[11.14.21 - Two updates today!]

-o-o-o-

She hears knuckles rapping softly against stone. He's twenty minutes til' midnight, but she's not surprised he comes early. Kiara nods to herself, sitting upon the window with her head down. Her eyes go over the faint lines she's drawn.

To her visitor, she says, "I knew you would be here."

"Oh, Kiara? I must be in the wrong tower," Albus jokes. He looks around as though he's lost. Kiara rests her cheek on her palm and smiles at him.

"That was so dorky."

Albus clutches his heart as though wounded, and meanders slowly into the tower. He looks around, before quietly walking to where she sits, and leans his hands against the sill. He doesn't shiver in the late night of the early spring chill, and even dips his head out to look over the dark landscape.

When she moves to get more comfortable, he turns to greet her—suddenly his elbow folds over her thigh, and their shoulders touch ever-so-slightly.

Their faces are inches apart.

His dark green eyes flick up to catch her gaze, and she holds it.

"Admit it to me," she challenges him softly. "You could not help yourself from coming."

"What can I say? Curiosity attracts curiosity."

Albus pulls away and hops up onto the tower window beside her, while Kiara looks back down at her star maps and calculates what ought to go where. It seems with Albus that the both of them are comfortable melting one moment into the next, despite what could have been an awkward encounter. He turns to face her with his legs crossed, and leans forward over his shins.

His fingers tap the sill repeatedly.

"Why do you draw all your own sky charts, Kiara?"

He picks up the brass compass that she uses for the perfect circles. The needle makes a soft click-click-clicking sound as he strikes it gently against the stone.

"This is how I study."

Albus shakes his head. "I bet I have to study twice as hard as you do. Everyone says you're a natural with everything."

"You envy that."

"Well, yeah. Of course."

"You should not. I have a hard time with other things—things that come naturally to you. While you can make connections with every person you meet, no matter what House they are in, I struggle to have any friends. Even with other Ravenclaws."

He says, "What about Callie? I saw you two at the last Quidditch match together."

"She is a fair-weather friend. I have trouble relating to her."

Albus laughs and feigns surprise. "What could you possibly mean? Yes," he agrees. "I've met her a couple of times."

"She has a list of all the sixth and seventh-years she wants to date. You are high on that list."

"How high?"

"Fifth, I think?"

"Only fifth?" he mock complains. "I'm completely devastated."

"You are just after Professor Longbottom."

"Oh. That's just wrong. What does Longbottom have that I don't?"

Kiara puts her studies down and turns to face Albus, endlessly amused. "I could tell Callie you are interested."

His eyes gleam humorously in the soft light of the floating candles high above them. Indignantly, he says, "I'm not a little kid. I'll tell her myself."

"There is a line. You may have to wait your turn."

"I'm very patient."

"I have heard the opposite of you, frankly."

"Pah! You can't be bothered by what people say of me. Though . . ." He bobs his head as he considers a thought, then says, ". . . people sure do talk about you a lot."

"Hm," Kiara says. "I do not care."

"Don't you?"

No, Kiara wants to say.

But something in the way Albus talks to her makes her actually want to know. Or, rather, she wants to know how Albus sees her. She thinks she may be able to get a clue if she knows what others think.

". . . OK. What do they say of me?"

He draws a small graphite circle with the compass onto the smooth stone of the window sill. Then another, slightly larger, around it. He repeats this mindlessly a few more times.

Finally, he says, "I've heard that when you look at someone, it's as if you are trying to solve an equation."

"Do you feel that way, too?"

Albus fixes his eyes on hers.

"Yeah, actually," he says. "I do. Even right now."

"Does it make them uncomfortable?"

"Oh, definitely."

"And you?"

He lifts an eyebrow, and all at once Kiara gets gets the feeling that he can be as cold and calculating as she is—though he is much better at hiding it. The speculation his gaze holds for her is insurmountable. She can't even begin to guess what's on his mind, and she feels energized by this.

Then he grins, looking as joyful as a child.

"Let me see your sky charts," he strays. "I have to be certain they're accurate. You know, just 'cause you're the smartest student in the whole school, it doesn't mean you won't be held accountable for your work."

