[Two chapter updates today!]
-o-o-o-
"Cory," a startled voice says from beside him. He turns numbly to look upon her face. "What . . . what are you doing in the Gryffindor common room?" she asks. "How did you get in here?"
The best he can do is turn his head to where Lily Potter sits at the bottom of the stairs to the girls' dormitories. She has fallen asleep with her head against the wall and her small chin in her hand. Her strawberry blonde hair creates a curtain over her delicate face. Lily shares very little resemblance to her older brother. While Albus has eyes like jade stone, Lily has an innocent hazel. Albus is tall and reasonable, while Lily is tiny and outspoken.
Perhaps the traits they share most in common are their fierce moral code, goofy sense of humor, and unmatched genuine kindness.
Rose stares at him for a long pause before walking up to her little cousin's side. She places a gentle hand on Lily's head, and the young girl wakes slowly. Lily stretches her arms out wide and yawns.
"Hey, Rosie," Lily says, sleepily. "I don't know what happened to Cory, I swear. He wouldn't talk to me. He's been waiting for you. I let him in."
"Run up to bed, Lil'," Rose murmurs.
"Here," Lily says, handing her a handkerchief. "He looks awful."
Lily then stands and takes the steps two at a time, until Scorpius and Rose are entirely alone in the round common room. He watches her approach him cautiously, as though he may run off.
"Cory . . . You ought to go to the infirmary."
She sounds faraway, like he's under the lake and she is trying to talk to him through the water. He's struck with a memory of swimming in the cold lake one hot summer afternoon, and breaking the surface to splash Rose along the shore and ruin her textbook. Now, Rose bites her lip and examines him closely. He hasn't a clue what he looks like right now. Suddenly, he worries if he is frightening in appearance to her.
But Scorpius doesn't tear his gaze away from her. It's been years since he's looked her in the eye. After he'd returned from third-year, determined to follow all of Lucius's orders, he couldn't bear looking upon her at all. He isn't entirely certain what aspect it was: It could have been because he felt such shame for not explaining his abrupt abandonment of their friendship.
Or maybe he never looked at her because he wouldn't have been able to resist taking it all back in a single heartbeat and telling Rose how he really felt. Not just for her, but everything. How drawing freed him. How his grandfather treated him. How he was scared of the future.
But that was years ago. He's not sure what he even thinks of her now. She must be an entirely different woman, as he, too, has changed drastically.
It's possible the appeal of listening to Lucius as a child was because he assumed family to be a responsibility—and, in a way, a promise for lifetime companionship. There, in one house, was a group of people who were obligated to look out for each other forever. Or so, he once thought. But with Rose, he always risked losing her.
Maybe it was simply easier to let her go on his terms. Before she could have left him.
All these years later, Rose is in front of him waiting for him to say whatever he'd like . . . Yet, all he can do is sit in silence, wishing he could turn back time.
Rose steps in front of him and he stares up at her with his jaw locked shut. He sits slouched deep into the red chair, each arm resting on either side of him. His muscles feel like gelatin and his head is swimming. Apparating here without a wand used up the very last of his energy, and he can't remember even how to use his tongue to form words.
"I can hardly believe you have nothing to say," Rose says, in an attempt at lightheartedness.
She's wrong. There are a million things.
Rose sighs and wiggles her nose, her lips pursed. She kneels in front of Scorpius, taking care to hover above him, and presses the handkerchief against his cheekbone. She lets out a breath he didn't realize she was holding and they watch each other carefully.
"Let me know if it stings."
She waits another moment, maybe expecting him to stop her. Concern settles deep in her eyes as she begins to clean the fresh blood from his face. It must be worse than he thought. He grimaces as she brushes the handkerchief across his split eyebrow.
He isn't sure why he came here. But it wasn't for this.
When he stands she leans back. He stumbles to his feet but falls to his knees in front of Rose. His cheeks are hot with humiliation. Again, he cannot look at her. He is still mortified by how he let Lucius make him feel. If Rose were to know how weak he is, surely she would not support him anymore. Even now, with his injuries, he is embarrassed that he is vulnerable.
But Rose's hands reach out and hold his arms. There's a tenderness that he can't remember receiving from anyone else. It's real, and it's only for him. The backs of his eyes burn. She takes his chin in her fingers and angles his face up slowly, but he pulls away and stares at the floor.
