— CHAPTER EIGHT —
Hermione's logic often allowed her to objectively place her emotions aside so her judgement could remain clear. It was why she had been such an excellent Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Occasionally, she would panic. But this was not the time for panic.
"They're gone," Ron said, his face ashen. "I even had James check the Marauders Map."
Hermione placed her hands on her husband's chest. She had to resist telling him to calm down—the village and forest were smouldering, they were left identifying charred bodies. Calm down seemed callous at best, and it would certainly do nothing but aggravate Ron (she knew this from years of marital diplomacy).
Instead, she said, "They're the only three missing—and they're missing together. They must have the Sword of Gryffindor with them."
"That doesn't make it any better, does it?"
"They've prepared for this, Ron."
"What'd you mean they're prepared?"
Hermione gave Ron a look that was familiar and very well worn—the exasperated can't you keep up look that she had practised since they were teenagers.
"Rose has been preparing to go after Romnuk for ages," Hermione said. "And I've made sure she's well equipped to do so."
"Hermione! She's seventeen."
"As were we when we went off to find Horcruxes," Hermione replied calmly. As Ron opened his mouth to argue, she held up a hand to stop him. "All of students said it was Rose, Albus and Scorpius who led the defence of the Castle—and they did a bloody better job of defending themselves than most of us."
"But—"
"Not a single student was injured," Hermione insisted. "I really do believe they know what they're doing."
"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Rose asked surlily.
Albus had to wonder the same. He had never seen such an assortment of potions ingredients, not even in their Alchemy classes. As if trying to solve a puzzle, he attempted to assemble the ingredients into a formula to no avail. He kept eyeing the phials shiftily, as if they were maleficently mocking him whenever he looked away. Whatever Scorpius was brewing, it wasn't in any book he had read.
"I'm improvising. It's called allowing inspiration to flow from genius," Scorpius replied, twirling his wrist for effect.
Rose grunted dismissively. Imogen snorted, as if she had never heard anything so ridiculous in all her life.
Her presence in the room annoyed him, even though it was her apartment. She seemed so blithe and amused by everything that had happened, lightly scandalised as if she had just read a column in Witch Weekly. She touched Albus' arm as if to share some private mirth. He slipped away and joined Rose, who was sitting on top of the kitchen counter.
"I still don't understand why you didn't kill him," he said in a low voice. The others could still hear him, but he wanted it clear that this was a private conversation.
Rose's jaw was working as if she were chewing on something she didn't want to swallow. "You heard him. We need him."
"He was just bullshitting us so we could spare him."
"No. We need to kill his brother if we stand a chance of ending this for good. We need him to take us to the Goblin Kingdom."
Scorpius glanced up at them both, then returned to his cauldron. He looked too exhausted to deliver any input. His eyes were grey stones sitting in muddy rings. Albus could feel it too—this deep fatigue that wearied his bones. He was only upright because of the adrenalin.
Imogen's blitheness had slid off her like a sheepskin. The tension had left a little stitch between her thick eyebrows.
"Are you suggesting regicide?"
"It's not really any of your business, is it?" Albus replied quietly. For the goblins, this would not end until their King was dead. Morgana supporter or Kobold Könige—it made no difference.
Imogen sensed the curtness being directed her way and walked over to where the cousins were sitting. She stretched her hand out. Albus flinched away from her, but she was only grabbing a bottle of gin from the shelf above his head. She sent him a cold look.
"I thought you could all use a drink," she said defensively.
"Hear, hear," Rose agreed.
He had shown up at Imogen's door without invitation, and it had been his suggestion to bring them to her. He had relied on her good will and willingness to take them in as fugitives, and she had. But sitting in her kitchen was making his stomach clench. The longer he was in her presence, the more he regretted coming.
She passed Rose a gin mixed with flat soda water. Without complaint, Rose downed it with a single tilt of her head. Imogen passed the other two glasses to Scorpius and Albus.
"I don't think drinking is a good idea."
"It's been a mental night for you all," she reasoned, trying to soften her voice. She still sounded irascible and defensive and it grated on him. "I just thought you could take the edge off."
"I'll have one," Scorpius piped up. It was quite uncharacteristic, as alcohol rarely tempted him. He took the drink down in three quick gulps before smashing the glass on the floor. He was mortified by his own action. "Sorry! Bad habit," he blurted out, quickly restoring the glass with his wand and setting it on the counter. Rose doubled over in a fit of laughter.