He pretends to be serious, and Kiara hands one over with pride. Another student has never been interested in her work, and she finds it flattering. He grazes casually over the map and presses his lips into a thin line. There is no doubt that Albus has the second highest marks in Astronomy: He identifies the stars in a matter of two breaths.

"This is the Scorpius constellation. It's not even in the sky this time of year." Albus glances outside as though to prove his point.

"That is true. I just like the constellation."

"I see. You're very gifted, Kiara." Albus hands the parchment back to her.

She shrugs. "I wish I could draw the illustrations. I want to bring all my maps to life. They could be enchanted to move. . . . It would look beautiful, would it not?"

Albus is silent for a moment. He runs his fingers around and around atop the circles he's drawn in stone, until they're smudged beyond recognition and his fingerprints are dark with graphite. He seems to be considering something.

At last, he says, "I've seen Cory draw."

"Scorpius?"

"He's an incredible artist. Sometimes when he thinks he's alone by the fireplace in the common room, he creates these crazy ink drawings. I think it's a secret, so I've never said a word. You should know, though. Because he would help you."

"Thank you. But I am not sure where I stand with him."

Albus clears his throat. Suddenly he doesn't seem to want to look at her. But she feels the tension—he's about to say something. So she waits.

"Trust your gut, Kiara. Cory isn't all he seems."

"You are close friends with him?"

"I was. For a time. Listen . . . Can you tell me more about how Muggles see stars?"

"We go by many of the same constellations. And it is common for anyone to wish on a meteor. But I come from a long line of Muggle scientists. So for us, we start to see it differently. My father is often gone, because he works at an observatory near London. His work is important, even if he can't be home often. If I did not have two younger siblings in school, my parents would have long since moved to England. Instead he flies back and forth across the channel a couple times a month."

Albus looks incredulous. "A Muggle who flies?"

"In an airplane."

"Oh. Yes. Of course," Albus corrects himself, looking embarrassed. Then he says something strange: "I would give anything to fly in an aeroplane."

"But you can fly any time you want. With a broom."

"I want to know what it's like, though," Albus insists.

Kiara blinks at him. "Why?"

"Because it's magical. Can you tell me more about your dad?"

He seems to be holding his breath, waiting for her to say something. So Kiara continues: "A small amount of his research touches upon finding extraterrestrial intelligence on different planets. It is more of a hobby for him, when he is between projects. Other parts of his research go into discovering where it would be possible to colonize humans. My father loves science-fiction movies."

"What are 'movies'?"

"It is . . ." Kiara trails off, still amazed by Albus's fascination. But she also realizes these are all things she's always taken for granted. She searches for an explanation. "Do you like theatre?"

"Certainly."

"It is a bit like that, with actors who perform. But you watch it on a screen, and it is prerecorded on a disc, or if it's older—a tape. Or you can stream it online."

Albus stares blankly at her.

"Sorry, it must be a bit confusing. If only I could show you."

"When you say a 'tape'. Is that the roll inside a peculiar black box?"

"Oh, sort of. That sounds like a VHS tape. If you had a VCR TV and Muggle electricity, you would be able to play a movie off that. Why? Do you collect VHS tapes, too?"

He nods. "If we're on the same page, I have a lot. Maybe seven, or eight?"

Kiara realizes that in the wizarding world, seven or eight Muggle VHS tapes probably does seem like 'a lot'. She doesn't try to explain to him that her family has about a hundred tapes in the basement, just sitting there.

"Hogwarts, and all the magic things," Kiara continues where she left off. "Well, it is a bit sci-fi. I think my father was excited for me to be a part of a different world."

She's certain that her father wishes she would tell him all about it. But every summer when she goes home, she keeps to herself. She's not certain if she's had a real conversation with anyone in her family since the accident. Talking to Albus about her father makes a bubble of anxiety start to fill up in her chest, and she encourages her brain to take a different route.

She looks at Albus.

The boy is rapt. Usually in complete control of her emotions, she finds she's almost self-conscious with Albus. Never has she held someone's attention for so long. Even other Ravenclaws who pursue knowledge begin to yawn when Kiara speaks of home. Although they would never say so, it is always implied that Muggles' lives are boring.

