Every third Wednesday of the month, the Potter-Weasleys met for lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. The tradition had been started by Lily after leaving Hogwarts, where it had been easy for Lily to overlook how few friends she'd made when she'd had her overabundance of siblings and cousins to keep her company: whether it was for a Quidditch skirmish after class with James and Roxanne; a study buddy before a big test (Rose or Hugo); a late night gossip session with Lucy; or sneaking out after curfew with Fred. Lily had never wanted for companions.
The real world had come as quite a culture shock to Lily—who was unaccustomed to the loneliness and independence of adult life—where it was infinitely harder to get together when scattered over the world and in different stages of their careers.
The lunch meetings had been a success from the beginning. It had proven easier for everyone to free up an hour at lunchtime rather than an evening or a weekend afternoon, and although it was a rare month when the whole clan found themselves reunited, there had yet to be a month when less than three of them showed up.
Lily always arrived first. Though she travelled the globe, immersing herself in foreign Wizarding and Muggle cultures—ostensibly to write a book on comparative Wizarding cultures—she always found a way back home to her family.
That day, Fred, who studied dragons under Charlie's mentorship, arrived at the same time as Lily. Lily and Fred were particularly close, having been partners in crime and punishment at Hogwarts, and they still revisited certain detention hours fondly, like the time Professor Neville had them hand-harvest bubotuber pus. It had taken them the whole week to do the entire greenhouse, and the smell of petrol had stuck in their nostrils for days after. Neither could remember what they had done to warrant such a gruelling punishment.
Roxanne arrived next, bending down to give Fred and Lily a peck on the cheek. She had just finished Quidditch practice, having made the starting lineup that season for the Chudley Cannons. Then Molly and Albus arrived; they both worked at the Ministry and usually met on their way to the nearest Apparition point. They were both following in their fathers' footsteps: Molly had an assistant's position in the Department of Magical Transportation and Albus had been an Auror for four years.
Hugo strolled in only moments later. Hugo never talked about his work, which had Lily convinced for the longest time that he worked as an Unspeakable, until he finally took her to the valley behind the Burrow and showed her his work: a flobberworm farm. No one ever wanted to hear about the raising and breeding of flobberworms, much less about the process of mucus collection.
Rose came in last, as she always did. She never missed a lunch, but she was always at least fifteen minutes late, bursting through the doors after everyone had already ordered their lunch. She always ungracefully crashed down in her chair, sometimes knocking over a water glass when she slammed the Daily Prophet down on the table. Though only twenty-four years old, Rose was already the newspaper's senior general editor, and she always had an indignant story to share about something outrageous that the Daily Prophet had deigned to publish despite her most ardent objections (and there always were objections).
That day was no different.
"You won't believe the inappropriate rubbish, this time," Rose claimed as she sat.
Lily grinned. "Another advertisement got moved to the bottom corner of the page?"
Although Rose had many fine qualities, a sense of self-deprecating humour was not among them. "Very funny, Lily. I'll have you know that placement ads make a tremendous difference to a business's annual revenue. Madam Malkin has been a long-time patron of the paper, and there was NO reason to move the ad to such an obscure position, other than Twilfitt and Tattings paid more and—"
"I know," Lily interrupted, holding up her hands in an act of surrender. "If the Prophet had any integrity at all, they wouldn't determine ad location by Sickle count only."
"Precisely. And they've done it again this week," Rose said. She opened the paper and read, in a tone of convicted affront and finality: "As long as we're digging up the past, we may as well dig up your mother!"
There was a short pause. Then Molly asked, "Context, please?"
"A new coroner business opening up?" Fred asked.
"Scorpius Malfoy!" Rose exclaimed, as if that explained anything.
Roxanne snatched the newspaper from Rose's hands.
"As long as we're digging up the past, we may as well dig up your mother," Roxanne read, in a much more neutral tone than her cousin. "Scorpion's Personality Enhancing Therapy: Amalgamating Muggle Psychotherapy and Wizarding Remedies to excavate the Past since Now is the time to shape a better You for Tomorrow."
"That's quite a mouthful," Lily said.
"Scorpion?"
"That must be a combination between his first name and his middle name, Hyperion," Rose explained to Molly as she retrieved her newspaper from Roxanne with an accusatory glare. Rose did not like others handling her newspaper.
"I had no idea Scorpius' middle name was Hyperion!" Fred said, altogether too innocently.
"Oh, stuff it, Fred," Rose snapped. "The things you don't know would fill Madam Pince's entire library."
"Do you suppose he's referring to the Daily Prophet's ongoing feature series on the history of House Elf abuse?" Roxanne asked.
"Or the anti-discrimination workplace laws the Wizengamot are currently debating on," Hugo said, "to establish quotas for half-breed employment, since they've been historically oppressed and marginalized."
Fred snapped his fingers. "Or the Reconciliation movement for the century-long abuse of the Squib population."
"Squib genocide," Rose muttered.