"You're both delirious," Albus said, pushing himself off the counter. He took the bottle from Imogen and set it out of their reach, feeling firmer and older than the rest of them. "This isn't the time for alcohol. We need to think straight."
Rose was still cackling, her head slouched down so her auburn curls obscured her face. She had sneakily picked up the drink Imogen had made for Albus.
"Hey, what did I just say?" he snapped, taking it from her hands. "Oi!" Albus called, diving in with his wand just in time to save the cauldron from tipping off the table. Scorpius had dozed against it. He woke with a start.
"Merlin. Sorry."
They were a mess. Rose couldn't stop cackling to herself like she was a complete nutter. She kept rubbing tears from her eyes before they could slip loose. Scorpius looked ashen. He rubbed his face, looking as if he were about to break down into tears.
"I can take over for a bit, mate," Albus decided firmly, shuffling him away from the cauldron. "You've done the majority of the work, anyway."
They argued for a minute more until Scorpius' stubbornness folded against Albus' soothing insistences.
"Go shower and sleep," Albus suggested, taking his spot at the kitchen table.
"The bathroom is down the hall on the right," Imogen offered, jumping at the opportunity to be helpful. "And you can crash in my mum's bedroom. She's not home."
"It needs to brew then simmer before you add the leech eggs," Scorpius said drowsily. "Hold on I'll write it down."
"Brew and simmer," Albus repeated, watching as Scorpius scribbled frantically on a roll of paper towel.
"Brew and simmer," Scorpius nodded slowly. With these final instructions, shoving the scrunched up paper towel into his friend's chest, he acquiesced and drifted from the room with heavy steps.
"Merlin, he looks dreadful." Albus was equally as sleep deprived, but somehow holding it together. "I thought it would be tactless to ask, but how the hell did he get unicorn blood?"
"I don't know," Rose replied worriedly, casting a look over her shoulder. She slid off the counter as if intending to follow him but stopped short.
"And what sort of recipe is he using?" Albus persisted. "This is really Dark stuff."
"Lay off, alright? I don't know what he's concocted."
"Rose, whatever the hell he's brewing is cursed magic. I know you both think the end can justify the means but we need to hold onto our morality here."
With a weak smile, Rose reached forward and squeezed her cousin's shoulders. He was so incredibly good. Better than she or Scorpius ever could be. His green eyes, bloodshot as they were, still held onto their earnestness. He had always been an anchor, a mediator, a moral compass.
"Why are you looking at me like that? You weirdo," he said, wrenching himself free. "Merlin, the two of you drive me mental."
"You can use the bathroom down the hall if you would like to shower, too, Rose. I have pyjamas you can change into," Imogen suggested.
"Good idea. I'm still quite damp."
Imogen disappeared for a moment to fetch some towels. Rose leaned against the doorframe and surveyed Albus, who stood over the bubbling, foul smelling cauldron, and slowly grinned.
"If you wanted to be alone with her you should have asked."
"She's the one who got rid of you both, not me," he replied quietly.
"Oh, yeah. Well, watch out, Al."
She wandered out of the room after Imogen. This teasing incensed him further. He tapped the cauldron sharply to lower the heat, unable to bear the smell of rotting eggs.
It shouldn't have really been a concern after the fray, but once the castle had been searched for damages, Hermione was informed that Stella Bellucci was missing. Her cell was empty. Had she escaped or had something else happened?
She was sitting in Professor McGonagall's old office. The chair forced her spine to remain incredibly straight despite her every muscle aching. She wanted to fold over and place her head between her knees, the way air-stewards instruct people to do if a plane is going to crash.
It occurred to Hermione that, should she remain missing, Stella would never receive a trial and would never be sent to Azkaban. Amid the razed village and the destroyed forest and the flooded castle, she wondered if justice could still be salvaged. She had only joined the Ministry of Magic because she wanted to build a better, more just world. It had unravelled so easily.
"Still no sign of Romnuk?" she asked Dean Thomas, who shook his head and scowled.
"The Aurors are still looking, but nothing."
Hermione was exhausted. Whose idea of justice were they applying in any case? What Stella had done was justified under Gladstone's laws. Who decided how to make the world better? Better for who?
"Hermione, are you alright?" Dean asked, crouching down so they were level.
"Are they identifying the dead?" she asked briskly.
Dean frowned, his dark eyes wells of grief. He nodded. "The list of missing people is still quite long though. A lot of bodies can't be identified."