Albus turns from her, rubbing his palms together slowly. His fingers dip between themselves, and his knuckles have begun to turn white with the cold. She has a sudden urge to hold them, but she won't.

"Has your dad discovered anything yet, with his research?"

"No. But he always says we should start by looking for the planets that are already looking for us."

". . . Aliens?" He says it as though he's never formed the word in his mouth before.

Kiara giggles. "Yes, I suppose. Maybe there is no one who wants to search for us. Maybe we are not worth the effort. I, um . . . I do not know what else to say," she tells him honestly. "I do not ever get this far."

"Thank you, Kiara." She gives him an awkward smile—she's never been thanked for talking about herself. "Some day I will discover it all for myself. I want to attend university, and live in a big city. I want to learn how everything works."

"You would choose that over magic?"

"The Muggle world sounds surreal. There is technology that does everything for you. There are machines that wash dishes and laundry! Kiara, do you have a cellular device?"

"Practically every Muggle has an iPhone," she laughs. "I leave it at home, though."

"Wow . . . 'iPhone'." Albus is smiling from ear to ear. "I have a broken 'iPhone'. It opens like this:" He takes his hands and holds them together like a clamshell.

"Oh, that is not an iPhone. That is just a regular cellphone. They were a lot more common early two-thousands."

"'Cellphone'," he repeats. "'iPhone'."

"Androids," Kiara offers.

"My goodness. The only person I've ever been able to talk about these things with is my grandpa. He seems to have an equal fascination for Muggle life. But he's never lived like them. I want to learn it all, Kiara. I want to be there. I want to talk to people across the world and share information in seconds, instead of waiting on owls. I've heard Muggles can do that. Is it true?"

Kiara stares at him.

"Sometimes I feel as though the Muggle world sounds . . . perfect. Everyone tells me it sounds tedious, but they must be mad."

"Albus," she says experimentally. He leans forward, encouraging her to continue. "Something has been on my mind a lot more than usual, and I have been looking for someone to talk to about it. May I share something personal about myself with you?"

Albus watches her carefully. "I'm listening," he says. And he really is.

"I was going to go to Beauxbatons the first time I got the letter. My parents wanted me to, even though it scared me. I was . . . against it. It was not a comfortable feeling. I started late, and I tell everyone it is because we thought the magic realm was not real."

She pauses.

"The truth is, I was in an accident the summer I was supposed to leave. I was saying goodbye to a boy I liked . . . It pains me that I cannot picture his face. His name was Jules. He saved my life."

"What happened?"

"A car hit him. I cannot remember it for myself, but before my head hit the pavement I saw him get killed. I . . . do not know for sure that I saw it. But I feel that it is true, in my heart."

"Kiara, I'm so sorry."

"I was in a coma for a long time. Two months and seven days. Then, one day, I woke up. As if I had just taken a nap. I came about in the middle of the night, completely alone. The motion-sensor light came on, and when the nurse walked in she gasped so loud I can still hear it echoing between my ears. It was the first sound I heard, in my new life. My family had already started to grieve. I . . . saw the plans to my own funeral. By accident, after I was able to go back home."

Kiara takes a breath that shakes when it isn't supposed to.

"I was not the same person. I knew nothing of what had happened. I could not remember my own name. I had forgotten how to speak English. I did not recognize my parents or siblings. Even now I sometimes struggle with faces. It is part of my brain damage. It is why I have to speak a little slower than most."

She looks at Albus, terrified that she is opening up for the first time and he'll be bored of her words. But Albus hangs off every syllable, his eyes shining.

"My parents kept me home for the rest of the year," she continues cautiously. "I luckily retained many of the basic things I had learned, like writing, and speaking my first language of French. But it is heartbreaking for my family, and that was difficult to be around. When I got a letter from Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons, I insisted on leaving."

"Was it a hard decision?"

"Yes. To go to another country, where I am surrounded by strangers who speak a different language than I, and dropped into a world that is so fundamentally different than the one I am supposed to know? But that was easier to do than watch my family mourn me. Does that translate?"

