brush together as they stroll side by side, and they both murmur apologies and shift apart. In the end it’s Albus who breaks the silence.

“So how did you end up working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? I thought you always wanted to be an Unspeakable.”

Scorpius turns his head away and gazes down at the river burbling gently along beside the path. He seems to hesitate for a moment, then he glances up at Albus and a shaft of sunlight through the trees illuminates his face, making it glow peachy bright, his eyes like slivers of pure silver. “Your dad owed me a favour,” he says.

Albus frowns. “My- What for?”

Scorpius’s smile does that painful, twisted thing again. “You don’t read the papers, do you?”

“I try to avoid it,” Albus says. “For, you know, obvious reasons.”

Scorpius nods. “I recommend keeping it that way.”

Albus scrutinises him carefully, but there’s nothing there to read. He’s as impenetrable right now as Delphi at her best. That must be something else he’s picked up from Draco over the years.

“So now you’re a Ministry official,” he says, knowing that pushing the subject will get him nowhere.

“I am,” Scorpius says. “And you’re an athlete.”

Albus laughs. “I suppose I am, but-“

“You’re Sev,” Scorpius continues. “The most fearless and fearsome illegal broom racer around.”

“I-“

“You’re successful,” Scorpius says, ticking it off on his fingers. “You’re driven. You’re almost unbeatable. From what I’ve heard you’re not finding it difficult to make a living. I’ve read your case file.”

“I- I have a case file?” Albus asks, stopping dead and looking at him. “What does it say?”

Scorpius shrugs. “Pretty much just that. There are photos too, but-“ He holds a hand up when Albus opens his mouth to interrupt. “Don’t panic. No one would know it’s you.”

Albus snaps his mouth shut and considers that for a moment. “Did you?” He asks. “Know it was me? Before you came?”

Scorpius shakes his head. “I thought Sev looked familiar, but I didn’t realise how I recognised him. And then I saw you, and- You’re you. You’re so very you. You can change the colour of your eyes and cut your hair, but you can’t change who you are.”

“Can I see you again?” Albus asks sharply, without thinking first. He turns and looks right at Scorpius as the question spills out. “It’s been seven years. It’s been too long. I didn’t mean to stay away for such a long time. I just...” He trails off, shaking his head, not sure what his excuse is.

“You’ll see me again,” Scorpius says, looking straight ahead down the shadow dappled path. “You’re part of the league I have to shut down. I’m not going to go away.”

Albus swallows. “I mean can I see you again away from the league, away from your work? I didn’t realise how much I missed talking to you.”

“I missed you too,” Scorpius whispers, almost too quietly for Albus to hear. He turns and looks at Albus, and there’s something in his eyes that makes Albus want to reach out and hug him, to start trying to bridge the gap that seven years apart, that Albus’s running away, has torn between them. “I want to think about it,” he murmurs. “I need to think about it.”

“I-“ Albus digs his hands into his pockets and tries not to let it look like his heart has just been shattered. “Okay. I-I understand.”

“And I need you to know,” Scorpius continues, tone strengthening now he’s started speaking, making it sound as though he’s trying to get all the difficult things out of the way in one go. “I need you to know that I have to shut down the league. Whether you’re part of it or not. I really need to do this, Albus. You can’t stop me, I’m sorry. It’s my job and I... I really need to do it well.”

For some reason that doesn’t hurt nearly as much as Scorpius needing time to think about seeing him again, so Albus just nods. “Okay.”

“It’s getting late,” Scorpius says, interrupting the slightly awkward beat of silence that follows. He gets his watch out and his eyes widen. “Shit, it’s getting really late, I didn’t realise. I need to get back to the office, and then home. My dad will be worrying about already. I need to-“

“Do you still live at the Manor?” Albus asks.

Scorpius nods and tucks his watch away. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry, Albus, I have to go now. And don’t you need to go and meet-“

“Delphi,” Albus groans. “I do. I forgot.”

“So we should...” Scorpius gestures over his shoulder down the path, and Albus nods in agreement, but neither of them move. They just stand there beneath the trees, in a warm shaft of evening sunlight, and look at each other.

“Do you have a quill?” Albus asks finally.

Scorpius frowns. “A quill? Yes, of course I-“

“And parchment?”

Scorpius nods. “Yes, but-“

“Can I borrow them?” Albus asks, holding a hand out.

Scorpius gives him a long, perplexed look, then pulls his parchment and quill out of a pocket. “It’s self-inking, so-“

Albus takes them and scribbles his address on the top corner of the parchment. “This is where I live,” he says, handing it back to Scorpius. “So you can find me. Visit me, call me, Owl me, whatever, whenever. If you want.”

Scorpius hovers his hand over the parchment for a moment looking stunned. “Albus...” He says softly. “Albus this is a really bad idea.”

Albus grins. “I’m full of bad ideas. I’m me. Go on, take it.”

Scorpius takes hold of the parchment and stares down at it. “I mean it, Albus. You shouldn’t give me this. There’s... there’s a 100,000 Galleon reward for finding you, and you’ve just... If the wrong people find this... You don’t want to be found, do you?”

“I do,” Albus says, then realises what he’s said and shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t. No. Of course not. I- You’re a Malfoy though. You don’t need the money. You won’t- Will you?”

Scorpius looks up from the paper and there’s a terrifying pause before he speaks. “No,” he says. “I won’t, but Albus... what if someone sees it?”

Albus casts around for a solution to his stupidity. “Memorise it,” he says. “Then eat it. Burn it? Burning it is more sensible, do that. I mean you can eat it if you want, but it probably won’t taste very good. What does parchment even taste of?”

“You’re an idiot,” Scorpius tells him. He looks down at the parchment and falls silent. For several seconds he reads and mouths along with the words. There’s something wonderful about seeing Scorpius painstakingly learning every letter of his address. With every syllable and sound his lips form, every breath of the familiar street name that Albus hears him speak, it feels more and more like Albus has company. It feels like he’s being found, in the best possible way.

Finally Scorpius draws his wand and looks up at Albus. He recites the address once through, perfectly, and when Albus nods, Scorpius waves his wand and the parchment goes up in flames. Scorpius drops it onto the concrete path and they watch it curl up and turn into a little pile of ash, until the flames finally extinguish, and the incriminating words are gone.

“Thank you,” Scorpius says, when there’s nothing left except smoke and memory.

“What for?” Albus asks.

“For making sure you can’t run away again.”

“Not from you at least,” Albus says softly. “Never from you. It wasn’t about you in the first place.” He reaches out a hand towards Scorpius, then thinks better of it and clenches his fist, letting it fall to his side. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Scorpius looks him in the eyes and nods. “See you tomorrow.”

#Harry Potter and the Cursed Child #Cursed Child #Cursed Child fic #Scorbus fic #Scorbus #Scorpius Malfoy #Albus Severus Potter #Delphini Diggory #HPCC Fic #Keep The Secrets #My writing #Mine to Make #Mayhem to the nth degree

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sylphidine · 6 years ago

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I think I’m probably the only person on Tumblr who actually likes the new darker background and brighter lettering, but then again I’m legally blind and the contrast helps me.

IT DOES NOT MAKE UP FOR THE FACT THAT THEY CAN’T GET RID OF THE FREAKIN’ PORNBOTS.

I tried to do the Phase Three weeklong Tumblr logoff that started yesterday. I really tried. I didn’t even last until noon.

Some moody and whiney stuph, fueled by a particularly persistent, prolonged, and nasty anxiety attack, below the cut.

I am still shambling my way through investigating the other platforms that “opened up” [meant sarcastically, they existed before December 17, 2018, I just didn’t use them]. Links to those accounts below, with accompanying thoughts.

Sylph on Twitter - https://twitter.com/sylphidinegall1 I really do not like Twitter, it kicks my sensory overload into high gear and makes me incredibly anxious. I am finding I am only using it to follow one or two of my earliest Tumblr mutuals who have made it their main base, so I don’t lose them completely. [My anxiety about losing people is at an all-time high right now, but that’s fodder for an entirely different essay.]

Sylph on Dreamwidth - https://sylphidine.dreamwidth.org/ Better, due to it being a familiar platform to me because of all the time I spent on LiveJournal. The old guard RotG fans seem to have abandoned it, but I’m reconnecting with the BLAKE’S 7 community there, and ironically that’s helping me firm up more of my RotG and NDU stories. Pitch Black and Kerr Avon are distinctly cut from the same cloth. I fell for Pitch as hard as I did precisely because he reminded me of B7′s Avon.... snark knight nonpareil. Nevertheless, BLAKE’S 7 will always lag behind RotGoC/NDU for me, because I have never been tempted to create fan content for B7 except in the context of a crossover with the Guardians and Pitch.

Sylph on Pillowfort - https://www.pillowfort.io/sylphidine Again, not liking it much. Not for the sensory overload factor, but because I can’t seem to FIND anything there. For something that supposedly has 70,000 users, it still feels like a ghost town, and its search functions seem neither intuitive or user-friendly.

Chats and livestreams - The only chats I am currently using are sylphidinegallimaufry at gmail dot com and Sylphidine#0173 on Discord. Usually not able to get in on livestreams unless the stars align and technology works.

Facebook - I am not Sylph on Facebook. I have to be my professional self on Facebook and keep it separate from fandom doings.

WordPress - I tried five different ways of importing my Tumblr onto WordPress and nothing worked, even with helpful advice and steps showing me how. So probably not going to be using that.

Which leaves me stuck with Tumblr and AO3 for my fandom expression, and occasional crossposting on Dreamwidth.

Hypocritical, mercenary, bloody-minded and thick-headed Tumblr. I want to be able to protest, to be high-minded, but I just don’t have the energy. I am already terrified of losing people... watching them slip away to other fandoms, get busier with offline life, etc.... the usual six-year half-life that I’ve seen from every social media platform I’ve ever been on, from the Prodigy bulletin boards of the mid-1990′s, to the Delphi and Beehive forums of the late 1990′s/early 2000′s, to ProBoards and LiveJournal.

I do get it, and know how self-centered I sound. Nobody owes it to me to be here on Tumblr. You are not here to amuse me. Those who have to go elsewhere out of principle... all I ask is that you leave some way of staying in touch.

#just bleeding personal stuph ALL OVER today #tumblr logoff protest

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rosesisupposes · 6 years ago

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Destined, part 9

aka An Unexpected Reminder, aka Crashing into the Passt aka Sorry, Didn't Ssee You There

Character Tags: Virgil/Anixety ; Patton/Creativity ; Patton/Morality ; Logan/Logic ; Remy/Sleep ; Dante/Deceit

Chapter Pairings: Slight Anxceit

Chapter Warnings: descriptions of violence, Deceit,

Reader Tags: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @sanderssidesfanblog @bewarethegrammarpolice

Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.

<<Chapter 8 | Masterlist | Chapter 10>>

Read on Ao3

Virgil left coffee shop distracted, thinking about his new friends. There are some things you don’t need to be a Sage to predict, he thought. Even if Logan and Patton apparently both had managed to be entirely unaware of the other’s feelings. He didn’t want to push Patton, especially when the baker was so convinced of Logan’s lack of regard - but if the scientist were to make the first move, wouldn’t they both be that much happier?

Absentmindedly looking up at the clouds as he planned, he entirely forgot to look where he was walking.

“Ow!”

He crashed straight into a well-dressed man walking in the opposite direction and fell hard on his rear.

“Wha- I’m so sorry – are you hurt?” Virgil stammered, looking up into mostly brown eyes. Was that a trick of the light, or were those golden streaks?

“Not at all- barely felt a thing,” the stranger said breezily. “Here, let me asssist you.”

Before Virgil can react, the stranger pulled him up by both hands. Skin met skin, and Virgil’s power sprang to life without his bidding. A rush of possibilities flooded his brain, laced with the thrill and fright of familiarity. Shocked, Virgil pulled his hands back the minute he got to his feet.

“Um, sorry again, hope you’re alright, uh, have a good one,” he said, stumbling over his words and feet as he quickly walked on, pulling up his hood. It was him. The sorcerer, the one whose destiny he wished he could have never been part of. He was here, and Virgil had just seen his fate.

Somewhere behind him he heard an exclamation of surprise and confusion. But he couldn’t risk turning around. He had immediately recognized a fellow magic being on contact - what if the sorcerer had done the same?

Too distracted to sort through the choices on the street, he practically sprinted home. Reaching his apartment building, he checked the street and confirmed that there were no visible sorcerers anywhere near. He slipped inside, threw down wallet and keys, and immediately began to meditate on the couch.

Breathe in for four counts. Hold for seven. Out for eight. Four... Seven... Eight...

He concentrated on the possibilities he’d seen. They were tangled threads thanks to how unprepared he’d been, and it had been a while since he’d used his power. But the visions never lied, couldn’t lie, no matter how rusty he got. He shuddered. The sorcerer did not mean well for this world. So many of his choices’ outcomes were desolate, hopeless, and horrific.

So why did Roman keep appearing in them?

Flashback to: 1500s CE, a rocky island in the northwest

Zephyr was really regretting coming out of retirement.

When his last body had finally aged to the point of death, he’d thought fondly of the only destinies he’d given in that lifetime. Maybe he could leave the woods for the next lifetime, and practice his power again.

It had taken all of one destiny before he remembered why he’d hidden himself deep in the Harz in the first place.

The view was nice, at least. He’d watched the world from the ether, looked north and west, and found this beautiful grotto on a rocky shore. When he stepped out from behind the stone outcroppings concealing the entrance, he could see up the rolling foothills into the highlands beyond. This country felt just a bit more accepting of magic folk - the fae were still widely respected, and despite their dwindling numbers, the local humans were fiercely proud of ‘their’ dragons. When he felt the urge, Zephyr could find others who understood just a bit better what life was like with magic running in your blood.

He sighed, and brushed his white-blond hair out of his eyes. A futile effort with the sea breeze coming from this direction, but he tried all the same. His hair in this form was longer than it had been in several lifetimes. He’d considered coming back as a she or they this time, but ultimately, he was what felt the most true. Just as no matter his form, he was most attracted to masculine or masculine-presenting humans, fairies, or any other humanoid race. Some things, like his magic, were apparently innate.

It was cold today, as it usually was, but at least it wasn’t as snowy as that shack on White Mountain. That had been his worst idea ever. Yes, it was great branding to be the wise old man hidden among snowy peaks, but the yetis had been such a bother, always trying to destroy his shack or harass his Seekers. Here in the highlands, at least, he could communicate with all the magical creatures he encountered in feelings and thought if not words.

Not that he had much, recently. Being a new Sage was always a struggle. Building up a reputation in order to get more Seekers to find you took years. He sighed and walked through an apparent wall of rock into his home. Years of rumor-spreading and self-promotion was stressful. He hoped it paid off soon.

No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than a call on the beach summoned his attention.

He let the enchantment on the rocks fall as the caller entered the grotto.

The dark-haired man’s face was lit by a magelight in the palm of his hand. Sparkling yellow flames lit a face that Zephyr could have sworn he’d seen carved on a marble statue back in the day. Dark brown eyes revealed a flashing streak of gold as the stranger straightened. Black hair, perfectly coiffed in a jaunty wave, flopped gently above cheekbones that could slice a feather in midair. His dark cloak was pushed back to reveal a black tunic elegantly embroidered in gold.

Ohhh, I am in trouble.

He stood to greet the beautiful man, calling out “Welcome, Seeker. I am the Sage Zephyr.”

“Greetings, Sage Zephyr. I am Dante the Golden,” the man replied with a crooked smile.

Well, this has been a nice life, Zephyr thought deliriously. Bit on the short side, it having been only about 20 years, but at least Zephyr was dying happy, slain by the most elegant man he’d ever seen in his lives. Either that, or several centuries of solitude had really gotten to him.

The sorcerer, or maybe wizard (Zephyr had never bothered to learn the difference: they were men who did magic) let the flames in his hand fade, and draped his cloak on a dry stone. He let Zephyr gesture him to a seat by the Sage’s stone bench while tea brewed on enchanted fire.

“I must say, I’m very impressed by the hospitality. One always hears of the quests undertaken to learn one’s destiny - they never mention the charming host,” Dante said with a casual smile.

If he kept beaming that delicious smile, Zephyr was going to lie and tell him his destiny was to stay in this grotto and smile at him for the rest of his days. Maybe this was just nerves about his first divining in several centuries. He’d try to focus on that, regardless. Being coherent was definitely a requirement to be a functional Sage.

“I’m heartbroken to hear my efforts have been wasted. Though perhaps it is my brethren darkening our collective reputation,” Zephyr managed to reply.

“Speaking of your brethren - can I ask about Sage magic? It’s rather a fascination of mine, well, one of them anyway,” the sorcerer said, accepting a mug of hot tea.

“That does depend on what you would like to know. By our Law, there are some secrets we must keep.”

“That’s just it, actually,” Dante said, eyes lighting up. “The Sages’ Law. From what my research has told me, the Law is not like most laws of magic, in that it is not a physical limitation on the very bounds of ability itself, but rather a custom. A code of conduct of sorts, binding only so far as each Sage chooses to be bound.”

Zephyr nodded, pale hair falling across paler eyes. “Yes, that’s largely true. In the moment, there is little that can stop any individual Sage from flouting our conventions. However, we are all of single kin or race, and there are internal ways of enforcing the rules. If a rule-breaker is particularly unlucky, one of our number may be observing them from the ether and be able to intervene before they even attempt to flout the Law. The luckiest miscreant may get away with it for some short number of years. There is no fleeing entirely from justice. Sooner or later, each of us will return to the ether, and once there, the collective power of all Sages is absolute over any individual.”

“That is fascinating. Is there a discrete list of what can or cannot be done with the power of the ether?” the sorcerer asked eagerly. “Are there any absolute rules?”

“Only the invocation is absolute. After the fall of Delphi, when the Law was made, those words were imbued with the very force of the ether itself. To refuse such a request,” Zephyr shuddered, “even I am not sure the exact punishment, but it is surely terrible.”

Dante pondered this for a moment. “I wish there was history stretching back to the first Sage. Records I have found barely reach back to the third century. But I suppose I can understand wanting to keep some secrets safe. Thank you, Zephyr, for indulging me. May I interrupt this with my own invocation?”

There was that smile again. Zephyr had never been so taken with someone so quickly. “Of course. You are the Seeker, after all.”

The elegant man cleared this throat and spoke. “Sage, I entreat you, tell me my destiny.”

“Seeker, to know your destiny is to be bound by it. Are you prepared to risk your future?”

“I am.”

“Then give me your hands, and prepare to be bound.”

Zephyr clasped both the man’s hands, half-expecting to feeling a jolt of attraction.

Suddenly, he smells the acrid scent of burning hair and meat over the familiar tang of seawater. Screams fill his ears. His vision is filled with a dark night, lit up with flames. Houses and castles alike are burning. And there is Dante, above it all, soaring through the air. He is suspended in flight by the very power of heat. The Golden is an appropriate moniker, bedecked as the sorcerer is in the precious metal, lit up by the blaze that has made his enemies melt below his feet. A slim and twisted rod, coated in a metallic substance that shifts colors under his slim hands, guides blasts of power to engulf the few remaining structures. Dante curls his lip in triumph over the last rebellion against his absolute rule.

Cassandra’s mercy. The man was as twisted inside as he was beautiful without.

But there was a future without darkness. Zephyr also saw a near miss, defeat at the hands of an unassuming fire sprite. And the turning point? Ah. The theft of a magic staff, brought to an ancient stone altar - one dedicated to the old gods of the fire sprites. Accidental timing, and just a hint of gumption, and the crisis could be averted.

“When the wood lays with stone, the world will turn to Flame,”he intoned, opening his eyes.

The sorcerer’s beautiful lips curved into a predatory, triumphant grin. He couldn’t hear the capital letter. But Zephyr knew. He just hoped it would be enough.

#aka hiss hiss motherfather #destined #fanfic #writing #tw deceit #fantasy au #modern fantasy au #the plot she thiccens

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dumbledearme · 6 years ago

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chapter four—into the woods

read Child of Land and Sea here

Act I — Storm At Sea

Part IV — Everything's newer, and brighter and bluer, and truer to life than before. Watch me soar.

Andy had never been so blue.

Just when she had started to feel accepted, she was moved (or removed) to cabin three where she was sentenced to be alone. The other campers steered clear of her as much as possible.

The only one who seemed to like Andy more, and dedicated her more of his time, was Luke. He pushed her harder and harder during each of their lessons. And, boy, he wasn't afraid to bruise her up in the process…

"You're going to need all the training you can get," he promised.