Scorpius wants to cry. But he won't. Not here, and not like this.
He shakily pulls himself up, walks to the door, and leaves.
-o-o-o-
This time, Kiara knocks before she enters. She knew Albus would be here. Something about seeing Scorpius in his state makes her want to find something comforting as well. In Albus's instance, she had a feeling she would find him among his Muggle paradise.
Albus gives her a sad smile and pats the floor beside him.
"How's Rose?" he asks, after she sits down.
"Shocked. I walked her to the portrait outside Gryffindor and that was that. I wanted to find you."
He tilts his head. "Hello, then."
"Hello, Albus. He will be OK, you know. Scorpius, I mean. You have nothing to worry about. Scorpius is very strong and determined. He will overcome anything."
Albus sucks in his cheek.
"Do you believe me?"
"I've known Cory a long time. I'm scared he doesn't know how to express his thoughts without being destructive. . . . I shouldn't talk about it; it isn't any of my business. But I care about him. I never stopped, even after he began to treat my family and I like we were the monsters. Anyway. Perhaps you're right."
"Of course I am."
He grins at her now, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Albus, what are you going to do in a few months when you leave Hogwarts?"
"What do you mean? Didn't I tell you?"
Kiara shrugs. "Well, you mentioned you want to go to a Muggle university and live a life without magic."
He looks at her earnestly. "Yeah."
Her eyes widen. "You were serious?"
"Of course I was."
"You are really going to do that?"
"When I speak from the heart . . . I always mean it, Kiara."
His gaze feels especially powerful as he says this. She gets the sense that he wants to say something else, but he doesn't.
"Where will you start?" she finally asks.
"I'm starting in London. I want a small apartment. One of those ones where the bedroom is in the same area as the kitchen."
"A studio?"
"'Studio'," Albus repeats. "Doesn't that sound perfect?"
"Does your family think you are mad?"
Albus laughs. "Yeah, definitely. They've all said they'll visit regularly though, and I'll still be welcome home, of course. Kiara, um . . . What are your plans after you finish next year? Do you think you'll be staying in the magic realm? Or . . . do you think you may . . . well . . . go home?"
She shakes her head. "I have no plans. It is very troublesome. Unlike you, I do not have a clue where I would start in either situation."
"Why's that?"
"I do not think I have settled in one world over the other. Sometimes it feels as though I am in limbo. There is a family I do not know in the Muggle world; and friends I do not have in the magic realm. Someday I have to choose between a rock and a hard place. Whatever I choose, I will likely be alone and just as bitter as I am now."
Albus nods slowly. "You think you're bitter?" he asks.
"Definitely. That is why I do what I want, and say whatever is on my mind. Some say that I do not have a filter, but I am just always curious to see how people react when they are faced with honesty. There are no repercussions for me, if I care about nothing."
"May I ask you something?"
"You may, Albus."
"I've been wondering for awhile, honestly. Why are you afraid of magic?"
Kiara has never been questioned for this, but she knows the other students whisper about it. "I am taught that all energy has to come from somewhere. With magic, I can turn a feather into a mouse for Basil. How? Where does it come from? Why is it possible to make life from an inanimate object?" She shakes her head. "A famous Muggle physicist said that energy cannot be created or destroyed."
"'It can only be changed from one form to another,'" Albus finishes. "Yeah, I've heard that. Oh, who was it . . . Albert Einstein. Am I right? Yeah. He was a Squib."
"I beg your pardon?" Kiara reacts.
"His mother was a witch, but she never practiced. It's implied she was relieved that her son wasn't a wizard. Some people choose the Muggle world before ever knowing what the other life would be like."
Kiara weighs this as she thinks about her own situation. "Sometimes it is best not to know what is better, and only focus on what is already good," she says. "How do you know at all that she was a witch?"
"Only students who discover some scope of their magic before thirteen years old, or who come from magic, get invitations to the schools. There's records of a Pauline Koch—Einstein's mum—being sent a letter from Durmstrang Institute. That would mean she was pure-blood, too, because Durmstrang doesn't accept Muggle-born wizards and witches. It's pretty uncommon to start late, as you did, but it isn't unheard of. Anyway, if you surpass that age, you either must then stumble upon the magic realm, perform magic in front of Muggles, or have connections. The Ministry doesn't just know who is and isn't magic."