"Okay, but, what is this Muggle Psychotherapy?" Molly asked. "And what does it have to do with one's mother?"
"Freudian psychotherapy," Hugo answered before Rose could. "Crudely summarized, he stipulated that all your problems stem from your childhood and you are but acting out desires and motivations of which you are mainly unconscious."
"He was a sexual pervert," Rose said, addressing Molly.
"That's not fair, and you know it," Hugo replied calmly. As the only other Ravenclaw in the family, Hugo always engaged with Rose on an intellectual level, unlike the rest of the family who revelled in her short fuse and pushed her buttons until she snapped. "He may have gotten some things off base, but you can hardly blame him for that. There was probably never a more prude lot than the Victorians, and Freud dared bring out in the open the taboo that was sexual desires and sexual drive. In fact, I would even argue that the Purebloods are not very much different from what the upper-class Victorians were: obsessed with arranging marriages to keep their bloodline, and never discussing anything as primal and disgusting as sex. They may very well benefit from being reminded that they are nothing but a randy bunch whose primary motivation in this world is to get laid." He paused. "Okay, and also make lots of money."
"How does Scorpius know anything about this Muggle guy?" Roxanne asked, grinning at Hugo's less than eloquent conclusion.
"He went and studied at a Muggle university right out of Hogwarts."
"Malfoy went to a Muggle university?" Lily burst out.
"You are brimming with facts about Scorpius Malfoy," Fred teased.
"It was featured in the Daily Prophet," Rose shot back. "Anyway, it's all hogwash. Not everyone's primary motive is to get laid. All our problems are not linked to our parents, and especially not our mothers."
"Oh, I don't know," Molly spoke up softly. "You know, I've actually been thinking a lot about it over the last couple of years. It strikes me as odd that Dad named me after Grandma, as they don't get along all that well. And, I've noticed that he really likes to use my name when he's angry or telling me what to do: 'Molly, couldn't you please place the fork on the left side. You work from the outside in, Molly. I've told you this a hundred times, Molly.' It's bizarre. No one else uses my name as often." She paused, considering this information in a new light. "What if part of the reason he named me after his mum was to get some kind of perverse satisfaction—as though he's also getting to boss her around by proxy?"
Rose guffawed. "Oh, Molly, don't be daft! There is—" but whatever Rose was about to say next was cut off by Lily smacking her palm loudly on the table.
"Okay! So, I lied about why I broke up with Lysander." Lily paused and ran her tongue over her top teeth, seeming torn between continuing and taking it all back. She exhaled slowly and deeply. "The thing was, he was a fun guy, but well, no one ever calls me Lily Luna except Mum when she's angry at me and, well, apparently, Lysander...like, all the time." She looked Rose dead in the eyes. "All the time," she emphasized, until Rose blushed and looked away.
There was a long moment of silence that Roxanne broke as she shook her head and stood. "I have to go…and you're all lunatics," she told them fondly, and left to attend an afternoon meeting on tactics for their upcoming game.
"I always knew he was a mummy's boy," Fred quipped. "I told you, didn't I? Even back in Hogwarts, remember?"
"That is not what a mummy's boy is!" Lily shouted. "One time he even just skipped the Lily part entirely!"
"Like, at that time?" Fred wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Lily punched him in the arm. "Ow!"
"Well, don't be a sexual pervert, Fred!"
"That's weird, I admit, but it's anecdotal. There is no correlation between one's problems and one's mum! I certainly don't have any issues stemming from my mother."
Lily barked out a laugh and immediately slapped her hand over her mouth.
Fred rolled his eyes. "You don't? You're little Miss Perfect Ravenclaw, clamouring desperately for mummy's approval."
"Fred..." Lily put a hand on Fred's shoulder and shot him a warning glance, but Fred shook her off and ignored her look.
"You're so intent on filling those big Hermione Granger know-it-all shoes. Tell me, when's the last time you had an idea or a thought that was actually completely your own?"
Fred didn't wait for Rose to answer.
"I'll tell you when I think it was: in fifth year when you dated Scorpius. Why'd you break up with him? Was it maybe because mummy didn't approve?"
Rose looked about ready to pull out her wand and hex Fred. Maybe she would have, if they had been at the Burrow and not in public with so many witnesses. Her face had turned red and she was gasping for air as much as she was grasping for something to say. "You little fucking arrogant shit," she finally hissed.
She stood, shoving her chair back. "Well, since we're digging up the past, we may as well dig up your mother."
Hugo visibly tensed, recognizing the hardness in Rose's eyes and the deadliness of her soft angry voice.
Fred stared up at her impassively, seemingly ready to take whatever comeback Rose could dish out.
"Not only did your parents name you after dead Uncle Fred, but it was Uncle Fred dating your mother back in school. So, she married her dead lover's identical twin and named her first son after him, too. I wonder what it is she sees when she looks at you. Ever thought of that?"