"It does," he breathes, so soft she almost misses it. "But I couldn't ever understand what you've been through. Kiara . . . Thank you for trusting me with this. There . . . are no words."

Kiara looks away. "You do not have to thank me for going on and on about myself."

He holds his hands out to her and, tentatively, she wraps her fingers around his pinky. His other hand closes on top of hers. Despite the cold weather and his white knuckles, Albus radiates warmth.

"I would like to change the subject," she says outright.

"OK."

"You eventually remembered me, that night I ate dinner in the Great Hall with you and your family."

"Yeah. You were the lost girl. From Diagon Alley."

She nods. "I never got to repay your father. I can now. Could you send it to him?"

"It's not what was important that day. He wouldn't want it back."

"He is generous."

Albus agrees. "I'm very proud of my family."

"Yes?"

"Yeah, well, I wanted to be my dad when I was a kid. . . . I mean, geez. My dad is Harry Potter. He has his own trading card in the chocolate frogs, with all the other greatest witches and wizards of all time. Anyway . . ." Albus, who was excited in his ramblings, slows his speech and clears his throat. "He always told me I was too smart to be just like him. So I've been trying to figure out how to honor my own desires."

"You have done well for yourself," Kiara teases. "I hear about Albus Potter all the time. Tell me a secret. Is there anything Albus cannotdo?"

He seems to thinks about this. "I'm trying to learn how to cast my Patronus."

"Oh, wow. I was not expecting that. That is very advanced. As far as I know, there is no student at Hogwarts who can cast their Patronus."

Albus blushes. "I know. . . . That's why I practice secretly. Sometimes I feel as though I'm just about to get it . . . but surprise, surprise. I can only ever get a wispy incorporeal. My dad, he casted his first Patronus when he was thirteen. I'm almost five years older than that."

"How does it work?"

"I focus really hard on a happy memory," he explains. "I guess I'm just doing something wrong, or I'm not ready. Legend has it that falling in love can be the missing ingredient for casting a full corporeal." He chuckles. "I may never know my Patronus."

Kiara lets his hands go. "May I see it, anyway?"

He sucks his cheek, then nods. "Sure," he says, "Why not?"

She holds her breath as Albus turns his body back toward the inside of the room. Kiara considers herself tall, but even Albus makes her feel small. His feet touch the ground, while her toes hover above. Albus closes his eyes, wand in hand. His brows crease slightly, and she can see his eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids by the way his lashes flutter.

Then they snap open, and he incants, "Expecto Patronum."

A few tendrils of silver pour from the tip of his wand. They swim through the air slowly. Kiara is mesmerized by the luminosity that sheds light upon Albus's disappointed expression. The mists begin to fade, curling into the air until they all but disappear.

"That was beautiful, Albus."

"Thank you."

"But you look melancholy."

Albus casts a strangely mournful gaze upon his face and tenses his jaw once. He stares at the floor. A smile flickers across his lips, but doesn't settle.

"Yeah, well," he replies quietly, "I almost thought that would be the one."

Then his eyes meet hers . . . and it's like sadness, for him, is only a fleeting sensation that melts like snow on pink tongues.

"Do you ever miss Muggle things while you're here?" he asks her.

"Yes. Sometimes I do."

-o-o-o-

"I've started asking myself the hard questions," Scorpius explains to her in hushed whispers. His words, although spoken from his heart, begin to get caught in his throat as he watches Emmalee's expression turn from angry to downright vengeful.

She narrows her eyes. Their whole friendship she's always insisted on meeting in the studying area of the library. Scorpius always secretly suspected it's because she bathes in the attention of others—whether negative or not. Most of the time he hadn't cared either way where they met, only that he was always happy to spend time with her. Now he's embarrassed, as pairs of ears all around him prick up to listen.

"About what, exactly?"

He wonders if he should even bother detailing some of the things that have been running through his mind. Finding the simplest reason, he says, "What do I want to do after I leave Hogwarts? Where do I see myself in—"

"And what does that have to do with us?" she interrupts.