"Are you telling me that when I received my letter, I performed some type of magic before?"
"With Muggle parents, and otherwise completely off the radar? You must have."
Kiara looks away. She has seen beautiful magic, but she has seen terrible magic as well. Not knowing what she may have done as a child sends chills down her arms. "How terrifying," she tells him honestly. "What was your first time?"
"I come from a long lineage of magic. Even if I was a Squib, I would've still been accepted to Hogwarts. But the first time I performed magic, I was four years old. You'll have to forgive me: This is my parents' memory, and not my own. They told me after Lily was born, I wanted to be a good brother. One day she fell from her crib, and I caught her with magic."
"I hope my first time performing magic was as honorable as that. I would like to change the subject: What are you watching right now? Ballet?"
"The Nutcracker," Albus says, letting their conversation flow forward without a hiccup. "You ever see the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's ill-fated attempt to teach trolls to dance ballet? Anyway. Muggle ballet, I mean . . . wow. It's so magical."
Kiara scoffs, faking annoyance to tease him. "Do you find everything magical?"
"Magical things, I do," he reasons with a smirk.
"What else have you got there? Where do you get them?"
"I find them around. Some are from my grandpa. He'll be so thrilled this summer when I show him how I've got the TV working. We had no idea Muggles have moving pictures like these. I can't wait to show him 'Star Wars'."
Albus pushes a small stack of VHS tapes toward her, taking care not to damage any. His large hand pats the top of the pile proudly. She starts to shuffle through them. Many of the tapes don't have titles. In the middle is The Empire Strikes Back, which Albus has written in his barely legible chicken scrawl. Along the label he's also drawn two large exclamation points.
"I suppose you really liked it, huh?"
"I've watched it twice now."
"You know, it is part of a series. I will have to show you the rest—"
She stops mid-sentence when she sees a tape near the bottom with familiar handwriting that reads 2007-08, Mons. This doesn't go unnoticed by Albus, who appears concerned.
"Are you all right? What's wrong?"
Something feels wrong in her mind, like some neurons somewhere aren't connecting properly. It's as though she is short-circuiting. She begins going through the rest of the tapes Albus has collected, pretending the tape from Mons doesn't affect her one bit. Her hands begin to tremor, so she stops and holds them tightly together in her lap.
Albus won't stop looking at her.
"Nothing. It is nothing, really. That tape . . . It was mine. Mons is the city in Belgium that I live in. It only caught me by surprise, to see it again. I thought it was gone, forever."
"What do you mean, it's yours? What does that mean?"
She waves him off. "Nothing. I just mean that my parents gave me that tape. To help me remember my past and things like that. It is nothing."
"Oh, my god."
"See, it is nothing? I lost them a long time ago."
"Kiara, my god, I'm so sorry. When I was a third-year, the librarian asked if I wanted it for my collection—everyone knows that I collect Muggle things, and he'd found it. He said he'd waited a month, waiting for someone to come back for it. I'm so sorry, I-I've had it for years."
"It is completely OK," she says.
She feels strange. It's almost like there is too much blood in her head, yet at the same time not nearly enough. She thinks she will pop any moment, if she doesn't soon find a way to get her emotions under control.
Kiara doesn't know what to do, so she says, "It is yours now. Do not feel bad. You have kept it safe."
He gives her a long look. "No, Kiara. It isn't mine. It's yours."
"It is completely OK," she repeats, but something in her throat seems to stick and she chokes up a bit on the words. Her eyelids flutter, so she blinks hard until they stop. The shaking travels to her bottom lip, so she presses her mouth into a thin line. After she's certain she won't start trembling anywhere else, she tells him, as bravely as she can, "I have never watched it. I do not want it back."
"Kiara, it isn't any of my business, but . . . Well, I-I simply can't even begin to guess what's going through your head right now, but . . . But I can't keep it, knowing it's yours. I . . . It's just wrong."
"Please, Albus, you have taken such good care of it, you really—"
"Kiara—"
"I do not want it!" she shouts, fear bubbling up from her stomach and surging forward from her lips.