Fred's expression had gradually morphed from one of seeming indifference to one of total shock and bewilderment. He'd obviously had no idea.
"Well." Fred's voice was uncharacteristically slow. "It seems like you don't think this mother stuff is rubbish after all."
"Hurgh!" With a cry of disgust and outrage, Rose snatched up her copy of the Daily Prophet and marched out of the restaurant.
Her blood boiled with rage at Fred's indolence and his—and his presumptuousness. All she could think about was how she could make him pay for his gall. She did not think of Scorpius or of the feathery softness of his blonde hair; she did not think of her father's indignation or of her mother's sad smile when she'd gone home for Christmas holiday that year; she did not think of returning to Hogwarts and breaking up with Scorpius a week later; and she most certainly did not think about how she'd cried and cried when Scorpius had started dating Ivory Parkinson three months later.
She did not think of any of those things, for they were not fully formed memories, but snippets of impressions that she had buried deep away inside of herself whenever they had flashed into her mind over the years.
Back at the Leaky Cauldron, Fred took a shaky breath and scoffed. "That fucking uppity little b—"
"Don't you dare," Lily warned, in a much different tone than one she had used only moments before. "You started, it and you gave as good as you got."
Lily could see the shine in his eyes, could see the depth of despair that told her Fred believed what Rose had said; and the unconnected mysteries of all the times Fred had complained to her now clicked together like puzzle pieces: how sometimes his father treated him like an equal, even a best friend, but yet other times couldn't bear to be in the same room as him; how sometimes his mother looked at him with a strange, undecipherable look in her eyes; how everyone told him, increasingly so over the years, how much he looked like his father at that age.
Fred stood suddenly. "I have to go," he said, and dashed out.
Lily looked after him, aghast. "I'll catch up with you guys later," she said, sparing only the briefest of looks to Hugo, Molly, and Albus, before running after him.
She caught up with Fred halfway out of the pub. "Fred, wait. You shouldn't be alone right now. Do you want me to come over?"
Fred hesitated for a moment, then nodded, and Lily Apparated them away.
"Well," Molly said. "That was all unduly dramatic."
"Fred was out of line, but Rose shouldn't have said that, either."
"Is it even true?"
Hugo shrugged. "To be honest, I don't think Rose is capable of such sordid imagination."
"But, how would she even know that?"
Hugo grinned almost manically. "How does Rose know even a quarter of what she knows?"
"Yeah, it's gotta be the Dark Arts. I knew it," Molly muttered, and they both laughed.
"You've been quiet," Molly said to Albus, and she and Hugo grinned at each other again, because when was Albus ever not quiet? "What do you think, about this mother-being-the-root-cause-of-all-your-insecurities business?"
"Well, there may be something to it," he said slowly, carefully. "I do recall that when Lily was in third year she started insisting that everyone call her Jane. That was when she was learning about the First Wizarding War. Of course, I didn't make the connection at the time, but maybe she was trying to put some distance between her and her namesake. Take some pressure off the legacy, maybe. I'd be more interested in finding out how Malfoy would use the information to help his patients become a better 'them.'"
"The mysteries of the trade, that!" Hugo exclaimed, slapping a hand down on Albus' shoulders as he stood to leave. "Well, I'm off. It's mucus day at the flobberworm farm. I've got an order for ten gallons that I have to send by Friday evening."
Molly grimaced. "Hugo, that's disgusting. I've just finished eating."
Hugo just laughed and strolled out of the restaurant.
"Are you heading back to the Ministry?" Molly asked.
Albus shook his head. "I'm on assignment this afternoon," he lied.
"Alright, I'll see you later, then." Molly gave Albus a peck on the cheek and left.
Albus sat by himself, thinking of Rose and of Fred and of Lily and of Molly. He thought of James Sirius, who always paraded about as though he had something to prove. He thought of himself: quiet little Albus Severus, sitting in the corner, waiting for his mummy to return from Quidditch practice so she could give him a hug. He didn't believe that all of his problems could be laid as his mother's feet. He knew that she had loved them all thoroughly and well growing, but a seed had been planted in his mind, and he couldn't stop it from taking root.
He thought of his father, who had named two of his children after parents he had never met and the third after the father figure of his youth.
He thought about his own ambitions: first, to be the world's greatest Quidditch player, and then, when he'd proven to have no aptitude for the sport, to be the world's greatest Auror.
Yet, he had never stopped to ask himself: why? Why had he wanted—still wanted—to be the world's greatest anything, let alone an Auror like his father (and before that, a Quidditch pro like his mother)?
He'd never stopped, the realization dawned on him in that moment, to ask himself if any of it had ever made him happy.
Was he happy?
And so Albus sat, digging into the depth of his consciousness, excavating long-forgotten thoughts, memories, and sentiments, and when he was done thinking, he went home and owled Scorpius Malfoy for an appointment.
Word count: 2,941
Quidditch League Competition Round 4: "Well, As long as we're digging up the past, we may as well dig up your mother."