"And the goblins?"
"All dead and accounted for, except for Romnuk. The school Professors are still mending the Slytherin Dungeons but all the bodies were retrieved."
Hermione could feel her defences cracking. "Dean, could you find me a family member? Any one of them will do. Whoever isn't busy."
"A family member?" he repeated. That was a long list.
He returned about fifteen minutes later with Ginny behind him. Her arms and cheek were covered in a thick pink burn paste that clashed awfully with her red hair. She briefly patted Dean's shoulder as he walked out.
"We had to move the kids to another—less underwater—wing of the castle. They're all fine, though."
But after saying this, Ginny became aware that Hermione had not called upon her for a report. She was wilting in her chair, her head collapsing as if scaffolding had been pulled out from under her. Ginny rushed around the desk and took a seat on the thin arm of the wooden chair. Her firm grasp on Hermione's shoulders seemed to be all that was keeping her upright now.
"I know," Ginny soothed.
"We failed, again. We failed to protect—to—"
"That was their last effort. They have nothing left. They're gone."
"But our children—"
Ginny wrapped Hermione in her arms—she knew no words could comfort this feeling. She was feeling it too. They had fought. They had lost their childhoods. The bargain was their children wouldn't have to. Their children would grow up safe and obliviously peaceful. There was no justice in it.
The air was cool in the pre-dawn light, a light iridescent and soft with the wink of stars. Rose came out of the bathroom, warm from the shower's steam, and saw Scorpius standing on the balcony with the glass sliding door open to let in the cool air.
She slipped out onto the balcony beside him. The deliriousness had ebbed following hot showers, but their energy was low. Electrical lines dissected the view of the street. It was getting lighter but the street lamps still buzzed with their artificial halos.
"You came around to Al's Stone idea," Rose said, nudging his hip.
At first, Scorpius didn't reply. Maybe he resented her bringing up his doubts. Then, quite grimly, he said, "I thought the stones were stupidity until Bellucci killed herself."
He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on the brick balcony wall, staring out across the street. "Bellucci did some truly horrible things, but even if she had died sooner, it wouldn't have changed anything. Gladstone had been the force that put her potions into action, and perhaps there were forces working around Gladstone that drove his ideologies."
Rose squinted at him before turning her gaze onto the street below also. "Sometimes you are so articulate I can't follow what you're saying."
Scorpius sighed heavily. "You and Albus wanted a bargaining chip because you knew even after you killed Romnuk, things wouldn't resolve. Killing him was retribution but not a resolution."
A car wooshed down on the street below, spraying the gutters with water as it passed through puddles. Rose wondered where that person could possibly be going at such an early hour of the morning. Or, perhaps, where they were returning from. She leaned forward and rested her chin on the veranda's rail. The cold metal hurt her teeth.
"It occurred to me when I saw Bellucci's body on the floor," he said. "It doesn't need to just be a bargaining chip. It can be a weapon."
"You can't trick a goblin that easily."
"Trust me, this will be convincing."
"And you're fine with regicide then?"
"It was your idea, not mine."
"And poison of all things?"
"They poisoned you at the Three Broomsticks in fifth year. I'm borrowing their tactics, aren't I?"
Rose stared at Scorpius, his features blurred by the muted light. She didn't say anything for about a minute. Scorpius tried hard to read her expression but couldn't quite make it out in the dark.
"What?" he asked. He fidgeted nervously. "You don't think it's a good idea?"
"Can I kiss you?" Rose asked urgently.
"Always," he said, without missing a beat.
So they did. When they finally pulled apart, it was only for Rose to blurt out the confession she had been carrying around all night.
"I love you. I can't believe it's taken me this long to catch up with you."
Scorpius sighed, as if relieved. He leaned forward and pressed his forward against hers.
"I know."
"And you've loved me this whole time."
"Yes."
"Since we were children, really. Since first year."
"Hm. Just like Potions and Quidditch, I tend to beat you to it."
"This isn't a competition."
"Of course not," he replied, brushing the curls away from her eyes. "But if it was I definitely won."
He kissed her again lightly. Then again. He kissed her nose and her cheeks. She kissed his lips over and over. They stayed there a while longer, their arms around each other, hugging each other fiercely and occasionally meeting the other with a kiss. They sunk into each other, exhausted and relieved that they at least had this moment. The sky turned pink and the clouds blushed mauve as the sun climbed above the horizon. Birds fluttered overhead to perch across the electrical wires, singing their morning songs. As the day arrived, they crawled onto the bed and fell asleep heavily in each other's arms.