Then tears spill down her cheeks like twin waterfalls. She isn't sure where it comes from, or why it happens now. Albus looks so surprised, it makes her cry harder.
She moves to leave, but Albus stands with her immediately. It's almost like he knew she was going to try to run. He grasps her pinky in the same way she did to him when she was twelve years old, standing in front of the barrier at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. The nostalgia of her first warm memory destroys whatever sanity she had left in this moment, and she begins to sob.
Kiara wraps both hands around Albus's, clinging desperately to him for the stability she knows he has. Without missing a beat, he pulls her close to him. She buries her face into his neck as he wraps his strong arms tight around her shoulders, resting his chin atop her head and radiating heat straight into her soul.
"I am so scared to know," she sobs against his skin that turns slick and salty with her tidal wave of tears. "I have done perfectly fine with this new life. What if this ruins everything?"
"It's OK, Kiara," he whispers into her hair.
His hot words send tickles down her spine, and it seems to remind her to take a deep breath. She hiccups once, and then the onslaught of emotions is all-at-once over. Albus lets her go when he realizes she's done crying. He steps back, though his warmth lingers. His cheeks are pink, and he stuffs his hands in his trouser pockets and looks sheepish.
"It's OK to be scared when you don't understand what you're supposed to do," he says to the floor. "Oh, Kiara . . . You aren't a machine."
"I am ashamed. It is weakness, to be crying." She crosses her arms and slouches against the wall, using the heels of her thumbs to dry her eyes. "I do not even get what I am crying about."
"You were crying because you care about something. Kiara, please . . . Be patient with yourself."
She slides down the wall and sits with her knees against her chest. Albus kneels in front of her. There's something other than concern, or even curiosity, in his eyes. It feels deeper than that.
"Crying is for the weak."
"I resent that type of thinking," Albus says. "I care about many things. So . . . I cry sometimes."
"You do? For what?"
He's embarrassed and scratches behind his ear. "OK," he finally says. "I might cry when I can't sleep, because my brain won't shut off no matter how exhausted I am. I might cry for my parents, when their pasts become too much all at once and they break down in front of me. I might cry when the sun rises over the ocean; or when a bird sings to me; or if I see someone do something kind for a stranger." His cheeks turn a deeper shade of red and he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. "But if you tell anyone, I'll have to deny it."
Kiara catches his eye and holds his gaze. "I have not cried since the accident, not once. It just felt like I was not ever supposed to."
"Crying happens because we don't know where else to put it," Albus says. "It's the same reason we laugh aloud. Or when we yell if we're stressed. That, I think, is how magic works. It's in sync with our emotions. We can take pain, or love, or hate . . . anything—and we can channel the energy. You're right. Albert Einstein's right. It doesn't come from nowhere. It just maybe isn't as tangible as physical matter.
"So I don't think you're really scared of magic," he continues, suddenly cautious. "I think you're scared . . . of feeling."
Kiara lets this sink in.
"May I be alone in here?"
"Of course. Be careful, though. It's almost curfew."
She smiles softly. "I do what I want, Albus."
-o-o-o-
At times it's near impossible to find a private spot at Hogwarts. Scorpius finds himself outside an hour before curfew. It's dark and cool, and a breeze washes over his face. For a moment, he forgets it's covered in blood. For a moment, he forgets he's hurting.
He squats beside the lake and begins to cry. He hasn't cried since he was nine years old. It all comes out in great heaving sobs.
For the first minute, he's not sure what he's crying for. It wasn't the first time that Lucius had hurt him, albeit it was the worst—but it couldn't be that alone. Scorpius sits back on the grass and stares into the dark lake, forcing himself to ask the hard questions and get to know who he is a bit more.
He doesn't want to live at Malfoy Manor anymore, not with Lucius stalking him through the shadows. He doesn't want to work for the Ministry of Magic. He doesn't want to have an estranged relationship with his father. He doesn't want to tiptoe around Rose. He doesn't want to keep all the people who care for and have respect for him—Kiara, and Albus, and Finley, and some of the other good ones—at a distance. He doesn't want to hide his talents as an artist.
There it is, he decides.
Scorpius cries because, for once, he knows exactly the things he truly wants.
But he can't have a single one.