Anthony still taught her Greek in the mornings, but he grew more distant everyday. Every time Andy spoke, he would scowl at her like a mad grandpa. Even Clarisse kept her distance, though it was clear she still wanted revenge.

At night, Andy was summoned at the Big House and Chiron, surprisingly, offered her a quest. "Poseidon and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt.

Andy laughed, nervously. "A what now?"

"Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives. Zeus' master bolt. The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheared the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs—"

"Okay, I get it," Andy interrupted with a nod. "It's powerful. It's important. It's missing."

"Stolen," Chiron said.

"By whom?"

"By you." Andy's mouth fell open. "At least, that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."

"But I didn't—"

"Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the maker's of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt, and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure of was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Until he claimed you."

"Okay. First of all, he can't claim me, I'm not a goat!" Andy exclaimed. "And also, I've never been to Mount Olympus... As a matter of fact, I don't even know where that is... Look, I didn't do anything. You know that, right?"

Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon returns the bold by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. Neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war."

"So I have to find the stupid bolt? And return it to Zeus?"

"What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the daughter of Poseidon return Zeus' property?"

Andy failed to see why she had to do something for Poseidon. It wasn't like he had ever done anything for her... She owed him nothing.

An image came to her. World War II, they had said. Massacre. Slaughter. Millions and millions of people dead because of a similar childish strife. Someone had to do something, right? It wasn't fair that the innocent always had to pay the price.

"Fine," she decided. Weird how it was so easy to agree to this because of people who meant nothing to her and, at the same time, so hard because of the one who meant everything. "But if Poseidon doesn't have it... where is the thing?"

Chiron's expression was grim. "I heard a prophecy years ago... But before I can tell you, you need to take up the quest. Go see the Oracle."

A mummy. That's what it was. A disgusting, ancient mummy that sent chills up Andy's spine. The moment Andy entered the attic, she heard the mystical voice. "I am the spirit of Delphi, speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach, seeker, and ask."

Andy swallowed hard. "I was just wondering... Where is the bathroom?" The mummy remained resolute. It was now or never. "Fine. Then... what is my destiny?" She heard herself say.

The verdict wasn't the best she'd heard:

"You shall go west, and face the god who has turned. You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned. You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend. And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end."

"Cheery," said Andy and went back downstairs after slamming the attic door shut.

Chiron and Grover asked and asked, but Andy refused to share the entire prophecy with them. She only told them the first two verses. The part about failing... well, how could she tell them there was no point to all of this? That she would fail anyway? No, they couldn't know.

Chiron didn't seem convinced and warned her, "The Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much."

But if she wasn't supposed to trust the Oracle, why did they need the thing anyway?

Andy changed the topic. "Where do I go? Who's this god in the west?"

"First you need to think," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in war, who stands to gain?"

She shrugged. "Somebody else who wants to take over?"

"Quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."

"Hades."

Chiron nodded. "The Lord of the Dead. You must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."

She shook her head. "Oh I feel used. Why do I have to do this? Why do the gods need to operate through humans? Why can't they talk it out like adults?"

"It is no accident Poseidon has claimed you now. He needs you."

"Yeah? What about the times I needed him?"

Chiron watched her silently. Andy didn't know whether to feel happy, grateful or resentful. She glanced at Grover who was trembling.

"You don't have to go," she told him. "I can't ask that of you."

"You saved my life, Andy," the satyr said. "If you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let you down."

Andy felt so relieved she almost cried. "Alright, then. Now where the hell is the Underworld? Literally."

"Always in the west," Chiron said. "Los Angeles."

"Ha ha." She waited. "Oh. You mean it."

"Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other has already volunteered, if you will accept his help."

"Who?" Andy asked, hoping for Luke. The air shimmered behind Chiron and Anthony became visible. Andy made a face. "Ah."

"I've been waiting a long time for a quest, Seaweed Brain," he said. "Athena's no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up."

Andy tried to hide her disappointment. "As long as you have a plan, Wonder Boy. I haven't made plans since I went to this stupid costume party dressed as a stuffed olive. I dyed my head and neck red—that was the stuffed pimento bit. I thought it was absolutely hilarious, until I tried to get out of my bedroom. I had to go down the stairs sideways. Then I couldn't fit in my mom's car so I had to walk. And when I got to the party everyone laughed. I did a bit of stuffed olive dancing until I nearly destroyed every ornament and bit of furniture in the place. In the end, I went home early—"

"We get it," Anthony snapped.

"I doubt it. Unless you've been a stuffed olive too...?" and she glanced at him expectantly.

Anthony didn't trouble himself to answer.

Andy didn't have anything to take with her but the backpack Chiron stored for her. Anthony was bringing his magic Yankee cap—which he told Andy had been a twelfth birthday present from his mom—a book on famous classical architecture and a long bronze knife, hidden in his shirt sleeve, that he seemed to carry everywhere. Some people had teddy bears, some had knives…

To Andy's surprise, he also came up with a cool leather jacket that he gave to her saying the weather could change drastically. She was strangely pleased with it. Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human, and his backpack was filled with scrap metal and apples. He also carried a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him.

Before they left, Luke came to say goodbye. Andy's cheeks reddened and she blushed even more when she realized Anthony had noticed the change. "Just wanted to say good luck," Luke told her. "And I thought... um, maybe you could use these." He handed Andy a pair of basketball shoes.

"Not exactly my style, but thank you."

He smiled and said, "Maia!" White bird's wings sprouted out of the heels.

"Awesome," said Grover.

"Those served me well when I was on my quest," Luke said. "Gift from Dad."

Andy didn't know what to say and felt extremely uncomfortable with the look Anthony was giving her. "Thank you."

"Listen, beautiful," Luke's tone softened. "A lot of hopes are riding on you. So just... kill some monsters for me, okay?" And he hugged her. Actually hugged her! Like, passed his arms around her and applied pressure.

Luke also hugged Anthony. "I will see you again, brother," he said before leaving.

Andy watched him go. Anthony leaned over her. "You're hyperventilating," he said, but he wasn't making fun of her, he was almost pissed off about it. "And you can't use those," he added taking the shoes away from her. "He meant well, but you shouldn't go in the air." And he handed the sneakers to Grover who put it on almost immediately.

Then Chiron showed up to say goodbye and to Andy's surprised he presented her with his ballpoint pen. "The sword has a long and tragic history," he told her. "It's name is Anaklusmos. Riptide. Celestial bronze, see? It can't harm mortals, only monsters." Chiron also told her that every time she lost the pen/sword it would magically reappear back in her pocket!

Argus drove them to the city. He was the head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body so he could never be surprised. Luckily, due to his clothes, Andy couldn't know how much of that was actually true.

"So far so good," she said. "Ten miles and not a single monster."

Anthony gave her an irritated look. "It's bad luck to talk that way, Seaweed Brain."

"Remind me again—why do you hate me so much?"

"I don't hate you."

"Mm. Could've fooled me."

He sighed. "You're annoying. If that's not reason enough for you, then let's just say that we're supposed to be rivals. Athena and Poseidon can't stand each other."

"Whatever, dude," Andy said. She was tired of his judgmental comments and the angry stares.

Argus dropped them at the Greyhound Station and Andy felt homesick, she was so close to her house. She wanted so bad to go there, go through the door and find Sally waiting for her…

"You know," Grover said, "she married him for you."

"What?"

"Your mom. You called him Smelly, but you have no idea... The guy has this aura... He smells so repulsively human he could mask the presence of any demigod. He covered your scent for years. That's why you managed to live for so long outside the camp." He said that as if it was suppose to make Andy feel better. It didn't. If anything, she felt worse thinking of the dozens of things her mom had done for her.

"How did you know I was thinking about her anyway?"

"Oh... Satyrs can read emotions. Guess I forgot to tell you that."

In the city, they got into a bus. They sat in the back for a while when an old lady boarded in. Andy felt the panic stuck in her throat—it was Mrs. Dodds.

Andy scrunched down in her seat. Behind her came two other old ladies. They all looked the same: triplet demon grandmothers. They sat on the front right behind the driver. The two on the aisle crossed their legs over the walkway, making an X.

The bus pulled out of the station.

"She didn't stay dead long," Andy whispered to Anthony. "I thought you said they could be dispelled for a lifetime."

"I said if you're lucky," he argued. "You're obviously not."

"All three of them," whimpered Grover. "Di immortales!"

"It's okay," Anthony said. "The Furies. The three worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. We'll just... slip out the windows."

"They don't open," Grover moaned.

"A back exit?"

"Hey, they can't attack us with witnesses around, can they?" Andy asked.

"Mortals don't have good eyes," Anthony told her. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist."

"The Mist?"

"Yes. It obscures the vision of humans," he explained. "We can see things as they are, but humans will interpret it quite differently."

That moment, Mrs. Dodds got up. She announced, "I need to use the restroom," to the entire bus.

"So do I," said the second sister.

"So do I," said the third one. They all started coming down the aisle.

"There's no restroom in this bus!" Andy shouted feigning a male voice.

The Furies ignored that.

In a quick gesture, Anthony placed his cap on Andy's head and her body vanished. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"It's you they want. Go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get away."

"But you guys—"

"There's an outside chance they might not notice us," he said. "You're a daughter of Poseidon. Your smells might be overpowering."

"I can't just leave you."

"Don't worry about us," Grover urged. "Go!"

Andy's hands trembled. She felt like a coward, but she got to her feet and crept up the aisle. She went ten rows then ducked into an empty seat just as the Furies walked past. Mrs. Dodds stopped, sniffing, and looked straight at Andy. Her heart was pounding, but the monster didn't see anything. She and her sisters kept moving.

Andy made it to the front of the bus then heard hideous wailing from the back. The ladies weren't ladies anymore, they had turned into the winged monsters they truly were. They surrounded Anthony and Grover. "Where is it? Where?"

People on the bus screamed and cowered in their seats. They saw something alright…

"She's not here!" Anthony yelled. "She's gone!" The Furies raised their whips. Anthony drew his bronze knife. Grover grabbed a tin can ready to throw it.

And Andy... well, Andy pulled the wheel from the bus driver and everybody was thrown to the right. While the Furies were trying to stand, Andy had another great idea—she hit the emergency brake.

The bus wailed, spun a full circle and crashed into some trees. The door flew open and people rushed out of there, screaming.

Now there were only them. Andy took off the cap. "Oi, ugly," she called.

The Furies turned, baring their yellow fangs at her. "Andromeda Jackson," said Mrs. Dodds. "You have offended the gods."

"Yeah, but I offend everybody."

"You shall die."

"You know, I liked you better when you were dead." Andy took out Riptide. The Furies hesitated.

"Submit it now," Mrs. Dodds said. "And you will not suffer eternal torment."

"Are you kidding? Eternal torment is all I ever wanted."

Mrs. Dodds lashed her whip around Andy's sword hand. But Andy didn't drop the sword. Instead, she attacked and sliced the Fury on the right. She screamed and exploded into dust. Anthony grabbed Mrs. Dodds in a wrestler's hold and yanked her backward while Grover ripped the whip out of her hands. Andy hit the Fury on the left and she broke open like a piñata. Anthony and Grover managed to tie up Mrs. Dodds with her own whip.

"Zeus will destroy you," she promised. "Hades will have your soul!"

Thunder shook the bus and Anthony pulled Andy out of there. The windows of the bus exploded. The passengers ran for cover.

"Run," Anthony said and Andy didn't need any more encouragement.

They plunged into the woods together.

#andy jackson #andromeda #fanfic #dfcrosas #genderbend #storm at sea #child of land and sea #fem percy jackson #male annabeth chase #andony

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queenofmoons67 · 6 years ago

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That One Time Nico di Angelo Accidentally Summoned Jordan Parrish, Beacon Hills' Resident Hellhound

He was surrounded when Nico grew desperate enough. Normally, he would just shadow travel away, but he couldn't just leave a pack of monsters to roam free in Central Park, where any demigod might stumble upon them. So instead, he summoned another monster - one of his father's hellhounds. A burst of power to shadow travel a short distance away from all the claws, and a second burst as he slammed his fist into the ground. He waited for the cracks to grow, for the hellhound to spring forth from the Underworld, and quickly transitioned to full on panic as he watched the monsters grow ever closer, but no cracks appeared - and most importantly, no hellhound.

Parrish was simply doing his duty as a deputy in Beacon Hills and erasing any and all evidence the McCall Pack had ever been anywhere near the high school the night a flock of Cornish Pixies decided to trash the place when he felt a strange tug. Pausing, he looked around in befuddlement. The Sheriff hesitated beside him. "Parrish?" he asked, and the deputy shook his head.

"I can't explain it. It's like… there's a string around my waist, and it's pulling me somewhere."

"Is it another supernatural body? Do you want me to call Scott?"

"No, it's… it doesn't feel the same. It's not malicious, more like… it's asking me to go somewhere?" Parrish took a deep breath, then decided, "I'm going to answer it. And yeah, calling Scott sounds like a great idea." He stopped resisting the call, and instantly vanished in a wall of fire.

The Sheriff gaped at the spot his deputy and pack mate had been, then fumbled for his phone.

Nico was almost ready to run in the opposite direction of the stampeding monsters in favor of living and coming back with reinforcements when a wall of fire appeared in front of him for a moment, quickly leaving a man in its place. Except it wasn't just a man, it was a naked man that looked like he just walked out of a burning building and decided to paint the flames on himself for fun. He looked at Nico's dropped jaw, turned to look at the oncoming monsters, gave a shrug and a growl at the same time, and threw a fireball into the minotaur's face.

It was over in minutes. The teenager, covered in blood already, had suffered a few more minor injuries during the fight, but not many. Parrish himself was unhurt, the creatures around them doing their best to stay away from the heat and fire his skin released. The young man - who Parrish's hellhound side had immediately identified as the summoner, and his deputy side had told him was the person in need of and deserving help, rather than the creatures attacking them, with their eyes filled with hate - now turned to him. "Who are you?" he demanded, waving his hands - his sword had disappeared somewhere.

"I'm Parrish, who are you?" the monster - man - Parrish - responded.

Nico eyed him, but Parrish had saved his life, so… "Nico," he replied.

"And what are you?" Parrish asked. Nico spluttered in a very un-Nico way, and the other man added, "You have to be something, otherwise those creatures wouldn't have targeted only you. Plus, the sword. If it helps, I'm a hellhound."

Nico spluttered again, "You - You're the hellhound!?"

Parrish eyed him, obviously confused. "I don't know about the hellhound, but I am one, yes. Why?"

"Why? Why he asks," Nico muttered. "Why? Because I summoned a hellhound, but I was expecting the usual giant black howling fur ball!"

Parrish nodded slowly, some understanding appearing on his face. "Well, if it helps, I've never met another hellhound, I'm not exactly giant, I still haven't figured out how to howl, or if I even can, and I've never had black fur."

Nico groaned, but refrained from face palming - the Ghost King does not face palm. Parrish was from another mythology, wasn't he? That was the only explanation, and once again, Nico was the one to stumble across them, and once again, he'd be asked to keep them secret. "What mythology are you from?"

Parrish blinked, completely confused again. "Mythology? What do you mean?"

The teen sighed. "I'm a demigod from Greek Mythology. I'm used to the hellhounds from Greek myths, which you are obviously not, so what mythology are you from?"

Parrish blinked again, but made the best stab he could at the right answer. "The one with werewolves, banshees, and Nemetons." This time, it was Nico's turn to blink, but Parrish wasn't paying much attention - he was focused more on the tug of his bond to Scott, the kind that told him his alpha wanted to know how he was. "Look, I've gotta go figure out the fastest way back to California. Will you be ok on your own?"

Nico nodded. "Yeah, we pretty much obliterated all the monsters in Central Park, so I'll be ok. I'd offer to shadow-travel you home, but I only have enough power left in me to carry myself." He turned, seeking the nearest shadow, paused, and looked back. "Thanks… if you ever need help, contact Delphi Strawberry Service and ask for Chiron. Tell him Nico owes you a life debt."

Parrish nodded, and told him, "If you're ever in Beacon Hills, California and need some mythological help, go to the sheriff's department. We can help."

Nico nodded, and then disappeared into the shadows. Parrish started walking out of the park, in search of the nearest phone.

Nico stormed into Hades' palace, where his father lounged across his throne, and slammed the doors into the walls. "By Hades!" he screeched, startling said-god. "Why didn't you ever tell me hellhounds could be people!?"

Note: You can find this story, as well as its second (TOT Parrish Called in Nico's Favor) and third (TOT Nico di Angelo Met the McCall Pack) chapters on AO3.

You can also find the entire series on AO3, and the complete list of all the fics’ summaries here on Tumblr.

#percy jackson fic #Percy Jackon and the Olympians #Nico di Angelo #teen wolf fic #jordan parrish #teen wolf #hellhound jordan parrish #parrish is pack #my fic #mine #fanfic #crossover

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ericgamalinda · 4 years ago

Text

Sod Manila!

From EMPIRE OF MEMORY, 1992 / 2014

AT HALF PAST THREE in the afternoon of July 5, 1966, a mob hired by President Ferdinand Marcos chased the Beatles out of Manila International Airport. I remember the jittery footage of the scene being replayed over and over on The News Tonite on Channel 5. A grim-looking commentator was saying the Fab but Discourteous Four had shamelessly humiliated the First Lady and her children by refusing to pay a courtesy call at Malacañang Palace. Imelda Marcos herself hastily issued a statement saying the Beatles were to be treated humanely despite the snub, but this was said after the fact—after the Beatles had been kicked, spat at, cursed, and chased into a waiting jet.

Julian Hidalgo, known by the nickname Jun, took me and my sister Delphi to the Beatles’ concert at Rizal Memorial Stadium. At that time he was courting my sister and was hoping to win me over by playing the older brother. They were both nineteen, and the rituals of this older generation meant nothing to me beyond free passes to a number of movies, where I had to chaperone Delphi. The three of us would witness, not by accident, the Beatles being beaten up at the airport, and for some time we would bond in a special way—conspirators mystically united by an adventure whose significance would only dawn on us long after the event had passed. Jun explained a few details about this incident to me eighteen years later, when, in the ironic twists of fate that coursed through our lives during the dictatorship, he and I became colleagues once again in the censorship office in Malacañang. But in 1966 we were young, brash, and bold with hope, and like the entire country, we seemed on the verge of a privileged destiny.