Scorpius looks at her. She is as beautiful as ever. Her pink lips, plump and sweet, are puckered slightly as she pouts. Her long, brown hair is perfectly styled, settling across her delicate shoulders. Expensive, proper clothes frame her dainty body. He considers how lovely she looks as he convinces himself that he's making the right decision.

"I've decided there's no 'us', Emma," he finally says.

"Meaning what?"

"Emma," he states firmly. "When I look to my future, I don't see you."

Emmalee begins to cry.

It's only now that all of this strikes Scorpius as bizarre. She can have him, Finley, and possibly several others wrapped around her finger—yet still show such remorse when she loses one. He distantly recalls holding her as she'd lamented over the breakup of a seventh-year Slytherin Quidditch captain, a year ago. Emmalee turns to the other tables and fixates her stare on another girl, whose cheeks tinge pink when their eyes meet.

Rose is here.

"You were right about him, Rosie," Emmalee sobs loudly. "He just wanted to toy with my emotions. Oh, I should have just listened to you!"

Scorpius's face burns with humiliation as everyone stares at him.

She spins back to look at Scorpius again. "You'll regret this, Cory," she spits at him, before getting to her feet and rushing out into the hall.

Rose glares right into his skull, but doesn't move. Scorpius asks himself how he ever fell for Emmalee's obvious manipulation. He's equally bewildered that someone like Rose has fallen victim to it, too. He hadn't realized the two girls ever talked, though maybe it shouldn't surprise him that Emmalee attached herself to a girl he previously courted.

Or perhaps it's more likely that Rose just hates him that much, in such a manner that it makes everything Emmalee does and say look mild in comparison.

Scorpius avoids Rose's eyes and walks briskly to the dungeons, heading to the Slytherin common room with nothing but a small pouch of Floo Powder that Headmistress McGonagall gave him for his trip.

Albus's simple advice brought Scorpius to his knees. Years of lonesome turmoil, and only because he wasn't asking himself the right questions. They came all at once that night, keeping him up until the early hours of the morning. He barely slept a wink, instead motivated by a desperate sense that he is close to running out of time. He isn't even sure what the clock is ticking down to—but the paralyzing fear makes it hard to even swallow. He now stands in front of the fire, but chills erupt across his skin.

He opens the pouch and shakes the contents gently. Silver Floo Powder tosses about inside, and he takes a small pinch to examine between his fingers.

"I can't believe the password is still 'pureblood'," he hears Rose's voice drawl behind him.

Startled, he jumps and whips around. "Rose," he says. "Look . . . If this is about Emma, I don't have anything to say right now. I've got to get going."

"What do you mean? When will you be back?"

"Just for the weekend. Tell Albus not to worry. I'll be back before the next Quidditch match."

She purses her lips. "That's not what he'll be worried about. I thought you were different now, you know. When you ran into me in the courtyard and said those things. I thought you were starting to change."

"I am," Scorpius says. "It's all part of it. Ask Albus to take care of Button for me while I'm gone. Please."

"Scorpius." Rose seems to force herself to speak to him by the way she clenches her jaw, like his name tastes bitter. He looks into her eyes, and she searches his expression with her lips parted and her thin brows furrowed. "I just . . . It's whatever, but I just hope you're . . . OK."

Something overwhelms him.

An emotion he hasn't felt in a long time, that swells from his chest and makes his palms sweat.

Maybe because it's been years since he saw his closest friend standing before him with concern on her face instead of wrath. Maybe because he suddenly recalls spending long nights by this very fireplace with her; or staring out the windows at the merpeople that live under the lake and teaching her the small amount of sign language he'd learned from them; or taking walks along the Forbidden Forest and running when Hagrid, a blundering half-giant and Keeper of the Grounds, would shake his fist at them for picking flowers from his garden.

Scorpius always thought they'd looked better in Rose's hair.

He takes a step toward her. Then another. When she doesn't move, he strides to where she stands—rigid as a gargoyle—and slouches down to wrap his arms around her shoulders. He buries his face into her hair and holds her. Rose does not embrace him back, but he feels her heart pounding.

In one movement he lets her go, tosses Floo Powder into the Slytherin fireplace, and steps into the emerald flames.

"Malfoy Manor," he states clearly.