Three days before the concert, Jun rushed to our house with three front-row tickets. Delphi’s eyes widened like 45s. “Where did you get the money this time, ha?” she asked incredulously. “The First Lady gave them to me,” Jun said proudly. And, in response to our howls of disbelief, “Well, actually, this reporter from the Manila Times gave them to me. The First Lady was giving away sacks of rice and tickets last week. This reporter owed me for a tip I gave him years ago, the one that got him the Press Club award. He wanted the rice, I asked for the tickets. He was one of those Perry Como types.” Imelda Marcos had flown in friends and media to celebrate her birthday on her native island of Leyte. There was roast suckling pig and a rondalla playing all day. She herself obliged requests for a song with a tearful ballad in the dialect, “Ang Irog Nga Tuna,” My Motherland. To commemorate the sentimental reunion, each guest went home with the rice and tickets. “Now that’s style,” Delphi said. Then, upon reflection: “They won’t let Alfonso in.” “Of course they would!” I protested. I was just thirteen but I was already as tall as she was. “That’s not the point,” Jun said impatiently. “I’m going to get myself assigned to cover the Beatles and we can talk to them ourselves.” “All the other reporters will beat you to it,” I said. Jun was stringing for the Manila Times and was convinced that getting an exclusive interview would land him a job as a staff reporter. “All the other reporters listen to nothing but Ray Conniff,” he said. “Besides, nobody knows where they’re staying. But I do.” Jun’s modus operandi wasn’t going to be that easy. He managed to get stage passes for the three of us, which turned out to be inutile. It was the official pass, printed and distributed in London, that we had to wangle if we were to get near the Beatles. “Go ahead and do your job,” Delphi told him icily. “We’ll see you at the stadium.” “I can still get you the pass,” Jun said. “Somehow.” He was beginning to realize that concert security would directly affect his personal relationships. But not even his religious coverage of pre-concert press briefings seemed to help. Local promoters announced that the Beatles’ only press conference was going to be held at the War Room of the Philippine Navy headquarters, and that the concert was being staged, not by coincidence, on the fourth of July as a birthday gift to the Republic (July 4th) and the First Lady (July 2nd). Other questions were left unanswered. Had the Beatles secretly arrived by submarine? “That’s confidential.” Were they actually going to stay at the Palace? “That’s confidential.” In the end somebody asked if the Beatles actually existed, and the joke was that that, too, was confidential. The excitement was further fueled by a series of wire stories the dailies ran on page one, including coverage of the Beatles’ world tour, warnings of possible riots all over the world, and a rare discordant moment in Tokyo, where a reporter asked the group, “What are you going to be when you grow up?” The reply: “If you grow up yourself you’d know better than to ask that question.” Radio stations kept playing the Beatles’ hits (most requested: “Yesterday” and “Help!”), and DZUW, Rainy Day Radio, preempted everyone and began playing the new single, “Paperback Writer.” The Philippine Security Corporation created the biggest stir when it insured the Beatles for a million pesos. Two hundred Philippine Constabulary troopers, seven hundred policemen, detachments from the Pasay City and Parañaque police, the Civil Aeronautics Administration, the Bureau of Customs, and the Marines were on red alert. The First Lady bought fifteen hundred tickets and distributed them to volunteer recruits to Vietnam, who were going to be the show’s guests of honor. Pro-Beatle fan clubs were staging rallies, counterpointed by anti-Beatle demonstrations where placards said, “No one is more popular than Jesus!!!” Government bureaucrats had to drive away contractors who were bribing them with concert tickets. On the eve of the Beatles’ arrival, a young colegiala threatened to jump off the roof of the Bank of the Philippine Islands building unless she was granted a private audience with the band. Backstage at the Rizal Memorial Stadium, an air-conditioned dressing room was hastily installed a day before the concert, complete with state-of-the-art TV monitors and audio equipment. Quarter-page ads appeared in the dailies for a week, announcing concert schedules and sponsors. Finally, on July 3, the day of the Beatles’ arrival, a full-page splash appeared in all the dailies:

LIVE! THE BEST IN THE WORLD! THE BEATLES IN MANILA With Asia’s Queen of Songs Pilita Corales Carding Cruz and his Orchestra The Wing Duo The Lemons Three Dale Adriatico The Reycard Duet and Eddie Reyes & The Downbeats!

Early that morning, Jun called us up. “Get dressed, both of you. We’re meeting the Beatles at the airport.” “What do you mean, we?” Delphi asked. “I told you we’d talk to them, didn’t I?” Jun said. “Did I ever break a promise?” On many occasions, yes, but this was one promise for which Delphi was willing to risk her life—and mine, if need be. She drove our parents’ 1964 Ford to the airport as though she wanted to mow down everything in our way, laughing as irate motorists yelled obscenities at us. When we finally met Jun at the parking lot, he handed us a pile of obviously used porter uniforms. “I paid the guy twenty pesos to rent them,” he said proudly. “Does this guy know what you’re renting them for?” Delphi asked, crinkling her nose as she daintily held her uniform away. Jun held up a bootleg 45, pressed in Hong Kong, in red vinyl. “If I get an autograph, we get a refund.”

THE CATHAY PACIFIC jet swooped in at half past four. The airport was jam-packed with the biggest crowd I had ever seen in my life: girls in bobby socks and leatherette miniskirts and boys in seersucker suits, all perspiring and scrunched against a chain-link fence. This was definitely the wrong place to be. As the jet taxied in, we tore ourselves away from the crowd and wormed our way to one of the departure exits, just in time to catch a baggage trolley rattling toward the plane. Jun hopped on, and Delphi and I awkwardly clambered after him. I was afraid Delphi’s bobbed hair would spill out of the cap she was wearing and blow our cover. But, having regained her composure, she stood handsomely in the last car, gripping the rail; it was no wonder Jun risked life, limb, and career for her. The trolley rattled past armored cars, fire trucks, riot squads, and troops of motorcycle police who were wearing special cowboy hats for this occasion. As soon as the trolley cranked to a stop under the jet, Jun hopped off. He was about to head toward the stairs when a limousine careened and cut him off. Three official-looking men dressed in formal barong Tagalog got off the limousine and rushed up to the plane. What followed was an interminable, bated-breath pause. Jun walked up the stairs and saw the officials arguing with passengers near the plane’s exit. Somebody was saying, “Is there a war going on?” Finally, one official tentatively walked out of the plane. This was enough to excite the increasingly impatient crowd, and immediately a cacophony of screams burst from the viewing deck. The screams grew louder as other officials and soldiers walked out of the plane. By the time Brian Epstein groggily stepped out, the screaming had reached earsplitting level—no matter that the soldiers surrounded the Beatles from jet to limousine and we caught glimpses of them only through spaces in the cordon sanitaire: George Harrison, his hair tousled by the humid wind, his red blazer flashing like a signal of distress, Ringo Starr in peppermint stripes and flapping foulard, Paul McCartney, round-eyed and baby-faced, and John Lennon, hiding behind dark glasses. Jun hurried down the stairs and motioned for us to follow him. “What happened in there?” Delphi asked him. “I don’t know,” Jun said. “All I heard was a lot of words your folks wouldn’t want you to hear.” “What does that mean?” Delphi asked. “Nothing we can’t find out,” said Jun.

THE MANILA TIMES ran a story about the press conference at the War Room. Jun fumed over his colleague’s story, saying, “This idiot did little more than transcribe the Q&A.” It turned out, however, that the Beatles’ replies would be uncannily prophetic.

THE BEATLES! YEAH! By Bobby Tan

When did you last get a haircut? In 1933. Would you be as popular without your long hair? We can always wear wigs. How much taxes do you pay? Too much. What attracted you to your wives? Sex. Do you feel you deserve the Order of the British Empire? Yeah. But when you’re between 20 and 23, there are bound to be some criticisms. How will you solve the Vietnam War? Give it back to whoever deserves it. What’s your latest song? “Philippine Blues.” Mr. Lennon, what did you mean by Spaniard in your latest book? Have you read it? No. Then read it. If there should come a time when you have to choose between the Beatles and your family, whom would you choose? We never let our families come between us. What is your favorite song? “God Save the King.” But it’s the Queen now. “God Save the Queen” then. What will you be doing ten years from now? Why bother about ten years from now? We don’t even know if we’ll be around tomorrow.

ON THE EVE of July 4, Philippine-American Friendship Day, President Ferdinand Marcos urged Filipinos to “recall the lasting and valuable friendship between America and the Philippines” and issued a statement saying a revamp of the government bureaucracy was imminent. “Heads Will Roll!” the dailies shrilled, their bold prediction thrust audaciously by homeless street children against car windows along Highway 54. At the Quirino Grandstand the next day, the President sat in the sweltering heat as troops paraded before him. Three stations covered the Friendship Day rites, but Channel 5 ignored it completely, running instead a 24-hour update on the Beatles. Marcos seethed on the grandstand, and cameras caught the expression on his face that might have said: Damned Trillos, they really get my goat. The Trillos owned the Manila Times and many broadcast stations and refused to accommodate the First Family’s whims. But Marcos had the last laugh. On this very afternoon, back at the Palace, Imelda and the children would be having lunch with the Beatles. All television stations and newspapers had been invited for a five-minute photo opportunity—all, that is, except the Trillo network. Marcos tried to stifle a smirk as he saluted the troops. Proud and dignified in his white suit, he stood out like some sartorial titan: people said you could tell he was going in for a second term.

CALLA LILIES were brought in at nine by Emma Fernandez, one of the Blue Ladies, so-called because Imelda Marcos had them wear nothing but blue. The flowers adorned the corridors of the palace all the way to the formal dining hall, where about a hundred youngsters, ages three to fifteen, listlessly waited for the Beatles. Imee, the eldest of the Marcos children, sporting a new bobcut hairdo, sat at the head of the table. Her younger sister Irene sat beside her, reticent and uncomfortable in Sunday clothes. Ferdinand Junior, master Bongbong to one and all, was wearing a bowtie and a starched cotton shirt, and his attire apparently made him restless, as he kept sliding off his seat to pace the floor. Around them were children of ministers, generals, business tycoons, and friends of the family, sitting under buntings of red, white, and blue and paper flags of the United States and the Philippines. Imelda Marcos walked in at exactly eleven. Emma Fernandez approached her, wringing her hands, and whispered in her ear: “They’re late!” Imelda brushed her off, an imperceptible smile parting her lips. She kissed the children one by one, Imee dodging and receiving instead a red smear on the ear. She inspected the cutlery, the lilies, the nameplates: two R’s each for Harrison and Starr, check; two N’s for Lennon; and no A in Mc. She scanned the room proudly, deflecting the grateful, expectant faces, the small fingers clutching cardboard tickets to the concert. At half past eleven the children began complaining, so breadsticks and some juice were served. Imelda walked around the hall, stopping to strike a pose for the palace photographers. “Good shot, Madame!” The photographers were the best in the field, plucked out of the newsrooms to accompany her on all her itineraries. They had been sufficiently instructed on which angle to shoot from and which side to take, and anyone who took the wrong shot was dismissed posthaste, his camera and negatives confiscated. The children were more difficult to shoot: bratty and impatient, they always came out pouting, with their chins stuck out. It was always best to avoid them. Unknown to this gathering, a commotion was going on at the lobby of the Manila Hotel. On hand were Brian Epstein and members of the concert crew; Colonel Justin Flores and Captain Nilo Cunanan of the Philippine Constabulary; Sonny Balatbat, the teenage son of Secretary of State Roberto Balatbat; Captain Fred Santos of the Presidential Guard; Major Tommy Young and Colonel Efren Morales of the Manila Police District; and local promoter Rene Amos. “We had an agreement,” Colonel Flores was saying. “We sent a telegram to Tokyo.” “I don’t know about any fucking telegram,” Epstein replied. “The First Lady and the children have been waiting all morning.” “Nobody told them to wait.” “The First Lady will be very, very disappointed.” Brian Epstein looked the colonel in the eye and said, “If they want to see the Beatles, let them come here.” At the stroke of noon, Imelda Marcos rose from her chair and walked out of the dining hall. “The children can wait,” she said, “but I have more important things to do.” As soon as she was gone, Imee pushed back her chair, fished out her ticket, and tore it in two. The other children followed, and for a few seconds there was no sound in the hall but the sound of tickets being torn. Bongbong hovered near the plate that had been reserved for John Lennon. “I really much prefer the Rolling Stones,” he said. Photographers caught the young master at that moment, his eyes wide and blank. Imee looked at him and remarked, “The only Beatles song I liked was ‘Run for Your Life.’” She looked around the hall defiantly. She had never been so embarrassed in her life. People always said that among the three Marcos children, she was the sensitive one. That morning she seemed she was about to cry.

The Beatles: Mass Hysteria! By Jun Hidalgo

Eighty thousand hysterical fans cramped into Rizal Memorial Stadium to watch the Beatles, the largest crowd Manila has seen since the Elorde-Ortiz boxing match in the same stadium. While traffic snarled to a standstill along Dakota Street, 720 policemen, 35 special detectives and the entire contingent of the Manila Fire Department stood guard as the Liverpool quartet performed their hits before thousands of cheering and screaming fans, many of whom had waited to get inside the stadium since early morning…

WHEN THE GATES finally opened, all hell broke loose. I held on to Delphi, who held on to Jun, and the three of us braved the onslaught as we squeezed past security and found ourselves, miraculously intact, on the front row beside the Vox speakers. “I don’t want to sit here,” Delphi protested. “We’re going to blast our ears off!” “Relax,” Jun said. “Everybody’ll be screaming anyway. We have the best seats in the house.” Everyone in the stadium was a mophead, except the Vietnam volunteers sitting in our row, whose heads had been cleanly shaved. They were young men plucked from the provinces, and many of them were never coming home again. I was so relieved I had grown my hair longer that summer. My hair was a clear sign that, despite my young age, I had gained honorary membership in the exclusive cabal of this generation. You could tell who the pigs were: they were the ones who roamed around, their ears pink and their heads shaved clean like the Vietnam volunteers. Some of them had guns under into their belts; they had been warned that a riot could break out.

…Soaked in sweat, Beatles fans impatiently heckled the opening acts, and emcees had to threaten the crowd that the Beatles would not perform until the audience simmered down.

And when the Beatles finally opened with “I Wanna Be Your Man,” you could feel the excitement ripping through you, a detonation of such magnitude your entire being seemed to explode. I couldn’t hear anything except a long, extended shrill—the whole stadium screaming its lungs out. I looked at Delphi. She was holding her head between her hands and her eyes were bulging out and her mouth was stretched to an 0, and all I could hear was this long, high-pitched scream coming out of her mouth. I had never seen Delphi like that before, and I would never, for the rest of her life, see her as remorselessly young as she was that afternoon.

THE MORNING AFTER the concert, Jun asked Delphi if we could take the Ford to Manila Hotel. “Why do you have to take us along?” Delphi asked him. It was clear that for her the concert had been the high point of our adventure. “We still have to get that interview, don’t we?” Jun reminded her. “Besides,” he added, “I need you to cover for me,” Jun said. “Cover?” asked Delphi. “As in war?” “Looks like war it’s going to be,” said Jun. Jun had bribed someone from room service to let him take a snack to the Beatles. I was going to pose as a bellhop. Delphi was going to be a chambermaid. Apparently our plan was to swoop down on them in the name of impeccable service, with Jun secretly recording this invasion with the help of a pocket-sized tape recorder. As usual, he had the uniforms ready, rented for the day for half his month’s wages. “The hotel laundry boy’s a childhood friend of mine.” “You’re the company you keep,” Delphi teased him, because she knew it tortured him whenever she did that. I wore the monkey suit perfectly, but somehow it still didn’t feel right. I looked at myself in the men’s room mirror and knew I was too young for the role. And Delphi looked incongruous as the chambermaid: her bob cut was too in. As it turned out, all my misgivings would be proven true. We crossed the lobby to the service elevator. Jun walked several paces ahead of us, nonchalantly jiggling the car keys, but I kept glancing nervously around. “Hoy, where you going?” Jun didn��t seem to hear the house detective call us, or maybe the detective didn’t notice him walking past. I felt a hand grab my collar and pull me aside. Immediately, Delphi was all over the detective, hitting him with her fists: “You take your hands off my brother or I’ll kick your teeth in!” Struggling out of the detective’s chokehold, I could see Jun hesitating by the elevator. I motioned for him to go. The detective dragged Delphi and me out to a backroom where several other detectives were playing poker. “Oy, got two more right here!”

AS HE RECALLED LATER, Jun wheeled the tray into Suite 402 expecting to find telltale debris of a post-concert party (and hence an excuse for us to mop up). What he came upon was something less festive. “Compliments of the house, sir,” he announced cheerfully as he came in. George Harrison and Brian Epstein were sitting on the sofa, and Paul McCartney was precariously perched on the TV set, brooding. The three of them apparently had been having an argument and they all looked up, surprised, at the intruder. “All right,” Epstein said, curtly. “Bring it in.” “I’ll have to mix the dip here, sir,” Jun said, to prolong the intrusion. “House specialty.” Nobody seemed to hear him. George Harrison continued the conversation, “We came here to sing. We didn’t come here to drink tea and shake hands.” “That’s precisely the reason we’ve got to pay customs the bond for the equipment,” said Epstein. “Let them keep the money then,” Paul said. “Everyone says here come those rich mopheads to make more money. We don’t care about the money.” “We didn’t even want to come here,” George reminded them. “The only reason we came here,” added Paul, “was because these people were always saying why don’t you come over here? We didn’t want to offend anyone, did we? We just came here to sing. You there,” indicating Jun, who jumped with surprise. “Do you speak English?” “Fairly well,” replied Jun. “Does the government control the press here, as they do the customs people, the airport managers, and the police?” “Not yet,” said Jun. Paul then observed that everything was “so American in this country, it’s eerie, man!” He also remarked that many people were exploited by a wealthy and powerful few. Epstein wanted to know how he knew that, as the others had simply not heard of the country before, and Paul replied that he had been reading one of the local papers. “What are we supposed to do?” he asked. “Show up and say, ‘Well, here we are, we’re sorry we’re late!’ We weren’t supposed to be here in the first place. Why should we apologize for something that’s not our fault?” At that point John Lennon and Ringo Starr, who had been booked in the adjacent suite, walked in. Ringo, sweating and tousled, plopped into the sofa between Epstein and George Harrison. John Lennon, wearing his dark glasses, walked straight to the window and looked out. “We’ve got a few things to learn about the Philippines, lads,” he said. “First of all is how to get out.”

THE MANILA HOTEL DETECTIVES deftly disposed of Delphi and me with a push via the back door, where a sign said THROUGH THIS DOOR PASS THE MOST COURTEOUS EMPLOYEES OF MANILA. We walked back to the Ford in the parking lot and waited for less than an hour when Jun, struggling out of the hotel uniform and back to mufti, sprinted toward us and hopped into the driver’s seat. “Get in!” he shouted. “We’re going to the airport!” “Did you get the interview?” Delphi asked. “Better,” Jun said. “The Beatles are going to try to leave this afternoon. They’re paying something like forty-five thousand dollars as a bond or something. Customs is charging them so much money in taxes for the concert.” “Wait a minute,” Delphi protested. “Is that legal?” “Who cares?” Jun said. “All I know is they’re paying the bond and now all they want to do is to get out. But they think something’s going to happen at the airport. There’s been talk of arrest and detention.” “Who said that?” Delphi asked. “John Lennon, I think. I don’t know. I was mixing that stupid dip.” We were driving toward the south highway now, past the mammoth hulls of ships docked at Manila Bay. “You know all those people who’ve been trying to get the Beatles to go to the palace? You know why they were so keen on bringing the band over to Imelda’s luncheon?” “Can’t waste all that food, right?” Delphi said. “Bright girl, but no. There’s going to be a major revamp soon. It’s all over the papers, if you’ve been paying attention. All these guys are going to get the top posts. Well, most of them were, until the Beatles screwed everything up.” “What guys? Who?” “That Colonel Fred Santos, the one who led the group to talk to Epstein, he’s being groomed to head the Presidential Guard. Real heavy-duty position, accompanying the First Family all over the world, luxury apartment at the Palace, the works. There’s one Colonel Flores, Justin Flores I think, who’s bound to be chief of the constabulary. Then there’s Colonel Efren Morales, most likely head of the Manila Police.” “But these are junior officers,” Delphi said. “Marcos can’t just promote them to top posts.” “That’s the point. Marcos is going to bypass everybody and build up an army of his own. All these new guys will be licking his boots and there’s nothing the generals can do about it. That young mophead, the son of Balatbat, he was there for his father, who’s going to be reappointed secretary of state. And if I’m not mistaken, Salvador Roda, the airport manager, wants to take over customs. The man’s going to be a millionaire, kickbacks and all.” “How do you know all that?” Delphi demanded. “Homework,” Jun said, swerving the car toward the airport, his reply drowned out by the droning of jets. “I’m the best damned reporter in the city, and everybody’s going to find out why.”

SALVADOR RODA was briefing the press agitatedly at the VIP lounge of the airport that afternoon, explaining why the republic was withdrawing security for the Beatles and why customs had slapped a hundred-thousand-peso tax on Liverpudlian income. “Too much Filipino money wasted on such a paltry entourage, gentlemen of the press, and not one centavo of the profits going to the nation. Puta, that doesn’t make sense, di ba?” We walked up the escalators to the second floor to change into our porter uniforms, which we had lugged in backpacks. “This airport gets worse every time I come here,” Delphi complained. “Nothing’s working.” “And there’s nobody around,” observed Jun. The entire second floor was deserted. “Lucky for us,” he said, pushing Delphi into the ladies’ room and then pulling me into the adjoining gents’. We changed into the uniforms and stuffed our clothes above the water tanks. “You think there’s going to be trouble?” I asked Jun. “Will you guys back out if I told you there might?” I had to give that some thought. In the past Jun had taken Delphi and me on some insane adventures, mostly juvenile pranks that left us breathlessly exhilarated, but with no real sense of danger. For the first time I was afraid we were up against something, well, real. “We’ll stick around,” I said, tentatively. He put his arm around me and said, “Kapatid! That’s my brother!”

JULY 5, 2 P.M. THE BEATLES arrived at the airport in a Manila Hotel taxi. They weren’t wasting any time. They ran straight up the escalators, their crew lugging whatever equipment they could carry. At the foot of the escalators a group of women—society matrons and young college girls—had managed to slip past the deserted security posts and, seeing the Beatles arrive, they lunged for the group, screaming and tearing at the band’s clothes. Flashbulbs blinded the band as photographers crowded at the top of the stairs. It would have taken a miracle for the band to tear themselves away from the mob and to reach, as they did in a bedraggled way, the only booth open for passport clearance, where Roda had been waiting with the manifest for Flight CX 196. “Beatles here!” he hollered imperiously, and the band followed his voice meekly, almost contritely. Behind the booth a crowd that had checked in earlier restlessly ogled. “Those aren’t passengers,” Jun observed as we stole past a booth. “They look like the people we saw earlier with Roda.” “Beatles out!” Roda boomed. And then it happened. As the Beatles and their crew filed past the booth, the crowd that had been waiting there seemed to swell like a wave and engulfed the band, pulling them into an undertow of fists and knee jabs. There was a thud—Epstein falling groggily, then being dragged to his feet by security police. Someone was cursing in Tagalog: Heto’ng sa ‘yo bwakang inang putang inang tarantado ka! Take that you m*#f@%ing*@^*r!!! Paul McCartney surfaced for air, his chubby face crunched in unmistakable terror. He pulled away from the crowd, and the other three staggered behind him. Somebody gave Ringo Starr a loud whack on the shoulder and pulled at John Lennon, who yanked his arm away, tearing his coat sleeve. That was when we started running after them—the three of us, and the whole mob. The crowd overtook Delphi, who was shoved aside brusquely. They were inching in on me when the exit doors flew open into the searing afternoon. From the view deck hundreds of fans who had been waiting for hours started screaming. The band clambered up the plane. I kept my eye on the plane, where Jun was already catching up with John Lennon. “Please, Mr. Lennon,” he pleaded. “Let me help you with your bags!” At the foot of the stairs a panting John Lennon turned to him and said, “A friendly soul, for a change. Thanks, but we’re leaving.” “I’m sorry,” Jun said, trembling. John Lennon bolted up the stairs. At the top he stopped and took off his coat and threw it down to Jun. “Here,” he said. “Tell your friends the Beatles gave it to you.”

A FEW WEEKS after the Beatles’ frantic egress from Manila, Taal Volcano erupted, perhaps by way of divine castigation, as happens often in this inscrutable, illogical archipelago. The eruption buried three towns and shrouded Manila in sulfuric ash for days. A month later a lake emerged from what had been the volcano’s crater—a boiling, putrefied, honey-yellow liquefaction. The Beatles flew to New Delhi, where they were to encounter two figures that would change their lives and music: the corpulent, swaying Maharishi, and the droning, mesmerizing sitar. Back in London later, a swarm of fans greeted them carrying placards with mostly one message:

SOD MANILA!

Manila’s columnists took umbrage, and the side of the offended First Lady. Said Teodoro Valencia, who would later become the spokesman of the Marcos press: “Those Beatles are knights of the Crown of England. Now we have a more realistic understanding of what knights are. They’re snobs. But we are probably more to blame than the Beatles. We gave them too much importance.” And columnist Joe Guevarra added: “What if 80,000 people saw the Beatles? They’re too young to vote against Marcos anyway!” Imelda Marcos later announced to the lavishly sympathetic press that the incident “was regrettable. This has been a breach of Filipino hospitality.” She added that when she heard of a plot to maul the Beatles, she herself asked her brother, the tourism secretary, to make sure the Beatles got out of the airport safely. But her magnanimity did little to lessen the outrage. The Manila Bulletin declared that Malacañang Palace had received no less than two hundred letters denouncing the Beatles by that weekend. Manila councilor Gerino Tolentino proposed that the Beatles “should be banned from the city in perpetuity.” Caloocan City passed an ordinance prohibiting the sale, display, and playing of Beatles records. And Quezon City passed a law declaring the Beatles’ music satanic and the mophead hairstyle illegal. Jun Hidalgo wrote his story about the Beatles’ departure, with insider quotes taped, as an editor’s introduction to the story revealed, “while undercover as a hotel employee.” A few weeks later he was accepted into the Manila Times, where he played rookie, as was the custom then, in the snake pit of the local press: the police beat. He gave John Lennon’s coat to Delphi, who dutifully mended the sleeve, and they went steady for a while. But like most youthful relationships, the series of melodramatic misunderstandings, periodic separations, and predictable reunions finally ended in tears, and many unprintable words. My sister, older and more healthily cynical, later immigrated to the United States, from where she sent me postcards and books—and once, a note replying to one of my continuous requests for records, saying she had lost interest in the Beatles when they went psychedelic. I myself, being the obligatory late bloomer, only then began to appreciate the magical, mysterious orchestrations and raga-like trances of the band. Delphi left John Lennon’s coat with me, and I became known in school as the keeper of a holy relic. Like the martyrs, I was the object of much admiration and also much envy. One afternoon, armed with a copy of an ordinance recently passed in Manila, directors of the school rounded up several mophead boys, including myself. In one vacant classroom we were made to sit on hardboard chairs as the directors snipped our hair. I sat stolidly under the scissors, watching my hair fall in clutches on the bare cement floor. Back in my room that evening, I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time. Then I folded John Lennon’s jacket tightly, stuffed it in a box, and tucked it under my books and clothes. I felt no bitterness at all. I knew that something irrevocable in my life had ended.

#johnlennon #empireofmemory

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digressfromreality · 7 years ago

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All is Well...

While doing her some coursework over holiday break, young Lily Luna stumbles over the one thing she wants to be known, Harry Potter is very loved.

Loosely inspired by that sad as hell Met Life Commercial, My Daddy Lies.

Lily smiled, walking passed her father’s office. In a simple frame, unlike the rest that were hung, a partially completed coursework assignment proudly stood at the epicenter. Her fingers ghosted across the dark wooden frame, very pleased that her penmanship had significantly improved since third year.

Lily had been assigned some History of Magic questions over that Holiday break. She had been perturbed by some of the ridiculous questions from her assignment. Was it entirely necessary to ask her questions about her father? Perhaps not, but she had had an epiphany that day, inspiring her to pen a letter that her father still held in high regards today.

----

Thirteen year old Lily Luna stared at her parchment, scoffing at the history of magic questions staring back at her.

Question 114. Describe the significant role the “Chosen One” contributed to the defeat of Dark Lord Voldemort during the second wizarding war?

Question 115. Who is the Chosen One? Please describe.

Was her professor trying to mock her? Why would they ask, her, Harry Potter’s daughter, something like this? Perhaps they wanted to test her knowledge on the subject. She shrugged, easy homework points.

But her quill stayed unused in her inkpot.

Harry Potter. How would she describe her father?

Harry Potter was the boy who lived. The world’s savior. A young man, whom with his friends, Hermonie Granger, Ronald Weasley and members of the Order of the Phoenix in combined efforts overthrew a…

No… she scribbled that out.

Harry Potter is the youngest Auror to grace the English Ministry for Magic.

No… she scribbled that out as well.

Harry Potter is the youngest Auror to grace the English Ministry for Magic.

The answers seemed too, impersonal. This was her papa! He was more than the public defined him.

Harry Potter is cheeky, or at least that is what mother says he is. Harry Potter is happy to be a spectator, to be Mr. Ginny Potter, husband of former Holy Head Harpie’s seeker. Harry Potter is an avid supporter of competitive dueling tournaments, which are character building and informative. (Most the time boring). Harry Potter is a fierce protector of his friends, Hermione and Ronald, but more importantly he is my father. He is my hero. He is everyone’s hero. His name is the one witch’s and wizard’s whisper to their children at night, Harry Potter will keep them safe.

She put her quill down, a new train of thought capturing her attention. There was something that the public didn’t know about. Something the wizarding world didn’t speak about. A secret that her father kept from most; Harry Potter was still haunted from the war.

Harry Potter will continue to save the day, but… should anything happen, who will save him?

She could remember that day in Diagon Alley that went too far, she had been 5 years old then.

“Do not touch my child.” Her father said through his gritted teeth. His green eyes narrowed, and his hand wound tightly in his pocket. Somebody had tried to grab James’s arm. Her mother was quick to pull Albus and her away from everyone else. For weeks after her father’s calm, but demanding words contradicted the flash of anger on his face which was strewn through the newspapers. Harry hid his rage beneath his stare.

She could remember the night after Amos Diggory had stopped at their home, she had been 12 years old then. A man screamed all through the night, as if in terrible pain. “How many must die for the boy who lived?” She could hear her mother’s panicked voice several times. She held her stuffed dragon tight until daylight.

But the next day, her worries had been for not. "No, Lily. No one was screaming last night." Despite her mother's discouraging, her frown told Lily all that she needed. Her father suffered from night terrors.

In that same year she could remember the day her father and Albus’s rowing came to head. He told Albus that he didn’t want him as a son. She couldn’t see their faces, only hear gasps struck with revelation. She didn’t know who had regretted that moment more.

"Your father loves Albus." Hermonie stroked her hair, holding Lily close. She sniffled, trying to blink away the tears.

"But he said some right awful things to him." She nodded, aunt Mione understood.

"He didn't mean it. He sees more of himself in Albus than he cares to admit." But it wasn’t something Albus chose. He didn’t choose to be an outsider, he was just different! He couldn’t help it. “Shh…. Lily. Your father understands more than anything how it feels to be misunderstood.” Harry was haunted by his childhood.

Even months after, she still recognized the tremor in her father’s hands when people mention Delphini Riddle in her father’s presence.

Her mother’s coworker had added, “I’m actually interested in the Delphi Riddle interview, she seems-”

“Bloody hell.” Harry interrupted.

“Harry, are you, all right?” Her father’s hands shook as he put down what was left of his cuppa. His robes were seeping with the hot liquid. With a swish of her mother’s wand, the front of his robes was clear from the mess. He smiled sheepishly.

“A bit of klutz today. Excuse me.” Harry felt guilty for convicting an orphan girl who had desperately wanted to meet her parents.

Lily decided, she would protect him. He would never have to face his demons alone. She summoned another piece of parchment and flew into a fervor of scribbling.

-------

“Papa?” Lily shyly asked, waiting by the door of his study. Harry paused, smiling when he saw his daughter had wanted attention. He gestured for her to come in. Lily noted that his bright green eyes were tired. She smiled sheepishly when he ran a hand through his messy hair.

“What is it, my Lily flower?” Harry watched his daughter bit her lip and place some parchment in his hand. He chuckled, at her timid behavior, she had written him something. “You want me to read this?” Lily nodded her head. “Is it some course work?” She shook vigorously no, then yes. He chuckled again.

The parchment had several scribbled out answers, finally revealing a letter below.

Harry Potter is the world’s hero. He is my hero.

He is my world.

He is home every night, after making sure everyone else is safe.

He has the greatest laugh.

He loves us very much.

But, he lies.

He lies about being scared for us.

He lies about his past.

He says stuff sometimes that he doesn’t mean.

He isn’t perfect, but that doesn’t matter.

He is loved, loved more than he sometimes imagines. The world owes him a debt that they can’t repay. And if he gets scared at night, just wake my mum up. She will protect you, no one messes with her. And if anyone messes with her, Teddy, James, Albus, and me will hex their bollocks off. We promise that.

We love you, papa.

Harry massaged his temple, while also trying to blink tears from his eyes. It had been a year since Delphi Riddle’s conviction, and he hadn’t realized he showed signs of how much it bothered him.

It was hard to discern his now teenage daughter from the image of his baby girl. Sometimes he forgot how much his children reflected Ginny and him. Teddy had been spoiled naturally. It had been hard to tell a boy no when he could physically make his eyes larger, and his pouty lips sadder. James, on the other hand was spunky and hard headed. Albus was more reserved and insecure of his place. And his baby – she looked so much like her mother – full of heart and keen perception, she was growing too quick.

“Lily?” He whispered.

“Yes,” she answered apprehensively. He held his arms open, she practically slammed into his embrace, nearly knocking him from his chair. They both laughed at her excitement.

“Thank you.”

-----

An arm slugged over her shoulder, “My favorite gift of them all.” Harry admitted with a knowing smile. She nudged him playfully, looking away from the picture frame.

“Really? So I can return those dragon hide quidditch gloves you wanted for your monthly pickup games?”

“Well, now Lily let’s not be too hasty. I faintly remember needing to replace the pair that had mysteriously gone missing before our last family game…” He teased, well aware his children had robbed him of his worn out gloves in hopes to give him new ones.

“You’re just so hard to shop for.”

“True, very true.” He touched the frame this time, still remembering the day Lily had handed him it. “This is still my favorite.” She laid her head on his shoulder.

“Happy Christmas papa.”

“Happy Christmas Lily.”

#happy christmas #merry xmas #harry potter #lily luna potter #harry potter next generation #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #potter family #ginny weasley #teddy lupin #james sirius potter #albus severus potter

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disneyfanatic-kitty · 7 years ago

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The Other Malfoy: Chapter 1 - The Progress

(~1900 words) Read it on AO3

Story Summary: Ever since the events in HPCC, Harry had felt ashamed of the prejudices he had shown against poor Scorpius Malfoy. Determined to improve his relationship with Albus, he realised he owed Scorpius his thanks and apology, so he tried to take initiatives to make amends to the Malfoys, especially Scorpius. Little did Harry know that he would develop an unlikely friendship with his former nemesis and he would need to help his son to fight the demons that had been plaguing him since the incidents.

Books and HPCC-compliant. Harry/Scorpius, Harry/Albus, Harry/Draco (friendship only), (kind of) Hinny story

I had tried to post this story here before but it seems like no one noticed it at all so I am going to post it chapter by chapter on here.

As Harry Potter stood on Platform 9¾ next to Draco Malfoy, waiting for the Hogwarts Express to pull in at the beginning of the winter break, he could not help reflecting on the past four months that had brought such dramatic and drastic changes to his life.

It had only been mere months ago that he had said those fateful words to his own son, Well, there are times I wish you weren't my son, the words that had brought such claustrophobic consequences to not only his relationship with Albus, but also to the entire world. Not a day had gone by in which he had not felt regret for these impulsive words he had said, but as he had said to Albus on their day out to visit Cedric's grave, he could not ask his boy to forget it, the only thing he could do was to hope that they could move past it.

Harry noted to himself about how good things had been since that afternoon. He had been writing letters to Albus himself, without Ginny's input, since the night at Godric's Hollow, something he had not done since Albus' first year. He would rack his brain for the safest thing to write, trying the hardest to avoid anything that would irritate his boy, anything he had famously done, any comparison of Albus' Hogwarts' life to his own, anything about his own tragic childhood, anything about Gryffindor and Slytherin. He had tried to keep things simple and short in the beginning, but was able to write longer and freer gradually. In times, he realised that the magical ingredient was Scorpius Malfoy. A letter was bound to be better received if he tried to show a genuine interest and care to the young Malfoy heir. He could still remember every word in his first letter as he had spent half a day and rolls of parchments to word it the most appropriate way he could, mere days after Albus had returned to Hogwarts after Godric's Hollow.

"Dear Albus,

How are you? I hope you are recovering well from the injuries you have suffered. I want to say thank you for staying by my side that night after returning home. Words cannot express how much you being there meant to me after witnessing what we had witnessed. I am extremely proud of you, for the bravery and intelligence you have shown that night, you have saved me and the world that night. You should be proud of yourself as well. I love you, my son, but please never put yourself in dangers like this again.

How is Scorpius doing? He seemed to have experienced a fair share of trauma from this incident as well. Please say thanks to him for me.

Love,

Dad"

Harry had not have much expectations when he had sent this letter out, the best he could have hoped for was a line or two from Albus to acknowledge that he had received the letter, so he could not have been more surprised when his son had made a big confession to him in his reply.

"Dad,

You're welcome. Are you feeling better? Thanks for your compliments I guess, but I do not deserve them. Professor Mcgonagall is keeping an close eye on us both so it's not like we can get into troubles even if we want. Scorpius seems to be doing fine but"

There were some crossed words that Harry could not make out after and the whole parchment had been torn off right below. The letter was continued on another piece of parchment.

"Scorpius was tortured by the Cruciatus Curse that night and if any permanent harm had been caused because of that, it would be my fault. I have been such a terrible friend to poor Scorpius.

Albus"

Harry had suspected that Delphi had used the Unforgivable curses on the boys but it had been even more upsetting to have his suspicions confirmed. But as Harry considered the way Albus had worded it, it had appeared that Albus himself had not been tortured, which should have been a relief but was in a way even worse than Albus being the one who had been tortured. Albus had obviously been feeling very guilty about this which meant that Delphi had likely tortured Scorpius to force Albus to do what she had wanted. Harry could actually understand why Albus would choose to confide with himself, since there was nobody in the entire world who understood guilt as well as Harry Potter, given the number of people who had died for him, and the number of people who had died, suffered or been tortured in connection to him. While he would never be able to forget the deaths of all the friends he had known, the deaths of his parents, Cedric, Sirius, Moody and Dobby had been different in ways as he would always believe that they had died because of him, the same way that George had lost an ear and Hermione had been tortured because of him. For twenty years he had tried to carry on with his life shouldering the burden of all these deaths and sufferings. There had been many times that he had wished that he had died instead of them. The burden of being accountable for his friends' deaths and sufferings was so heavy that he had wished that his children would never have to understand. Unfortunately, it had apparently been too late for Albus.

Also, by the end of Albus and Scorpius' adventures with the Time Turner, it had been obvious that if one friend had been a bad influence on the other, it was Albus, not Scorpius. Despite Scorpius' insistence that he shared equal blame as Albus because he had wanted to join Albus and Albus had not forced him to go, it was obviously Albus' faults that Scorpius had gone on this adventures and had put himself at risks, thus Harry's fault as he had driven Albus away at the first place. The days in which he had been able to do so little to recover the lost boys had been terrible enough for Harry, he could not imagine how much more terrible they had been for Malfoy.

He remembered Draco's words in his office ,... it was exceptionally lonely, being Draco Malfoy. While Harry had been suffering at the time, he still had the support of his wife, two children, his extended family, two capable and supportive best friends, his many other friends and the whole Auror department which had been doing its best to assist in his searches. During all of this, Draco had been all alone in the Malfoy Manor, with absolutely no support network, dreading that his only family would probably be lost from him forever. Despite the history he had shared with his former nemesis, Draco Malfoy had been simply a grieving husband and frightened father at that moment. Scorpius was Draco's everything. He had not hesitated at all to give up his priceless Time Turner, knowing it had been their only hope to recover their sons, even though it could have cost Draco his freedom. Albus felt guilty that Scorpius had been tortured but reading the letter, Harry could not help feeling guilty that Scorpius had been tortured, that he himself had caused such terrible sufferings to Draco and his son because of the immature words he had said. How would he be able to bring himself to face Draco if any permanent harm had been done to Scorpius?

It had been very difficult to reply to such a letter, especially when his stubborn boy had shown such a remarkable proof of trust to reveal that detail of Scorpius' torture. He understood that Albus had been convinced that it had been his fault that his best friend had been tortured and there would be nothing Harry could have written that would be able to convince Albus otherwise. Instead of trying to talk his son off of his guilt, he had acknowledged how inevitable that he would feel responsible and encouraged him to keep an eye on his best friend. He had advised Albus to look out for nightmares, tempers and mental breakdown and to just stay by Scorpius' side. Understanding more about the traumas they had experienced, Harry had sent a few bars of chocolate to Albus and Scorpius to cheer them up, which had caused his reply to be even better received than he had hoped, despite a reply that told him Draco had already sent a few luxurious boxes of chocolates to them. It had been the sentiments that mattered after all. Things had gotten better in terms of their communication as Albus had become more confident that Scorpius had not suffered any long-term effects from his tortures. The themes of their letters had gotten lighter and more casual, Albus had even tried to reproduce a bad joke of Scorpius in his last letter.

But then there was the matter of Draco, he deserved to know that his only son had been tortured. The more Harry got to know about Scorpius from Albus, the more he appeared to be someone who would hide his sufferings and put on a brave smile for the sake of his loved ones. Harry had no idea whether Scorpius had told his father that he had been tortured but it was not like he could ask Albus for that information. Also, to tell Draco that behind the boys' backs would betray Albus' trust, which was the last thing he would ever wanted. The worst thing about this dilemma was that, there was no possible way he could tell Draco that would make Albus appear blameless. Although Draco seemed to appreciate Albus' presence in Scorpius' life, there was no telling how this information would affect the way he see Albus. Having made the terrible mistake of separating the best friends once, Harry was resolved that he would never allow himself to be the cause of damage in the friendship between the boys ever again.

He had considered owling Draco to tell him this information but no matter how he wrote, it seemed very wrong. Hello Malfoy, How are you doing? I just think you deserve to know that Scorpius has been tortured by Delphi. Potter. As the days rolled by, the boys were due to come home for Christmas and Harry had yet to tell Draco. He realised that it would perhaps be better for him to approach Draco and to tell him in person on the platform as he would be able to ease him into that, or he could at least test the waters and make sure that Scorpius was okay first, so there he was.

It was actually very lucky that the boys were allowed to spend winter break at home at all. In light of the discovery of Delphi Riddle's involvements and manipulations in the boys' attempts in meddling with time, their witness of Craig Bowker Jr's death and the sufferings and traumas they had endured in the hands of Delphi, Professor Mcgonagall had significantly reduced their punishments to just three detentions and a ban of two Hogsmeade visits. Harry himself was very grateful for this timely winter break that he could use to mend his relationship with Albus, following the little successes he had so far with the letters.

A/N: This is only my third fanfic and originally, I was going to write a sequel to one of my previous stories, "Scorpius' Letter", which followed the Draco/Scorpius/ (Astoria) relationship, intending to explore the dynamic between Draco/Albus in the new story. It was during my planning that I realized I could even write a nice companion piece to that sequel focusing on Harry/Scorpius dynamic, as like D/S and D/A, we barely got to see anything from this perspective in the script. Something that bugged me a lot while reading HPCC was that of all people, Harry really should have known better than being prejudiced against poor Scorpius, it felt to me that even after Scorpius had saved the day, Harry didn't do anything to acknowledge his mistakes and cruelty to the boy, which just struck me as very wrong.

As I was having a hard time beginning to write my sequel, I felt myself getting compelled to write this "companion story" more than the original story, so here I am. I still want to write the sequel but it will definitely take me a long time.

I intend for this story to happen to the same version of these characters from my previous stories, even though there won't be much connection here to them. Please check out my other stories if you are interested.

#The Other Malfoy #harry potter and the cursed child #fanfic #Harry Potter #scorpius malfoy #Albus Severus Potter #Draco Malfoy #HPCC-compliant #long story #family #friendship #hurt and comfort #HPCC sequel

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naomi-lafleur · 8 years ago

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A Series of Unfortunate Dates

A/N: School has been a pain in the butt lately. That’s my excuse for this fic. @viola-smithin We shall write that wonderful story one day ;) Mention of @aileen-hollingsworth @niara-aldaine @haidenschreave Sorry I changed the order of some messages bc I had the whole thing written and it’d take a lot of time to change all of it.

Yeh sorry about Friday. We’ve been holding that in for weeks and we broke (just like how Naomi did)

I woke to the sound of water droplets gently tapping the window. I was taken aback when I encountered a tray full of needles beside my bed. Suddenly, a sharp pain struck my shoulder. Memories of guns and ukuleles started flooding back into my mind. My heart started beating faster and faster as I pieced all the information together. How long was I out for?

I heard a soft humming coming towards me. The door slightly cracked open for a moment and a nurse walked in. I stared at her as she swiftly strolled right past me. After a five second delay, she turned around in awe. “Lady Naomi! You’re finally awake! Everyone has been worried sick about you.” Before I had a chance to respond, she ran out the door, calling for a doctor. Turns out that I had been in a coma for a week after Felix brought me to the hospital wing.

I was bedridden for another few days after I woke up. My arm was feeling much better than it had previously. Another round of elimination had gone by so fast. I received the news that Niara, Adriana, and Delphi had been let go from Aileen, who was visiting. We screamed (of joy) at each other for what felt like hours after revealing her dirty secret. Smh why didn’t she tell me earlier?

That little carrot stick. At least one of us would be royal.

I got up early in the morning and hobbled to Niara’s room to say our farewells. It was quite an emotional morning. Eager for some fresh air, I headed to the roof with my sketchbook.

Finally some peace and quiet. I leaned against the ledge and started drawing the flock of birds in the sky

How am I still here? Hadn’t I already been rejected? … Don’t worry, Naomi. You still have a chance in this!

So, date ideas…. I could bring him up to the roof and watch the sunset. Bleh, too cheesy.

I had really been longing to leave the palace. Maybe go into town? Imagine all the people swarming around you guys for the whole day. Okay, scratch that idea.

I glanced up for a second and noticed a chickadee that landed right in front of me. It reminded me of home, which was just what I needed to cheer me up. After a while of thinking, I checked my watch.

Already 1PM? Maybe I could catch Haiden right now and have our date.

Luckily, I found him in the hallways just as I was heading to the kitchen. “Hey Haiden! Are you free at the moment?”

“Namoi Laflour. Of course I am. What’s up?“

“Well, I’m taking you to the beach today, so change into some comfy clothes and meet me by the door in 15 minutes,” I said confidently.

“Um, okay.” He got changed and met me downstairs a while later.

“It’s so weird not seeing you in a suit and tie.”

He shrugged. “Weird good or weird bad?”

“Definitely weird good.”

“Well, I’m flattered”

“I like the casual look. You should do it more often,” I said grinning. “Okay, we should head out now.”

“Okay, uh, so what gave you this idea?”

Ah, I see we’re back at the awkward phase.

“Well awhile ago, me and some of the selected were planning on running off to the beach, but we never got around to it and now all of them are gone. So I thought, who do I know that owes me a date and would enjoy a relaxing vacation?”

“I don’t know about enjoy, but I’ll do it.” He said with a laugh, as if he wasn’t being negative and ruining my spirit.

I sighed deeply, frustrated already, within the first few minutes of the date. “Do you have to do that? I just wanted to do something fun before you send me home because you obviously can’t stand me.”

“What, I… What?”

Come on.

“You just give off the feeling, Haiden.”

“That I can’t stand you? How’d I give off that feeling? Was keeping you here not a tell-tale sign that I like you?”

Well, you rejected me a while ago… I think that says a lot. Aren’t I still here because it couldn’t be the final two?

I glanced at the distance, doing anything I could to avoid his gaze “You just seem very… distant. I don’t know.”

“You should be more confident in yourself. No one could possibly hate you.” He said, like it sounded easy.

Be more confident, Naomi. Always be happy, Naomi. Do this, be that… What if I can’t? What if I’m already broken on the inside? What if I go insane one day? What if… I can’t take it one day and I do something I’ll regret?

Softly I replied. “Maybe not other people, but definitely myself.”

“Naomi…” he begins.

I gave a deep sigh, wiped the tear that was forming in my eye, and did what I was always raised to do. Apologize. “Sorry for ruining the mood… This may be our last date, so let’s just have a fun day at the beach, alright?”

In return, I got an awkward, wary look. “Works for me. Let’s go.”

See, Naomi? Haiden doesn’t care. He just wants The Selection to end and run off with Sophie. Leave you in the dirt, where you belong.

“Okay, off to the beach we go then.”

More awkward silence. Why did you ruin this? Can I just wallow in a hole? Is it too early to head off to my ranch with my army of Japanse Russian ninja cow children?

“So, uh… you come here often?”

“Well.. seeing as before this I’ve never been to Angeles, I’ve got to go with no, I don’t come here often.” I grinned.

“Yeah, that sounded like a cheesy pickup line. You’d think I’d be better at this by now”

“Yeah, I would think you’d at least have some grate pick up lines by now… Grate… Get it? Like a cheese grater? Haha I’m pretty bad at jokes, not going to lie.”

“You’re bad at jokes, I’m bad at pick-up lines. Guess we’re even”

“It’s the perfect match”

“Definitely”

We ended up heading off to the beach, making small conversation the entire way, like we had just met. Everything was painfully awkward.

“C'mon, let’s build a sandcastle,” I said, trying to distract myself from the hypnotic ocean. He agreed even though didn’t seem all that thrilled.

“God, it’s been forever since I was here”

“When’s the last time you came?”

“When I was little. I was never one for Sandy fun and salt water.”

“I don’t get to go to the beach often, living in Waverly.”

He shrugged. “It’s overrated. I mean, who even enjoys sand? It’s course and rough and it gets everywhere.”

“You don’t seem to like anything. Not sand, not me, not even the water.”

“I never said I didn’t like you. I do like you.”

Nice joke.

“Do you like me enough?”

“Enough for what?”

“Just… Am I good enough for you?”

Haiden looked directly at my eyes and shook his head. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re not something that I can look at and give a grade or rating to. And whether or not I choose you isn’t a measure of your self-worth, Naomi. Remember, boys are trashbags.”

“You should be a counselor,” I said as I hugged him.

“A trashbag counselor”

“So, um… How is your family holding up?” I asked. Despite the depressing mood I still wanted to be a good friend and be there, after all his mother had just been brutally assassinated by his psycho ex girlfriend, and a girl once known as my friend.

“Well, we’re doing as well as can be, I guess.” He said, looking off, being distant again.

Such an interesting conversation.

After that we were quiet, sitting, soaking in the sad atmosphere we had created. It felt like I was drowning in sappy backstory.

The beach was surprisingly empty on such a nice day. I had to wonder if some calls were made to ensure safety or whatever, clear off the beach, just had it be us.

That would be so romantic if it weren’t because his mom had died.

I went out to where the waves were crashing against the beach, took my shoes off, hiked up my skirt a bit, and felt the cool water touch my feet. It felt so nice that I just wanted to be engulfed by the cold water, and be swept away with the current, but I knew if I did that, I wouldn’t be able to have my ranch, and I wasn’t about to give up all my life dreams to become an ocean goddess. I could stick to being a meme queen for now.

As I was standing in the water, feeling the waves crash over my ankles which were showing (so scandalous), Haiden joined me, and we had a sort of therapeutic experience of just letting our legs be soaked. It was oddly calming, I now understood why people found the ocean a nice place to clear your mind because as I stood there with my feet in the water, overlooking the horizon, I felt everything that seemed so confusing and difficult to understand fade away.

I must’ve stood there for at least half an hour before Haiden led me away, telling me my feet would fall off from the cold, I realized the ocean didn’t have the same effect on Haiden as it did me.

He thinks I’m crazy. Who am I kidding at this point? I am crazy. Everyone knows it, Naomi, you’re the weird girl again, just like back home. The weirdo obsessed with cows, or fire, or almonds. They’ll all leave you… One by one. Just like always. He doesn’t want to spend time with you. Why would he? You’re nothing but a freak and a crazy girl. You’re worthless. A piece of trash, waiting to be thrown out.

I tried to build up another sandcastle, and the outcome ended up looking like how I felt. A pile of lumpy sand thrown together, trying to look put together. Needless to say, it wasn’t cute.

I got so frustrated with my lack of ability to make a sandcastle that I smooshed it and insisted we just leave. Rage was filling my soul and I needed to be alone so I could get rid of it effectively, rather than squishing sand castles and punching something.

Haiden was able to call back the car and we left immediately. The beach date had been an utter disaster. My feet, still wet and sandy, pulled into the car and we drove off. I didn’t even bother trying to grab my shoes, they would be a nice present for whoever came to that beach next.

I was so angry that I just wanted to cry or react in some way to get that pushing feeling out of my chest.

Mila or Sophie would make a much better queen. Haiden actually likes them. You’re here out of pity. If Cressida hadn’t assassinated his mother, she would be here instead of you.

My head couldn’t seem to shut up, spouting insults at me like there was no tomorrow. There was a battle going on inside my one being. If Haiden had noticed this happening, he didn’t make any indication he knew.

The car pulled up to the palace and I felt a rush of relief knowing I would be able to burn something soon. Before I was able to get out of the car and start sprinting to my room, Haiden grabbed my hand.

“Are you okay? You don’t seem like yourself today.”

I laughed bitterly. “People can’t be happy all the time Haiden, you should know that better than anyone.” And with that I flung open the door, not bothering to wait for the chauffeur and made a b line for the front door.

How do I get to my room? How long have I been here, yet I still didn’t know how to make it to my own room. God Naomi, you’re pathetic. This is not the time to be clueless! You’re trying to make a dramatic exit and storm out of here.

I turned left once and then right twice and then I realized I was lost and couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped where I was, in the middle of an empty hallway and sunk to the floor, crying. I couldn’t take it anymore. All the anger, all the depressing thoughts, and sadness I bottled up since coming to the palace… since papa died, spilled out of me all at once.

You aren’t good enough. You’re never good enough, you’ll never be. Why. WHY CAN’T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT? It’s your fault papa died and it’s your fault Queen Alize died. It’s all your fault! Why can’t you be normal? Why… must you exist?

Amidst my sobbing I hadn’t noticed footsteps coming closer to me.

“Naomi?” I heard the familiar voice say.

Oh God, this is exactly what I was trying to avoid. Could I lie my way out? I just got a letter saying my cat died. He probably won’t even know it’s a lie. I don’t even have a cat. Why would he bother knowing that about me?

“No, my name is Namoi. Naomi is busy at the moment. Y-You could leave a message.” I said, not trying to stop the tears from falling but rather trying to hide them.

“Is that so?” He said, amused with my antics.

“Yeah, actually I should probably go find her now. Nice seeing you again.” I said, trying to push past him before he stopped me in my tracks.

“Wait, just… just wait.” He said as if I had a choice of leaving while he was holding my arm.

“What?” I said begrudgingly. Why didn’t he understand I just wanted to be left alone. If he was allowed to deal with his issues alone, then so was I.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I said, tears still flowing down my face.

Aurora is going to be so angry that you ruined her nice makeup. Why do you ruin everything in your vicinity?

“Naomi.” He said sternly.

I broke. I was tired of trying to be the goody two shoes. I was tired of everyone stepping all over me like I was worthless. I was tired… of letting everyone think I was fine with everything. That I don’t get upset. That I don’t care. News flash, I do. After all, I am human. (No, yer a witch, Naomi HA Shut up Vivian)

“It’s… It’s just been a bad day.” I said in between sobs. “My cat just died.” I said as an afterthought.

“When did you get a cat?” Haiden asked, which I responded to by sobbing harder.

“I-I got him… before I came to the palace.” Haiden didn’t question my any further, instead pulled me in for a hug, letting all my tears drain out of my face.

After I finished crying, I wiped my eyes once again, pulled away from Haiden.

“I need to tell you something.” I said after a bit of standing and cleaning my face up. Surely I had mascara all down my cheeks.

“What?”

“I don’t have a cat.”

“I know.”

I nodded, laughing, despite the mood.

“Hey Naomi, what you said about not being happy all the time. What did you mean?”

“Sometimes I just feel like I always have to be the happy person people think I am. It’s stupid but-” I was interrupted.

“It’s not stupid.”

“Thanks.”

“And it’s fine to have bad days, but please don’t just go about them without telling someone, okay?” I nodded, wondering if he was speaking from experience, but not wanting to pry.

“I won’t, thanks Haiden.” I look up and stare at him, wondering whether or not I should tell him about the incident that has been bothering me. “Haiden… I-I need to tell you something. I’ve been bottling up everything bad that has happened to me since… god knows how long… a-and,” I feel the tear forming in eye. ”I just broke.”

I paused for a second, contemplating whether or not I should continue.

“You should know that… that day of the first attack,” I paused again. “I-I saw Cressida. I thought I was hallucinating b-but I wasn’t. I could’ve saved Queen Alizé… I could’ve prevented this whole damn situation… but I didn’t, and I can never, ever, ever, forgive myself for that. Kick me out now if you want to… this has just been eating me up and I’m sorry for everything.”

The tear rolls down my cheek as my mind throws every insult it could think of at me. He stares at me silently for a moment before he wraps his arms around me.

“There are a lot of things we regret in life. There are a lot of things we wish we could change. Don’t… don’t worry about it.”

This makes me sob even harder for some reason. It was an unpleasant sight to see. Realizing that I was bawling into his arms, I calmed myself down and apologized a million more times.

“I-It’s alright. Just… Don’t beat yourself up over this, Naomi.”

“I’ll try not to…” There was a long moment of silence. “Now, I think I should go and find Naomi, don’t you think?” I said, trying to lift up this depressing mood and referencing the lame excuse I tried to use earlier.

“Go ahead, Namoi.” I laughed and started walking before again realizing I was lost. How could I have forgotten?

“Hey Haiden.”

“Yeah.”

“…I don’t exactly know how to get to my room from here.”

He laughed and led the way.

Today was a bad day…. but I’ll be okay.

CRACK FIC TIMEEEEEEEE by: @niara-aldaine @viola-smithin and moi

I sincerely apologize for this

You ruined it Naomi, again. Why do you always have to do this? Why do you mess up everything you touch? Remember that expensive ass lamp that grandma gave us? WELL, YOU BROKE THAT SHIT TOO BLOODY HELL M8

(I’m tempted to say trash but i cant) GARBAE LIKE GARBAGE BAE

IM A GENIUS

YOU NEVER CEASE TO AMAZE ME

GARBAE

BAE WHO IS GARBAGE

CALL URBAN DICTIONARY

START A NEW TREND

I FORGOT ABOUT HAIDEN CUZ LORD KNOWS THAT BITCH IS CONFUSING. I SAY HE’S DISTANT HE SAYS WHAT??? THEN IGNORED ME FOR 4 MILLION YEARS AND THEN EATS MY FUCKING EAR. WHAT THE HELL?

I hadn’t realized but at some point in my contemplation of becoming a salty Barbie ocean goddess who can fucking salsa like SHAKIRA SHAKIRA with a 70’s headband, Haiden the fat-hoed 6-toed shark ass pork nibbler, snuck up behind me and SWALLOWED MY FUCKING EAR. WHAT THE HELL DUDE. WHO THE FUCK DOES THAT TO A PERSON, MUCH LESS A PERSON THAT CAN FUCKING SALSA LIKE SHAKIRA SHAKIRA WITH A 70’S HEADBAND, THAT IS NOT OK, BROCHACHO. I MEAN, I CAN FUCKING SALSA DUDE. I decided that Haiden needed a bag of fucking Doritos to calm his titties down and a good hair shave. His hormones were WAY out of control. Why didn’t I win then? Maybe he liked someone mild and bland, just like himself. But then again, it wasn’t MY fucking fault that Haiden, the guacamole egghead whisk couldn’t handle such SPICYNESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. I mean, I am pretty caliente.

After I managed to get my slobbered on ear back because Niara was very generous and blasted his stomach open with nuclear rice bombs made in Japananananan, I got to a professional donkey egghead whisk hospital and the very caliente police arrested Haiden for being a hormonic teenager nutzo who only guacamoled. He couldn’t calm his saggy raging titties so then Niara also blasted those off for him. Then I became the default queen because me la died from some mysterious reasons (cough Russians) and sophie went to the mountains. All was well. I invited a cow named Hachangchangchang to the redecorated Pepe meme palace to rule alongside me on SHAKIRA SHAKIRA thrones, at which point we had 50 japanse RUSSIAN kids all starting with the letter B. My favorite twins were BABANGBANG and BABANGBANGBANG. Viola and her girlfriend Sofika changed their names to Kakangkang and SHAKIRA SHAKIRA because they loved me that much. The oldest of them, KeekeeKomKikKokKeKikKokKakKue (Try saying that 5 times) took over and ruled with a fair hand full of chicken nuggets (all organic, courtesy of Mika Vladmska, the rice farmer) and her husband, Steve. (No one better fucking eat him this time, MULA) It was a peaceful rule (when Niara wasn’t bombing all the countries with her faithful pet polar bear, Dorito Nachos, and that dude, Feliz Navidad). All was good, all was right.

We pulled a Abby Schreave

“Thanks, now I’m gonna GO NIBBLE ON AN EAR LATER LOSER” THEN I STOLE HIS EAR AND RAN OFF MUAHHAAHHAHAHA FABULOUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

ALL DONE ENDO WHOPPPIE THIS IS SOME GOOD QUALITY CRAP.

Dr Phil voice: “You’ve got a problem”

#selectionoc #i apologize for this #naomi #vivian #crack fic

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erisedsubrocs · 8 years ago

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With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, Albus makes the decision to risk everything and tell Scorpius his biggest secret yet. However, untimely complications arise, putting Albus’s plan out of action and steering him down a dangerous path of pain and longing.

Scorpius continues to prove why he is the best friend a person could possibly have.

Thank you so much to @autumn-of-ilvermorny for not only being my fantastic beta once again, but also for supporting me as I delved into this new area of writing.

This story is separate from my Holiday series.

7 Days

Albus Potter fell heavily onto his four-poster bed in the Slytherin fifth year boys’ dormitory, his body curled up in a combination of anger and frustration. Valentine’s Day was all well and good for some people, he thought bitterly, punching the pillow viciously. Some people were lucky enough to find it easy, fun, enjoyable, even wish-fulfilling. Some people were normal enough to be able to take a person they cared for out for the day. Albus on the other hand, was not normal, was not lucky, and was most certainly not enjoying himself. He delivered a few more blows to the condemned pillow before screwing his eyes shut and counting to ten.

Letting out a long sigh of air, he slowly uncurled himself and sat up, straightening his robes carefully. Scorpius had stayed behind to talk to Professor McGonagall about a particular type of Switching Spell, which Albus had viewed as a perfect opportunity to let out some of his pent-up emotions with some long overdue sulking. Despite how brief his period of solitude had been, he felt it had helped to a degree; that is, until Scorpius walked into the room.

Albus stiffened as his best friend entered, softly closing the door behind himself. His heartbeat quickened and he felt his hands instantly grow sweaty. He cursed himself inwardly, hating that he had no control, and hating the way these feelings made him hurt in so many ways.

“Hey Albus!” Scorpius sang, jumping onto his own bed and flopping down dramatically. When Albus, still partially paralysed, didn’t respond, Scorpius sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Are you okay?”

Albus struggled to reply, finally managing, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just – tired…”

Scorpius looked concerned, but nodded anyway. “Me too, actually. I knew fifth year was going to be intense but this is mega-intense, especially Transfiguration. Transfiguration has to be Giga-Intense at least! And then on top of all of that there’s Valentine’s Day! I still don’t think I’m going to be taking anyone, seeing as there’s only a week left, and I think it takes slightly longer than that to find true love-”

Scorpius hesitated, then asked, “Are you taking anyone?”

Albus looked up and met Scorpius’s eyes, swallowing. “I- I mean – no. No, I don’t think so.” He cursed himself again, aware how stupid it had sounded, and aware of the fact he had just admitted defeat to himself. He knew exactly who he’d like to ask out, knew exactly who it was that made his stomach hurt with longing every time they were together. And they were together a lot, him and Scorpius. They were best friends after all, and Albus didn’t know if being near Scorpius so often was good or bad for him. He felt reasonably confident in his ability to hide his feelings from Scorpius. If anything, his ability to keep his feelings closeted was what he felt most confident in. He had had plenty of practice after all, having decided last year to not tell anyone that he was gay.

Scorpius frowned very slightly, before grinning broadly. “Oh well! We can go into Hogsmeade on the 14th as fellow bachelors.” He bent forward into a ridiculous sitting-down bow, before flopping backwards onto the bed again.

Albus forced a smile, which became genuine as Scorpius’s stomach gave a very audible rumble.

“Dinner time, I think,” he said.

“Yes!” replied Scorpius, jumping to his feet and following Albus towards the dormitory door. “And Albus, it’s Friday today, which means-“ He performed a drumroll on Albus’s back as they walked down the spiral staircase “-Treacle tart!”

Albus turned and began to walk backwards down the stairs, so that he could laugh up at Scorpius’s eager face. “Trust you to only think of the dessert,” he said fondly. “I’m thinking of the roast chicken and potatoes…”

They continued their banter as they walked, without haste, towards the Great Hall, and Albus almost forgot about being worried, and about the impending decision he would soon have to make.

5 Days

He was going to tell Scorpius. Tonight. Albus Potter was going to tell Scorpius Malfoy that he loved him, and that he would like to take him on an actual date for Valentine’s Day.

Albus Potter was also terrified. He was more terrified than he had ever been in his entire life, including during the events of last year. He knew in that moment that if it would make telling Scorpius easier, he would gladly fight Delphi three times over, but he also knew that he had to do it. He kept telling himself over and over that it would be worse for him if he kept it bottled up. He kept trying to reassure himself by going over the times that Scorpius had possibly indicated that he may feel the same way. His preoccupation clearly showed during his classes, owing to the fact that he was asked to pay attention on six separate occasions.

Albus decided to visit the Owlery before going to lunch, and asked Scorpius to save him some soup. Scorpius looked confused, but agreed, heading down to the Great Hall alone whilst Albus walked towards the tower housing the multitudes of owls residing at Hogwarts. He needed time to think over exactly what he was going to say, plan it word for word, because he knew when the time came he would most certainly not have the ability to construct a coherent sentence.

He entered the large, airy room filled with resting owls and sat down on the window sill, listening to the soft hoots drifting down to him. They knew him well, for Albus’s favourite place to visit when he needed to think was the Owlery, and he had to think a lot, especially since his feelings for Scorpius had evolved beyond friendship.

He took in a deep breath of the crisp air that was blowing gently through the open tower and held out his arms, waiting. After a few moments, his own tawny owl flew down from her perch and landed on his upper forearm. Before long, seven more followed, landing on his arms, shoulders and knees. Scorpius’s eagle owl took up his usual place on Albus’s right shoulder, gently nibbling at his hair.

Albus closed his eyes, focusing on the comforting weight of his companions, and began to work on his script, comforted by the thought that there was nothing here that could add to his confusion and trepidation.

***

After twenty minutes of detached thinking, Albus concluded that his speech was as planned as it was going to get. After ensuring he gave each of the eight owls perched on him an equally affectionate goodbye he stood up, carefully brushing the feathers off his robes before hurrying down to the Great Hall.

True to his word, Scorpius had saved him a bowl of soup and a stack of toast, as well as a chair on his left. Albus’s stomach gave its customary swoop followed by a cramp of longing as he sat down beside Scorpius. He waited until he was sure he could speak normally, before answering Scorpius’s exuberant “Hi!”.

In between hurried mouthfuls of soup and toast, Albus took in Scorpius’s radiant expression and excited fidgeting. “What’s got you so worked up Scorp?”

“Albus!” he squeaked in response.

“Yes?”

“Guess what?”

“What?” asked Albus, with increasing bewilderment.

“I- You were wrong! I was first! I’ve got- I’m going- I was first!”

Scorpius was practically bouncing up and down on his chair now, hands drawn up into his sleeves and clutching the collar of his robes.

“Scorpius, what are you talking about? What do you mean you were first?”

“You said you’d be first to get a girlfriend, remember!”

Albus blinked, taking several moments to process what Scorpius had said. A horrible feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean?” he said in barely more than a whisper.

“I just got asked out! For Valentine’s Day! By Georgia Evett from Ravenclaw!”

Albus swallowed thickly. “What- what did you say to her?”

“YES!” squeaked Scorpius. “Well, I hope I said it in a more refined manner, but I said yes of course! Georgia asked me out and I said yes! Have you seen how pretty and nice and clever she is Albus?”

Albus blinked again, the feeling in his stomach now awfully heavy. “No, I can’t say I have,” he managed. “Congratulations mate, you deserve someone nice.” His voice sounded strange, as though it was coming from a long way away.

“Thank you!” beamed Scorpius. He looked up at the clock and noted the time. “I have to go to Arithmancy, I’ll meet you in the common room for our study period.”

“Actually Scorp, I said I’d study with Lily today,” Albus found himself saying, though he had made no such plans. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, okay,” replied Scorpius, looking a little hurt. “I’ll see you afterwards then.”

“Yeah, okay,” said Albus, picking up his bag and returning the piece of toast he had been holding back to its plate, where it promptly vanished. The food he had eaten now felt like wet concrete that was slowly setting.

***

As Scorpius climbed the staircase with his Arithmancy classmates, and the rest of the Slytherin fifth years walked towards the Divination tower, Albus made a beeline for the staircase descending down to the dungeons, breaking into a clumsy run as he neared the common room. There were three seventh years sitting in the armchairs by the window, and they shot him questioning looks as he hurriedly walked towards the spiral staircase leading up to the dormitory.

He flung himself onto his bed, fingers tangled painfully in his hair, and curled in on himself, making himself as small as possible. There were no tears, just pain, hurt, anger and more pain. The fact that the image of Scorpius’s ecstatic face was etched across his mind didn’t help matters. There was simply no escaping the reality of how much his best friend meant to him, and how much it hurt when any chances he had of developing a romantic relationship with Scorpius were smashed to pieces in an instant.

The tears did start to come then. They came thick and fast, soaking his hair and pillow as he sobbed. This was not the same crying that he had done when he was three and James had spilled water on his newly completed picture of Harry. This was not the same crying that he had done when Scorpius was being tortured by Delphi in the Triwizard maze. Albus realised as he lay there shaking and sobbing that in fact, this was closest to the crying he had done when Harry had said those horrible words to him last year. It was the crying reserved for the deepest of injuries, the most painful of wounds.

He cried until there was nothing left, and after that he simply lay there, thinking about what would happen now.

3 Days

In the time after his afternoon in the dormitory, Albus had started doing what he did best: hiding his feelings and pain, keeping them confined inside his mind. This left Albus with nothing to display to the public, and he therefore appeared to revert to the Albus that had entered Hogwarts four years ago. He became closed off, inexpressive, and detached from everyone and everything he interacted with.

On the inside however, there was a civil war raging that was slowly destroying him from within. One side of him (evidently what Gryffindor characteristics he had inherited from his parents) was trying to convince him to tell Scorpius the truth. It argued that he still had a good chance, that Scorpius hadn’t mentioned anything about Georgia or Valentine’s Day since that fateful lunch, that surely Scorpius, his best friend and sole companion for four years, who had been through hell and back for him, at least felt something for Albus.

Then there was the other, more prevalent side of Albus. The side that was scared, hurt, squashed and terrified of making things worse. This side of him argued, in a shrewd, hissing voice, that telling Scorpius the truth could drive him away forever, destroy their bond, cause him to lose the friendship that had been the one fantastically reliable thing Albus had had since he was eleven years old.

No, it was best to play it safe, he thought to himself. He was completely unaware that Scorpius had been attempting to talk with him for the better part of five minutes, absorbed as he was in his worries about driving his best friend away.

1 Day

“Albus Severus Potter, look at me right now and listen to what I have to say.”

Albus jerked his head up in surprise at the sound of Scorpius’s raised voice. He looked across the table at Scorpius, who was sitting in the armchair directly opposite him.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, slowly.

Scorpius looked him directly in the face, his eyes filled with concern and determination.

“Albus, I’ve been trying to talk to you for four days. Four days. Something is wrong, you’re hiding something from me and I’m sick of watching it destroy you. I want you to talk to me right now, and tell me what’s the matter. Neither of us are going to leave this common room until I’m sure you’re not keeping anything dangerous locked up in that head of yours anymore.”

Albus stilled in his chair, his eyes not leaving Scorpius’s. He should have known that he couldn’t hide from Scorpius, he knew him too well, and he cared too much. But he couldn’t tell him, he couldn’t risk losing Scorpius forever. He couldn’t risk everything on the off chance he could gain everything.

“Albus, please,” said Scorpius, softly. “Please, talk to me.”

Albus clenched his fists and bit his lip, the battle in his head reaching a frenzied finale.

“I want to help. Please let me in.”

He let out a long, shuddering breath, unclenching his fists and closing his eyes. Making the decision lifted a weight off his shoulders that he didn’t know he had been carrying. He had to tell Scorpius, had to end this, one way or another. This way, he would either win everything, or he would lose everything. The alternative was a guaranteed loss in every case, and therefore wasn’t an alternative at all.

Making the decision was the easy part, which terrified Albus because it had been far from easy.

“Scorpius-” He cleared his throat and took several deep breaths. Scorpius nodded encouragingly, but he was unable to hide the growing concern visible on his face.

“Scorpius, I’m – I’m gay,” said Albus, quietly.

Scorpius’s initial reaction was one of minor surprise. The concern vanished to be replaced by a look of confusion, which quickly relaxed into an expression that could only be described as caring.

“Hey, it’s okay!” he said. “It’s completely fine, you don’t have to be worried or ashamed about being gay Albus. I promise you, it doesn’t change anything.”

Albus swallowed thickly, the relief from Scorpius’s acceptance doing little to relieve the terror he felt when contemplating what he had to do next.

“There’s something else,” he said, his voice low. “And it might change things.”

“Albus, whatever you tell me won’t change the fact that you’re my best friend. Nothing you do can change the fact that I would suffer Voldemort Day a thousand times over if it meant keeping you safe and happy.”

He nodded, more to himself than to Scorpius, and took three more deep breaths, trying to slow his heartbeat to a reasonable pace.

“There’s someone I like. Someone I love, a lot.”

“Oh,” said Scorpius, looking down for the first time since their conversation had started. “Okay, can you tell me who? Have they hurt you?”

“He’s the nicest, most caring person I’ve ever met. He’s also the bravest, loyalest, and most kind-hearted person in the world. He also happens to be my best friend, who’s sitting in front of me right now, proving everything I just said about him to be true.”

He’d done it. It had been said. It was all over now. All he had to do now was sit there and wait for his sentence to fall.

Scorpius, for the first time in his life, seemed unable to form words. He simply sat there, looking at Albus, his expression unreadable. Then, “I’m so sorry.”

Albus closed his eyes, knowing what Scorpius would say next. That he couldn’t return Albus’s feelings, that he would never be able to look at him the same way ever again.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, and I’m so sorry I never told you that I feel the same way.”

The hurriedly thought up excuses to leave the room died on Albus’s lips. He opened his eyes, hardly daring to believe what he had heard.

“Say- say that again, please?” he stammered.

“I’ve felt the same way about you for months, but I never thought it was possible that you were like me. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“But Rose – Georgia…”

“I – I think I’m bisexual, Albus. I like both. I thought I’d never be able to be with you in that way, so I forced myself to try and move on. I never really got the hang of it though. I cancelled my date with Georgia last night, it just felt wrong, the idea of going with her. All I could think about was you, and how you had been acting since I told you about her, and I think it showed because she kept saying how I wasn’t paying any attention to her. Girls are confusing, other boys are confusing, but I’ve always known you.”

Albus sat there, dumbfounded. The hard concrete in his stomach began to liquefy, and was gradually being replaced by something that felt like sunlight.

“Albus? Can I hug you?” asked Scorpius, tentatively.

Albus nodded, a glorious happiness spreading through his body, still in shock at the recent turn of events. He and Scorpius stood up, and Albus held out his arms, as if he were waiting for his owl companions to come and perch on them. Instead, he got Scorpius, and it was the best feeling in the world.

It was similar to their previous hugs, but it was also very different. It was packed with so much emotion that Albus couldn’t help his face splitting into the biggest smile he had had in a long time. He pulled back slightly and noticed that Scorpius was mirroring his joy.

Albus laughed in relief and happiness. “Telling you those things was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I feel like I’ve just run up every tower in Hogwarts, then swum around the lake three times!” he said, grinning up at Scorpius.

“You look so much better,” Scorpius said in response. “Like you’ve just shed a load of worries the size of a Ukrainian Ironbelly.”

“Nerd," Albus muttered into Scorpius's shoulder, smiling widely. He pulled away and looked up again, before softly saying, "I feel so much better.”

“Albus?”

“Yeah?”

“What would you say if I asked you to come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow, for Valentine’s Day?”

Albus gave a small hop and squeezed Scorpius’s middle, grinning up at him again. “I think I’d say YES! Although hopefully in a more refined manner.”

Scorpius laughed. “Albus Potter, you can be as unrefined as you like, as long as you promise to be yourself, and stop hiding things from your boyfriend.”

Albus swayed slightly, desperately trying to take in and process the events of the last fifteen minutes. Eventually he decided not to worry about it right now, he would have plenty of time later.

“Are we boyfriends now?” he asked, wanting to be absolutely clear.

“If you want to be,” replied Scorpius.

“Then it’s a deal,” he said back. “As long as you promise not to keep secrets from your boyfriend.”

“Done,” Scorpius sang, pulling Albus back into a tight hug, and Albus knew that the day he had been dreading for the past six days couldn’t come fast enough.

Thank you very much for reading. This story comes from my own heart and mind, so was very difficult to put into words. I hope you enjoyed it, and as always, I would love a comment if you have time :)

#my writing #scorbus #scorbus fic #scorbus fanfic #angst #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #albus severus potter #albus potter #scorpius malfoy #scorpius hyperion malfoy #unrequited love #valentine's day #HPCC Valentine #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter and the cursed child #hpcc

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hpcc-advent-calendar · 8 years ago

Text

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: As the Days Go By

By @erisedsubrocs

3.4k words, G Rated

Scorpius continues to prove why he is the best friend a boy could possibly have.

Thank you so much to @autumn-of-ilvermorny for not only being my fantastic beta once again, but also for supporting me as I delved into this new area of writing, and for being a great friend :)

————

7 Days

Albus struggled to reply, finally managing, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just – tired…”

Scorpius hesitated, then asked, “Are you taking anyone?”

Albus forced a smile, which became genuine as Scorpius’s stomach gave a very audible rumble.

“Dinner time, I think,” he said.

They continued their banter as they walked, without haste, towards the Great Hall, and Albus almost forgot about being worried, and about the impending decision he would soon have to make.

————

5 Days

He was going to tell Scorpius. Tonight. Albus Potter was going to tell Scorpius Malfoy that he loved him, and that he would like to take him on an actual date for Valentine’s Day.

***

In between hurried mouthfuls of soup and toast, Albus took in Scorpius’s radiant expression and excited fidgeting. “What’s got you so worked up Scorp?”

“Albus!” he squeaked in response.

“Yes?”

“Guess what?”

“What?” asked Albus, with increasing bewilderment.

“I- You were wrong! I was first! I’ve got- I’m going- I was first!”

Scorpius was practically bouncing up and down on his chair now, hands drawn up into his sleeves and clutching the collar of his robes.

“Scorpius, what are you talking about? What do you mean you were first?”

“You said you’d be first to get a girlfriend, remember!”

Albus blinked, taking several moments to process what Scorpius had said. A horrible feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean?” he said in barely more than a whisper.

“I just got asked out! For Valentine’s Day! By Georgia Evett from Ravenclaw!”

Albus swallowed thickly. “What- what did you say to her?”

“Thank you!” beamed Scorpius. He looked up at the clock and noted the time. “I have to go to Arithmancy, I’ll meet you in the common room for our study period.”

“Actually Scorp, I said I’d study with Lily today,” Albus found himself saying, though he had made no such plans. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, okay,” replied Scorpius, looking a little hurt. “I’ll see you afterwards then.”

***

He cried until there was nothing left, and after that he simply lay there, thinking about what would happen now.

————

3 Days

————

1 Day

“Albus Severus Potter, look at me right now and listen to what I have to say.”

Albus jerked his head up in surprise at the sound of Scorpius’s raised voice. He looked across the table at Scorpius, who was sitting in the armchair directly opposite him.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, slowly.

Scorpius looked him directly in the face, his eyes filled with concern and determination.

“Albus, please,” said Scorpius, softly. “Please, talk to me.”

Albus clenched his fists and bit his lip, the battle in his head reaching a frenzied finale.

“I want to help. Please let me in.”

Making the decision was the easy part, which terrified Albus because it had been far from easy.

“Scorpius-” He cleared his throat and took several deep breaths. Scorpius nodded encouragingly, but he was unable to hide the growing concern visible on his face.

“Scorpius, I’m – I’m gay,” said Albus, quietly.

Scorpius’s initial reaction was one of minor surprise. The concern vanished to be replaced by a look of confusion, which quickly relaxed into an expression that could only be described as caring.

“Hey, it’s okay!” he said. “It’s completely fine, you don’t have to be worried or ashamed about being gay Albus. I promise you, it doesn’t change anything.”

Albus swallowed thickly, the relief from Scorpius’s acceptance doing little to relieve the terror he felt when contemplating what he had to do next.

“There’s something else,” he said, his voice low. “And it might change things.”

He nodded, more to himself than to Scorpius, and took three more deep breaths, trying to slow his heartbeat to a reasonable pace.

“There’s someone I like. Someone I love, a lot.”

“Oh,” said Scorpius, looking down for the first time since their conversation had started. “Okay, can you tell me who? Have they hurt you?”

He’d done it. It had been said. It was all over now. All he had to do now was sit there and wait for his sentence to fall.

Scorpius, for the first time in his life, seemed unable to form words. He simply sat there, looking at Albus, his expression unreadable. Then, “I’m so sorry.”

Albus closed his eyes, knowing what Scorpius would say next. That he couldn’t return Albus’s feelings, that he would never be able to look at him the same way ever again.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, and I’m so sorry I never told you that I feel the same way.”

The hurriedly thought up excuses to leave the room died on Albus’s lips. He opened his eyes, hardly daring to believe what he had heard.

“Say- say that again, please?” he stammered.

“I’ve felt the same way about you for months, but I never thought it was possible that you were like me. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“But Rose – Georgia…”

Albus sat there, dumbfounded. The hard concrete in his stomach began to liquefy, and was gradually being replaced by something that felt like sunlight.

“Albus? Can I hug you?” asked Scorpius, tentatively.

“You look so much better,” Scorpius said in response. “Like you’ve just shed a load of worries the size of a Ukrainian Ironbelly.”

“I feel so much better,” said Albus softly, relaxing in Scorpius’s embrace.

“Albus?”

“Yeah?”

“What would you say if I asked you to come to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow, for Valentine’s Day?”

Albus gave a small hop and squeezed Scorpius’s middle, grinning up at him again. “I think I’d say YES! Although hopefully in a more refined manner.”

Scorpius laughed. “Albus Potter, you can be as unrefined as you like, as long as you promise to be yourself, and stop hiding things from your boyfriend.”

Albus swayed slightly, desperately trying to take in and process the events of the last fifteen minutes. Eventually he decided not to worry about it right now, he would have plenty of time later.

“Are we boyfriends now?” he asked, wanting to be absolutely clear.

“If you want to be,” replied Scorpius.

“Then it’s a deal,” he said back. “As long as you promise not to keep secrets from your boyfriend.”

“Done,” Scorpius sang, pulling Albus back into a tight hug, and Albus knew that the day he had been dreading for the past six days couldn’t come fast enough.

#Harry Potter and the Cursed Child #Scorbus #Scorpius Malfoy #Albus Severus Potter #Keep The Secrets #HPCC Valentine #fic #submission

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torestoreamends · 8 years ago

Text

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Fic: Time Turns

8.1k words, G rated

A lot can change in two years. Destroying a Time-Turner doesn’t stop time turning, but sometimes that can be a really good thing. Sometimes you can get an awful lot of love out of it.

I always wanted Scorpius’s 17th birthday watch to have some connection to the Time-Turners, because they’re so significant throughout his life, so here’s a fic exploring that.

This is dedicated to the incredible @platinasi. It’s such an honour to have you as part of this fandom, and I’m delighted to be able to call you my friend. I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and a great year beyond that. You certainly deserve to.

Thanks to @abradystrix for betaing, and thanks to Newt Scamander/J.K. Rowling for clearing up the pluralisation of Erumpents for us.

Scorpius pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders, and leans his head against the rain spattered window-pane. It's the 1st of November. A chilly, grey day; broken by occasional bursts of radiant sunshine. This is one of those days when the Manor never seems to heat all the way through. The fires can only do so much to warm the thick stonework, long corridors, and cavernous rooms.

It doesn't help that Scorpius still feels cold from yesterday. He's not sure how much warmth it'll take to thaw him out, after hours and hours spent sitting outside in the snow, but he hasn't got there yet. His fingers feel like icicles, and if he wasn't reading, he'd be keeping them tucked up warm inside the blanket.

The Manor is quiet and still. There's a strange atmosphere in the air. All possible emotion was expended last night and this morning, and now there's a sort of contented emptiness. No more tears, nothing more to be scared of, just relief, and a sense that everything is going to be okay. Scorpius wonders if it feels the same way in the Potters' house.

He turns a page in his book, and stares down at the words. Today he's not reading about history, he's had enough history in the past few weeks to last him a lifetime. This one's a Defence Against the Dark Arts book he'd stolen from Albus over the summer, and has only just got round to starting. The summer feels like an awfully long time ago... everything in the world has happened since then.

In the summer he didn't talk to his dad. In the summer he was thoroughly miserable. In the summer he'd only ever read about Voldemort in books, and he'd been relieved to live in a world without him, certain he'd never have been able to face a threat like that. In the summer he'd dreamed of being brave, and going on adventures, but he'd never imagined that it might ever really happen, or that he'd cope with it if it did.

And now... Well, now nothing will ever be the same again. But sometimes that's a good thing. Of course there are bits of it he wishes had never happened at all, and that he could go back and erase – everything that happened in the maze – but most of it... Most of it has turned out for the better, from what he can tell so far.

He tucks a bit of hair behind his ear and looks up from his book, peering out at the rain-soaked garden. In the distance, long rays of golden light splash across the rolling downs, and he smiles. It might yet turn out to be a nice day.

He stares out through the window for a little while, then adjusts his blanket and returns to his book. He's so absorbed in reading about Counter-Charms and Counter-Jinxes that he doesn't even hear his dad approaching down the hallway, until he clears his throat.

"Scorpius..."

Scorpius jumps, drops his book, which falls shut, and manages to get so tangled up in his blanket that he falls off the windowsill.

"Dad," he gasps, struggling to free himself. "You snuck up on me."

"I'm sorry," his dad says, in a voice that's clearly meant to be concerned, but mostly sounds like he's trying not to laugh. "Do you need a hand?"

Scorpius kicks at the blanket, trying to get his legs out. After several seconds of fruitless flailing he looks up at his dad. "Yes please."

His dad loses his battle to keep from smiling as he bends down to release Scorpius's legs from the blanket. He gives a twisted smirk and plucks the material away, then takes hold of Scorpius's arm and helps him off the floor.

Scorpius stumbles a step or two, but his dad steadies him, and brushes a bit of dust off his jacket.

"Are you alright?" He asks, still smiling.

Scorpius nods and retrieves his book from the floor. "I was reading about Counter-Charms," he explains. "I didn't notice you coming."

"Apparently not."

Scorpius glances up at his dad to see the sort of soft expression he's certain he'll never be used to, but which makes him feel exceptionally warm and happy inside. He breaks into a sheepish grin and ducks his head. "Sorry."

"No," his dad waves a dismissive hand. "Don't be." He resets his feet a little, looks down at his hands, and takes a breath. Scorpius can sense him struggling. He puts the book down on the window seat and hugs his jumper tight around his body.

"Are you okay, Dad?"

Draco glances at him and nods. "Yes. I was just wondering if I could have a word."

Scorpius sits down on the seat and looks expectantly up at him. "Go on."

His dad hesitates, then sits beside him, shifting the book aside. Scorpius grins and shuffles sideways, until he's close enough to lean against his dad's side. Draco puts an arm round him and gives his shoulders a tight squeeze. That has rapidly become Scorpius's favourite type of hug, and he smiles even wider and rests his head on his dad's shoulder. Draco doesn't let go of him.

"I wanted to talk to you about yesterday," he says. "About the Time-Turner that brought us all home."

Scorpius's head shoots up, and he looks at his dad with pure curiosity. "I wondered about that! Whose was it? Where did you get it? I know you can't have made it, because it takes years to make them. I read about it in that book of Mum's, the one about the mysteries of time."

"It was mine," Draco says simply, looking back at him.

Scorpius blinks at him. "Yours?"

Draco nods. "It used to be your grandfather's, but I held onto it. I thought it might..." he breaks off, shaking his head. "You never know when these things will be useful."

"You thought it might bring Mum back," Scorpius murmurs, looking down at his hands. "That... that was what I thought too. That was why I went along with the plan. I thought I might be able to save her, once we'd saved Cedric."

Draco's grip tightens on his shoulder. "I thought there might be a chance," he admits.

Scorpius tucks a bit of hair behind his ear and curls up by his dad's side. "Once I was in that other world," he murmurs, "the one where Cedric was alive... That was when I knew it wouldn't work." He looks up at his dad. "We were trying to destroy the Time-Turner when Delphi found us. We didn't know she was going to- Albus thought she might help."

"I know," Draco says, releasing his shoulder and stroking his hair instead. For a little while they sit in silence, listening to the rain pattering on the window pane, Scorpius absent-mindedly messing with the tiny decorative buttons on his dad's robes.

Finally Draco takes a deep breath. "Scorpius... I think you understand that... we can't keep this." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the gleaming golden Time-Turner.

Scorpius's eyes widen and he stares at it. "Hermione let you have it?"

"I didn't ask anyone's permission," his dad says, looking down at the device, his fingers skimming the glittering decorations, and across the pale clock face. "It's mine, and I intend to destroy it myself. "He glances at Scorpius. "I was wondering if – hoping – you'd like to help."

Scorpius reaches out and takes the Time-Turner from his dad. It's just the same as the one he's been holding onto for the last few months, although it feels warmer, like it's thrumming with energy. There are no dents in this one either. It's perfect, burnished gold, while the other one was a frosted silver, a bit dented and battered from use.

"You're not going to keep it?" He asks. "For your collection?"

His dad shakes his head. "Do you think that would be a good idea?"

"No," Scorpius says. He turns the Time-Turner round in his hands. "No, that would be stupid."

"Precisely," Draco says. "So I think we need to get rid of it once and for all. Together." He looks at Scorpius. "I think you've more than earned the right to help."

Scorpius fiddles with the clock face, careful not to set the device off by accident. "How are you going to do it? Albus and I weren't sure of the best way..."

His dad reaches out for the Time-Turner, and Scorpius hands it over. His dad shakes his head as he turns it over in his hand, inspecting every inch of it. "I don't know. I'd quite like to see how it works." He glances up at Scorpius. "If we could take it apart and disable the pieces..."

Scorpius lights up. "There must be all sorts of spell work... the way they've harnessed time in these devices. It's fascinating. I bet Mum would have loved to get her hands on one of these."

"I almost feel we owe it to her to investigate it a bit," his dad says.

The two of them look at each other, and Scorpius grins. "Can we do it?"

"I think we'd better," Draco says. He gets to his feet, and Scorpius bounces up next to him, already brimming over with questions he wants answered. There are a thousand books he wants to get from the library, so he can check things out as they go, but he does his best to contain himself as they go downstairs to the kitchen.

---

"Look at this," Draco murmurs, peering through his reading glasses at a small fragment of gold metal in his hand.

Scorpius looks up from the clock face he's inspecting, and crawls further across the kitchen table, until he's almost lying entirely on top of it. He frowns at the bit of metal his dad is holding, and spots the tiny markings on it. "Is that a spell? What does it do?"

His dad shakes his head. "I'm not sure. It's too small to read."

"Your eyesight is almost as bad as Harry's," Scorpius teases, stealing the bit of metal from his hand and squinting at it.

"Don't be rude," his dad says. "I will never be as bad as Potter."

"Mmhmm?" Scorpius asks lightly, smirking. "Ooo, look." He points to a bit of writing, tapping it with his finger. "Is this some sort of stabiliser? Maybe this is what was missing from the other one... this is fascinating." He looks up to see his dad smiling at him, a soft, unfamiliar expression on his face. Scorpius feels his cheeks heat. "What are you smiling at? I'm not wrong, am I?" He glances back down at the scrap of golden metal. "Did I say something stupid?"

"No," Draco says. "I was just thinking you inherited your brains from your mother. She could easily have been a Ravenclaw."

"Oh," Scorpius murmurs, and he knows he's turned bright pink. "Well... I think it's interesting. Spell theory is one of my favourite topics. I like how you can put words together and end up with something amazing, you know? There are so many possibilities."

Draco nods. "I agree. I assume you like McGonagall's lessons best of all?"

It's been so long since they actually had a conversation about school, that Scorpius sits up on the table, almost bouncing a bit with excitement. "Of course. They're the best. The other week we were talking about Switching Spells, and how you can adapt them to different creatures. At least- I hope we were. That was in one of the other worlds..." he falls quiet, remembering. "I wish I'd had time to talk to Professor Snape about his spells. But we were a bit busy." He gives a quiet sigh and puts the scrap of golden metal down onto the table, instead picking up the clock face again. When he looks up from that, to find another bit of mechanism to examine, he finds his dad still watching him, the Time-Turner abandoned in pieces in front of him.

"I'm still sorry," Draco says softly. "That you had to experience that. It sounds like it was hell. And I'm especially sorry that I wasn't able to protect you, either version of you. I'm not sure your mother would have been very proud of me in that world."

Scorpius shuffles across the table to pick up a few tiny cogs, which he starts trying to fit together. It's easier than trying to look at his dad. "I don't know. I think... I think you might have been doing your best. And you loved her – Mum. And... and you loved me too. You told me to be safe." He glances up briefly, then back down at his cogs. He turns them on the table, so the five he's linked together all twist as one. "I think you cared. And I think you wanted me to succeed at what I was doing. I don't think I realised until then..." he stops fiddling with the cogs and chews nervously at his fingernails. "I don't think I realised that you cared. You know, that the other you did, but you you as well. And I missed you. Because you're my dad, and sometimes I..." he trails off and swallows. "Sometimes I need my dad," he mumbles.

"I will always be here when you need me," his dad says, voice hard with determination. "I know I haven't been in the past, but I'm not losing you again, Scorpius. And I don't want you to be unhappy anymore."

Scorpius glances up and nods. His throat feels tight and clogged up, and he's not sure he could say anything even if he wanted to. He goes back to messing with the cogs, and judging by the sound of rattling metal, his dad has returned to picking apart the Time-Turner.

After a couple of minutes, Scorpius decides he can no longer pretend to be interested in the cogs, so he pushes them to one side and looks up for something else to examine. His dad is standing very still, the majority of the Time-Turner now disassembled in front of him, and he's staring down at something that's glowing in the palm of his hand.

"What's that?" Scorpius asks, scrambling closer to see.

"I think this might be the heart of it. The bit that makes it work." He looks up at Scorpius, face bathed in the golden light. "Come and listen to this." He beckons to Scorpius, who scrambles eagerly up beside him. Draco holds up what looks like a handful of pure sunshine. Scorpius leans in and closes his eyes.

He can hear a faint humming, and ticking. It's like being able to hear time itself. Rhythmic, working away, never stopping. A constant onward movement. The sound of inevitability. It's the sound of encroaching sickness, and grief. It's the sound of a train rattling along tracks. Of golden dawns, and dark nights. Of loneliness and friendship. Of cold, rattling breath, and creaking bed springs, and softly hooting owls. Of snow settling in dark hair, and ash settling over a dark street. Of hugs, and dripping water, and flapping robes, and a thousand other things.

He pulls away with a little gasp, head and ears buzzing. "That's... incredible."

His dad glances at him, expression bright and soft. "I know."

"Mum would have loved it."

His dad nods. "I know." He looks down at the ball of light, and it makes his eyes glitter for a moment. Then he draws his wand with one hand and presses the tip into the swirling cloud.

"Wait," Scorpius says.

Draco looks up. "We need to stop it."

"I know," Scorpius says, voice shaky. "But... how are you going to do it? You should do it nicely."

His dad withdraws his wand. "Nicely? It can't feel anything. I'm not killing it, just switching it off."

"I don't care." Scorpius draws his own wand – his new one, just hours old, which still feels a little unfamiliar in his hand – and moves closer. "I want to put it to sleep."

"I don't know if that will be-"

"It'll work," Scorpius insists. He has no idea if it really will or not. He knows just as much about this little ball of time as his dad does. But he has a hunch that it might, and that it'll be kinder somehow.

His dad looks at him, then shakes his head. "Alright. Together, then?"

Scorpius nods.

They both level their wands. Scorpius moves his forward, pressing it into the bright ball of time. He can feel the warmth emanating from it, and the ticking rises incessantly in his ears, until he can barely stand it. Opposite him, his dad winces, and he knows they're both suffering.

"Please can we-" Scorpius says, screwing up his face in discomfort.

His dad nods. "Three, two, one-"

They both say the incantation at the same time, and the effect is immediate.

For a moment the ticking sound builds up, and Scorpius can barely hold his wand still. He wants to curl up into a little ball and squeeze his hands tight over his ears. It's overwhelming and painful and-

Then it releases. The ticking fades and dies. And at the same time, the golden glow begins to recede. Scorpius looks down at the ball of light, and he sees that it's retracting, disappearing away, until only the very centre of the cloud is burning, and like the sun trying to break through on a grey day. And then it's gone, leaving just a swirling grey mass, which starts to unravel into wisps, and drift away.

Scorpius looks up and watches it go. It's like smoke, or dust, separating into tiny particles that might be hours or minutes or seconds, until they become nothing at all. He exhales, feeling an odd sense of relief. There are no more Time-Turners, no more temptation or mistakes to be made. This is it. They're free. Free of the past, and of those awful other worlds. The only option left is this one, and he gets the sense that this world might just be okay.

"Well then," his dad says, looking at him with a small smile. "The adventure seems to be over."

Scorpius grins and hops down from the table. He comes and stands next to his dad and looks down at the pile of Time-Turner bits. "Can all adventures be over forever? Can we just have a quiet and uneventful rest of our lives?"

Draco laughs and ruffles his hair. "That would be nice. But you have a Potter for a best friend. I don't think they know how to have a quiet life."

Scorpius sighs dramatically and leans against his side. "I suppose I do."

"I'm sure you'll get used to it," his dad says, shooting him a smile.

"You'll get used to it too," Scorpius replies. "You're friends with Harry now. Or at least it seemed that way yesterday..."

"I question our life choices," Draco says, shaking his head. "What have we done?"

They smile at each other for a moment, then Scorpius reaches across and hugs his dad tight round the middle. "Hopefully a good thing."

---

"Scorpius," Albus sing-songs.

Scorpius keeps his eyes tight shut. He's awake; of course he is. Albus is crashing and wriggling around loudly enough to wake the dead, even if he thinks he's being quiet. But it's kinder and more fun to let him think he's being subtle.

The floorboards creak, presumably as Albus slides out of bed and starts tiptoeing across the gap between their beds. Scorpius bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling as the creaking gets progressively louder. After a moment it stops, and he feels Albus's breath on his face. Albus must be leaning right over him.

"Scorpius," Albus hisses.

Scorpius digs the tips of his fingers into his mattress and tries to control himself. Just a few seconds more. He only has to keep playing this game for a little while. In a minute, Albus is going to-

"SCORPIUS!" Albus shouts, spit peppering Scorpius's face, noise bursting his eardrums.

Scorpius doesn't jump. He just casually opens his eyes and grins up at his boyfriend. "Good morning, Albus."

Albus blinks at him, then frowns. "You were already awake?"

"Ya-huh."

Albus's face falls. "That's not fair. You didn't tell me you were awake."

"I thought I'd let you have your fun," he says, crossing his arms behind his head and gazing up at Albus. "There was no way I could sleep through all that racket. You're like a herd of Erumpents stampeding through our dorm. Anyway, I've been awake for hours." He sits up. "It is my birthday after all."

Albus grumbles at Scorpius, and comes to sit on his bed, bouncing a bit. "Apparently coming of age doesn't make you any more mature."

Scorpius hits him in the face with a pillow. "Be nice to me. It's my special day."

Albus wrestles the pillow off him and hits him on the head with it. "No."

Scorpius snatches the pillow back. "Yes."

"No!" Albus tries to steal the pillow again, but Scorpius throws it across the room and tackles Albus onto the bed, kissing him hard. Albus makes a muffled noise of surprise, then sinks his hands into Scorpius's hair and relaxes, all the fight melting out of him.

After a moment, Scorpius pulls away and grins down at him. "How about we call a truce?"

Albus glares up at him, jaw tight and jutting. Then he nods. "Fine. Only because it's your birthday."

Scorpius leans down to give him another peck on the lips, but Albus holds him down, turning it into a lengthy kiss. When Scorpius is finally released, he rolls off Albus and onto the bed next to him, spreading himself out, so their limbs overlap. Albus strokes a crooked finger against his side, without even seeming to realise what he's doing.

"Do you think," Scorpius says, shivering happily and turning his head to look at Albus, "that I should open my presents now... or save them until later?"

Albus looks back at him. They're so close together that Scorpius can feel the ghost of Albus's breath against his cheeks. His eyes are such a beautiful colour, a deep green, the colour of trees in summer, or grass just after it's rained, all shot through with tiny flecks of brown and turquoise.

"We're going out with your dad later," Albus says, cheeks flushing a faint pink under Scorpius's gaze. "There might not be time."

Scorpius nods and licks his lips thoughtfully. "I suppose it would be good to be able to thank him for my present... I'll never get round to writing him a thank you letter, and I don't want to forget." He sits up and looks at the pile of presents at the foot of his bed. "Mum always said I should try and learn delayed gratification."

Albus snorts and pats him lazily on the back without sitting up. "I don't think you've done very well at that. Go on."

Scorpius hesitates for a moment longer, then he grins and bounces his way down the bed to grab the first parcel. Within minutes the two of them are surrounded by a mountain of wrapping paper, and Albus is inspecting the most enormous box of Jelly Slugs either of them have ever seen.

"I seriously question the judgement of whoever sent you this," he says, turning it over in his hands. "Do they know how much sugar is in this? Do they know what sugar does to a person?"

"You sound like your mum," Scorpius says, tearing open a Chocolate Frog wrapper and stuffing the whole thing in his mouth at once. He tries to speak, but all that comes out are some muffled, indistinct sounds. Instead he holds up a hand while he chews, and Albus just looks at him, pure judgement written across his face.

Finally Scorpius swallows. "Stop being such a spoil sport. It's my birthday! I can stuff my face if I want to."

Albus smirks. "Which, apparently, you do."

Scorpius throws a handful of Pepper Imps at him, and they rain down on the bed. Albus scoops them up with a lazy flick of his wand and a wordless Summoning Charm. "So childish, Malfoy."

"I think you'll find I'm an adult now, Potter. Is this one from you?" Scorpius pulls out a present wrapped in emerald green paper.

Albus grins. "Of course it is."

Scorpius shakes it very hard, holding it to his ear. "It's not chocolates. It doesn't rattle."

"If you destroy it-"

Scorpius holds up his hands. "Okay, sorry! Can I open it?"

Albus comes crawling up the bed to sit next to him. "Yes, that's sort of the point of presents. You have to unwrap them."

Scorpius shoves him in the chest, and starts unwrapping the present. Albus leans against him, chewing on a Jelly Slug.

"Is that last one from your dad?" He asks, indicating a small parcel, wrapped in dull brown paper.

Scorpius glances up distractedly, then looks back at the present he's halfway through unwrapping. "Oh. I think so. I was saving it until last so- Albus what have you done?"

Albus looks round at him. "What do you mean, what have I-?" His gaze falls on the flat, leather bound book in Scorpius's hand. "It's... a scrapbook," he says uncertainly. "Is that not okay? I didn't know what to... I thought maybe sweets, but I knew you'd get tons of them. And this is more..." he goes bright pink, all the way to his ears. "This is more personal."

Scorpius runs a hand over the cover, and glances up at Albus. "Can I look?"

Albus nods and leans his chin on Scorpius's shoulder, sliding his arms round his waist. "It's your present. You can do what you like with it."

Scorpius settles against his chest and flicks through the scrapbook. It's a beautiful collection of all their memories, spanning from the first day they met, all the way through to just a couple of days ago. The pictures and mementos (from Pepper Imp wrappers to a scrap of fabric from a Durmstrang robe) are all interspersed with Albus's witty commentary, and Scorpius finds himself tearing up as he looks through their years together. When he reaches the final page he sets the book aside with a strangled little whimper, and turns to tackle Albus onto the bed, hugging him as tightly as he can.

"This is the best present ever." He starts kissing every inch of Albus's face that he can get to, and Albus shrieks and laughs, squirming, but not really trying to get away.

"You're like an excitable puppy." He rests a hand against Scorpius's cheek to hold him off. "Anyway, you can't say this is the best present ever. You haven't opened your dad's yet."

Scorpius flops down on top of him, winding his arms round his waist. "But I've found perfection. I don't need any more presents. I'm cancelling all my future birthdays, and Christmas. This is it."

Albus tickles his ribs. "Don't be stupid."

Scorpius gives a high-pitched squeak and rolls off him, straight off the bed, onto the floor. "Don't tickle me! It's mean!"

Albus's grinning face appears over the side of the bed. "Are you okay down there?"

Scorpius glares at him. "No."

"Would unwrapping another present help you feel better?" He waves the brown-wrapped parcel down at Scorpius.

Scorpius looks up at the parcel and sighs. "I suppose I could..." He reaches a hand out to Albus. "Help me up? I think I'm stuck down here."

Albus grabs hold of his hand and pulls him back onto the bed. Scorpius rolls across the mattress, careful not to squash any of the boxes of sweets, or the scrapbook.

"I'm guessing it's your watch," Albus says, handing the package over to him.

Scorpius takes it and holds it carefully in his hands. "I think it is." He turns it over, making sure he isn't rough with it. Although his dad would never be stupid enough to give him something fragile, this is probably still a precious object, and he doesn't want to damage it.

He picks at a bit of Spell-O-Tape with his fingernail and considers the package, feeling oddly apprehensive. It's weird to feel nervous about opening a present, he knows that, but he's been dreaming about this watch for so long, and the idea of having the real thing in his hands is strange and terrifying. What if he hates it and has to hide that from his dad? What if he's just ambivalent towards it, because it's nothing like what he's been imagining for years? That might be even worse...

And as soon as he unwraps this, it'll become a reality. You only turn 17 once. He'll never get another chance at receiving this watch.

Albus nudges his shoulder. "Are you going to open that, or just stare at it?"

Scorpius looks up at him. "What if it's not- I mean... I want to like it."

"I think your dad knows you," Albus says softly, glancing between Scorpius and the package. "By now. It's been more than two years since, you know, since everything. And I think he'll have done the right thing. He wants you to be happy."

"I know," Scorpius murmurs. "That's why I'm worried. I don't want to disappoint him..."

Albus rubs his back. "Why don't you open it, and then worry about that?"

Scorpius stares down at the slightly creased brown paper, swallows, and nods. "Okay," he whispers.

His fingers tremble the tiniest bit as he peels off the tape, fingernails scrabbling to find the ends. Thankfully his dad isn't amazing at wrapping presents, so he gets in with relative ease. As he unfolds the paper he finds a black box, with a parchment note on top of it.

"Letter first, or box?" He asks Albus.

"Letter first," Albus says, without hesitation.

"Alright." He sets the box on his knee, and unfurls the note.

Dear Scorpius,

I hope this finds you well, and that you're having an excellent birthday.

I just wanted to let you know that, in addition to this gift, I have a letter for you from your mother. I'll give that to you later in person. While Ariana is an excellent and very reliable owl, I can't trust anyone with the letter apart from myself and you. I hope you understand.

Congratulations on reaching your seventeenth year, I hope you like your gift (I know how important it is to you), and I'm very much looking forward to seeing you and Albus later this afternoon.

Love always,

Your father

"There's a letter from your mum?" Albus asks.

Scorpius nods. "She left a few of them. For important occasions." He reads his dad's note through once more, then sets it aside and picks up the box, trying to set the thought of his mum's letter out of his mind for now. He can think about that later. At the moment there are more pressing things to deal with.

The box is covered with a rough, matte fabric, but it still sparkles when Scorpius moves it. It's as if it's studded with a field of stars, and when they catch the golden light of the dorm, it looks like they're dancing and wheeling in a deep black sky.

Although the box is sturdy, it opens up easily when Scorpius touches the catch. The lid curls away, reacting to his slightest touch, like it recognises its rightful owner, and reveals something gleaming inside.

"Is that... a Time-Turner?" Albus gasps, leaning over Scorpius's shoulder and staring down into the box.

The object certainly looks like a Time-Turner, although a miniature one; the outer shell is made of burnished gold metal, the clock-face has the familiar ivory sheen and triangle design. The only thing that's missing when Scorpius peers down at it, is the mechanism. That's been replaced by a pair of elegant clock-hands, which sweep around the face, smooth and precise.

"I don't think it is," he says, glancing at Albus. "I think it's just a watch."

He carefully picks the watch out of the box, holding it by its fine gold chain, but supporting the body with the tips of his fingers. There's something engraved around the outside edge of the clock-face, simple letters that spell out a pair of Latin words: 'Inlustret Lumine'. Scorpius knows enough Latin to know it means something to do with light, and he smiles and traces a finger over the delicate lettering.

"It's beautiful," Albus murmurs. Scorpius nods wordlessly, because he has no idea what to say.

For a moment longer, he examines the flawless craftsmanship of the watch. Then he lifts it up to his ear, wanting to listen to the mechanism ticking down the seconds. Except he hears far more than just seconds.

He hears the rush of years passing. He hears laughter that can only be Albus's laughter, and a warm, proud-sounding voice that he recognises as his dad's. He hears the silence of the dorm after lights out, and quiet, sleepy breathing beside him. He hears the roar of a Quidditch crowd far beneath him. He hears an examiner's voice, telling him to put his quill down.

And then he hears a jumble of other things that he can't quite comprehend. They echo in from the far distance. The scribbling sound of a quill, intimately whispered words, the bubbling chatter of kids' voices, and his own voice, loud and happy and laughing and carefree. He knows somehow that it's Albus making him laugh like that, and he looks up, half expecting to see Albus cracking a joke right now, all wide, crinkly-eyed, teasing smile.

But Albus isn't smiling. He's staring at Scorpius in concern.

"Are you okay?" He asks hesitantly. "You went blank for a second."

Scorpius, whose face hurts from how hard he's now smiling, nods and holds the watch out to him. "Listen to it."

Albus frowns. "Listen to- Scorpius, are you sure you're okay?"

"Honestly," Scorpius says. "Listen to it. I promise you won't regret it... actually, you might... But it's interesting at least."

"Is it dangerous?" Albus asks, eyeing the watch with a new level of suspicion.

"Not at all." Scorpius looks him in the eye. "Trust me."

Albus looks right back at him, then takes the watch and holds it up to his ear without another moment's hesitation. Scorpius watches him intently, trying to read his reaction, to work out what he's hearing. He's never really seen anyone hear time before. He'd missed it when his dad had done it, and the fact that this is Albus makes him even more curious.

As he watches, Albus's jaw and shoulders go tight, the way they do when he's angry or upset. He makes an involuntary movement, a little twitch with his hand. Then, all of a sudden, he goes still, and he starts to relax, eyes widening. Slowly his expression transforms, from one of upset, into something blissful and bright. Tears begin to well up in his eyes, tiny droplets expanding until the emerald eyes shimmer, and the tears spill out, pouring down his cheeks.

He drops the watch onto the bed and buries his face in his hands, and Scorpius throws himself forward and wraps both arms around him. He brushes his fingers through Albus's hair and holds him.

"Are you okay, Albus?" He asks softly.

Albus sniffs and nods, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand. He looks up at Scorpius and gives him a shaky smile. "Yeah," he says. "I-I love you, you know that?"

Scorpius squeezes him tighter and kisses him on the cheek. "I know."

"And your dad," Albus sniffs, making an unsteady gesture down at the watch on the bed, hand shaking a bit. "He loves you too. If he gave you that."

Scorpius swallows and nods again. He keeps one arm around Albus's waist, and with his free hand he picks the watch back up, fingers tenderly grazing the smooth metal. "I know that too," he murmurs.

Albus curls up by his side and wipes his nose as he peers down at the watch. "What is it that makes it do that? Those sounds?"

"It's time," Scorpius says, glancing at him. "It's the spell that makes the Time-Turners work, and I guess dad used it in this too. I think... I think this might be made using the bits of his Time-Turner, the one we destroyed together. The gold one. The one that saved us..."

"Is it what you wanted?" Albus asks, stroking a gentle hand down his arm.

Scorpius shakes his head, gazing down at the watch. The edges of the engravings catch in the lamplight shining down from overhead, and the clock-hands flash as they tick out their never ending rhythm. "No," he says. "I think it's better."

---

Scorpius tilts his head to one side and frowns at himself in the mirror by the door. "I can't tell if this looks ridiculous or not. I'm not sure I'm meant for wearing suits."

In the reflection he sees Albus look up from where he's sitting on the bed, tying his shoes. He shakes his head, a little smile curling across his face.

Scorpius whirls round. "What does that mean? What's that smile for?"

Albus leans back on his hands, the jacket of his own suit falling open to reveal the snowy white, perfectly fitted shirt underneath. "Because it looks so far from ridiculous."

Scorpius looks sceptically down at himself. "Does it?"

Albus gets up and walks across to him, stopping close enough he can push his hands into Scorpius's pockets. "You look quite hot actually." He grins. "You know, for an enormous geek." He stretches up on tiptoe, until his face is hovering just an inch or so below Scorpius's.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Scorpius says, pecking him lightly on the lips, then pulling back so he can examine him in return.

Albus doesn't normally wear fancy clothes, but when he does he wears them well. There's a quiet confidence to him, like he knows just how good he looks. The dark green fabric on his tie and lining the inside of his jacket brings out his eyes, as if they needed bringing out. The tailoring shows off just how small but strong he is; there's always been a slim solidity to him. And beyond all that he's done something to his hair, so it's just tame enough not to be straggling all over the place and getting in his eyes, but it's still a little curly and free.

"I think we almost look presentable," Scorpius says, smoothing a non-existent crease from Albus's shirt, just as an excuse to touch him.

"Almost," Albus replies. He pulls his hands from Scorpius's pockets and pats him on the chest. "You've forgotten something, though."

Scorpius gives him a questioning look, and he nods and crosses to Scorpius's bedside table, where he opens up the box sitting there and removes Scorpius's new watch. He returns to Scorpius and pins the watch's chain to the inside of his jacket, then tucks the watch into his breast pocket, until there's just a hint of sparkling gold visible against the charcoal grey of Scorpius's jacket.

"Now we definitely look presentable," Albus says, and Scorpius grins.

"Let's go and find out if my dad agrees."

---

It might be Scorpius's best birthday ever. They sit around and chat over unnecessarily fancy food. His dad and Albus tease him about everything from how much he loves homework to how incapable he is of keeping his part of the dorm tidy, but he doesn't mind a bit. He'll admit that most of it's true anyway.

It's nice to be sitting around and laughing with his favourite people in the world, carefree and happy. This couldn't have happened three years ago. Even two years ago it still wouldn't have been like this. It would have been awkward, and tentative, and a little bit terrifying. But now it's so easy that anyone looking at them would think they've got along this well forever.

He feels a small twinge of disappointment when they finally have to vacate their table and head back to school. But then Albus bumps their shoulders together as they leave the restaurant, and grins at him, and Scorpius can't help but grin back and catch hold of his hand. It might be the end of an excellent evening, but that doesn't mean anything changes when they get home. They're all still happy, and they're all still part of this weird, jumbled together little family they've built over the past couple of years, that somehow no longer feels like it's missing its heart.

They Side-Along Apparate back to Hogsmeade, and then Scorpius skips up the road back to school, talking at a million miles an hour about how excited he is to be able to learn how to Apparate for himself. The other two trail behind him, sharing the occasional fond but exasperated look.

Overhead, the sky has darkened to a deep, inky blue. The night is cloudless, apart from the occasional thin wisp that blows across the silver Sickle of the moon. Countless stars glitter overhead, and a thin mist blankets the long, shadowy lawns. The castle is a golden beacon, shining down the winding drive toward them, guiding them home.

It's not a still evening. Cold, harsh gusts of winter wind ruffle their coats and hair, and by the time they reach the top of the drive they're all shivering a bit.

"I think I might... go inside," Albus says, through chattering teeth. "It's freezing."

"If you will go out without a proper coat," Scorpius replies, flapping his own long, woollen coat in Albus's direction.

Albus rolls his eyes and rubs his hands together as he turns to Draco. "Thank you for the meal. I had a really good evening."

"It's always a pleasure," Draco replies. "Please give my regards to your parents."

Albus smirks. "Do you want me to tell Dad what you said about the security in Diagon Alley."

"Oh," Draco gives a grim smile. "He is very much aware of my opinions on the matter. But it's good of you to offer."

"Alright." Albus grins. "I'll see you at Christmas, Draco. Scorpius, are you coming inside?"

Scorpius glances at his dad.

"I'd like a word," Draco says to him. "If that's alright. I know it's cold, but it shouldn't take long."

Scorpius nods. "That's okay. I'll see you in a minute, Albus."

"Don't get too cold," Albus says. "Bye, Draco." He waves, then hops off up the steps and disappears into the warm, bright castle.

Scorpius digs his hands into his pockets and turns to face his dad. He opens his mouth to speak, then realises he has no idea what he wants to say, so he closes it again and ducks his head.

"It is a little chilly out here," his dad says, looking up at the starlit sky. "Have you learned how to do a Warming Charm?"

Scorpius frowns. "But I'm not allowed to do magic outside of-"

"You're seventeen now," his dad says with a smile.

Scorpius's eyes widen. "Oh yeah." He breaks into a huge grin and draws his wand, casting the spell over them both. It sinks deep into his bones and he closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the cold being chased out of his body.

"You're very good at that," his dad says appreciatively, and Scorpius grins.

"Thanks. It's one of my favourites."

His dad nods, then gestures to the watch sitting in his pocket. It's glowing in the darkness, emitting a gentle golden light. "I noticed that you're wearing your watch. I hope you like it?"

Scorpius presses both hands over his heart, cupping the watch through the fabric of his suit. "I love it." He takes a step closer to his dad and looks at him. "Did you use the bits of the Time-Turner?"

His dad gives a very small smile. "Yes. I thought it could be a reminder to you, of how strong you are. You've overcome a lot, and you've survived more darkness than most people ever have to face." He looks across at Scorpius, who's approaching his height now; it's quite clear that one day Scorpius will be as tall as him, or maybe even a little taller. "You've grown so much in the last couple of years, and the older you get, the more you remind me of your mother. You shine, the way she did."

Scorpius bows his head, feeling his cheeks heat up against the chilly night air. "Thank you," he mumbles.

"The watch," his dad says gesturing to it. "It shouldn't ever lose time. I've been assured that the spell at the heart of it will last for years before it needs refreshing. And the metal is enchanted to glow at night. It can be your light in the darkness." His expression twists into a smile, and Scorpius smiles too. He picks the watch out of his pocket and runs his fingers over the engraved lettering. The light from the watch and the light from the castle windows overhead bathes the two of them, so they're standing together in a small haven of brightness among the black sea of the night.

"What does it mean?" Scorpius asks. "The words?"

"Let the light shine." His dad looks him right in the eye. "I thought it was quite apt."

Scorpius nods, throat feeling all tight and choked up all of a sudden. He blinks down at the watch for a moment, swallows hard, then he launches himself forward and hugs his dad as tightly as he can. His dad responds by drawing him in, one hand firm on his back, the other ruffling his hair.

They hold onto each other, and Scorpius is tempted, the way he always is, to just never let go. It's been two years, and the novelty of hugging his dad hasn't worn off yet. He doubts it ever will. The only thing that's changed over time is the fear that once he lets go it might never happen again. That's long gone. Because his dad will be here with more hugs and more love for as long as he's able, which will hopefully be for a very long time to come.

"I love you," Scorpius murmurs.

"I love you too," his dad replies softly, brushing the hair off Scorpius's forehead.

"And the watch," Scorpius says, drawing back an inch or two so he can look at his dad. "I love that as well. I think it's perfect."

His dad gives his hair one final ruffle and releases him. "I'm very glad you think so."

"You've done well," Scorpius says, looking down at his watch. "You always do well." He glances up at his dad, in time to see him swallow and give a tiny nod, before bowing his head and searching inside his coat for something.

"Before you go in, here's your mother's letter." He hands Scorpius a parchment envelope, with a gold wax seal on the back.

Scorpius tucks the watch away, then takes it from him and turns it over in his hands. "Thank you. I think I'll save it for later."

His dad smiles. "Probably a good idea. It's getting cold out here, even with your excellent Charm Work. I'm sure the Manor will be freezing when I get in." He sighs and puts his hands in his pockets. "Well, I hope you have an excellent evening, and a wonderful end to your birthday. I suppose you're an adult now. Merlin help us all."

Scorpius gives a delighted little skip and hugs his dad one last time, very briefly. "I can do magic, and Apparate, and drink Firewhisky..."

"That is exactly what I'm afraid of," his dad says. "But I suppose it can't be helped. Now, you should get inside. Albus will be thinking you've got lost."

Scorpius smiles and hesitates at the bottom of the stairs for a moment longer. Finally he waves. "See you soon, Dad."

"I'm sure I will," his dad replies.

Scorpius grins broadly, then he turns and bounces up the steps into the castle, feeling content that this is, definitely, his best birthday ever.

#Harry Potter and the Cursed Child #Scorbus #Scorpius Malfoy #Albus Severus Potter #Draco Malfoy #Malfoy family feels #scorbus fluff #Keep The Secrets #Mayhem to the nth degree #My writing #no but the Time-Turners symbolise everything when it comes to Scorpius #his strength and tenacity and bravery #the struggles he's come through #from bullying to hell itself #the loss of his mother and how they couldn't save her #his father's love for him #I feel like he and Time-Turners are so closely entwined that they sort of have to stay with him for his entire life #and I hope this is a nice way of doing that

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