For Harry, dawn made it worse somehow. He couldn't bear to see the village in smoking wreckage. The jets of dragon fire, the burning inferno—it had been horrific, but the aftermath was worse. At least when the dragons were causing chaos, there was a problem that needed to be solved.
They were using their wands to sift through the rubble and debris, looking for any other bodies—hoping that they would be found alive. The sun began to rise through the thick cloud of smoke, casting everything in an ember glow.
He wondered if Romnuk thought that he would win with this last-ditch destructive plan or whether it was just revenge.
Ron had told him that Albus was missing and that Hermione didn't think it should concern them. A part of Harry was concerned though. He had seen his son carrying the Sword of Gryffindor. He was certain that Romnuk hadn't escaped. He had been released. He wouldn't have stopped Albus and the others, whatever plan they may have had, but he would have liked if he were consulted. Harry had been in a similar position once after all.
"What's this I hear about Scorpius going missing?"
He turned around, stumbling a little as the rubble shifted under his boot. Draco Malfoy stood opposite him, his silver hair still neatly in its long, slick ponytail. He didn't look the slightest bit ruffled.
"The three of them are missing, Draco," Harry frowned, squinting at him as the sun continued to rise. "Intentionally missing, it seems."
"From the beginning it was clear that your lot were a bad influence on my son," Draco seethed, taking steps forward. "Now he's placing himself in danger—"
"He's being heroic and selfless! Which is more than what he can say about his father!" Harry snapped back, his temper getting the best of him. He suddenly very much wanted to hit or curse Draco. Draco seemed to want to do the same. Just like old times.
"Harry!" It was Neville, tumbling toward him over the loose debris and ashes. "You better come quick."
Harry didn't ask questions. He moved past Draco, hitting his shoulder as they passed, and took off at a sprint following Neville. After a moment, he could tell that Draco was sprinting after him. He resisted the urge to send a tripping hex over his shoulder.
They entered the school gates and continued up to the edges of the smouldering forest, at least half of which was blackened. Small spot fires were still being put out. Standing along the tree-line was a herd of centaurs. They agitatedly pawed the ground so ash rose in little clouds beneath their hooves. Hagrid stood before them, palms raised as if to steady them, doing his best to be diplomatic.
"Our home has been razed to the ground," Ronan fumed, snorting with anger.
"Yeh, and so has ours, mind. The whole village is gone!"
"Trees that were thousands of years old have been destroyed—a village can be repaired."
"WE LOST LIVES!" Hagrid bellowed furiously.
"That's enough," Harry said firmly, relieved there was something to do other than look for wreckage. "Ronan, we understand what this has cost the centaurs and we are grateful you came to help us."
"We did not aid you as allies, Harry Potter. We fought to protect ourselves from those beasts. This calamity only befell the centaurs because of yet another human war."
"Yes, well," Harry said shortly, bristling a little, "you did see it coming didn't you? You prophesised it over a year ago."
"That does not change the cause."
"We will work out some sort of way to restore—"
"You!" Draco yelled, now levelling with the rest of the men. He was panting somewhat from sprinting after Harry across the sloping lawns. "You're the reason why my son is missing!"
If it were possible, the centaurs looked more affronted. They shook their manes back in anger.
"You told him that stupid prophecy," Draco continued, shaking with anger now. "The heirs of a war-torn generation will lead a new battle. It's because of you that he ran off!"
"We do not share our prophecies with humans," Krikor said sullenly.
"Someone must've, because they have it in their heads that they need to save the damn world!"
The suggestion that their stargazing predictions had been shared with three human children made the centaurs nervously restless. They tossed their heads once more and turned to Hagrid for their parting words.
"If we find humans in our forest, we will kill them Hagrid. Be warned."
They turned and galloped away, back into the smoking field of blackened trunks. They watched them disappear into the haze of smoke. They were all subdued by Ronan's final parting words. Hagrid clucked his tongue, his wild grey beard singed in places from the battle.
"Ruddy stargazers," he muttered quietly.
After the silence had become too much, Draco finally cried, "Will no one take responsibility?"
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Neville shouted out, turning on him. "No one forced Scorpius to go! You clearly don't know your son if you think he'd sit idly by while the world was burning."
Draco opened his mouth and then shut it again.
"He's my only son," he said, his voice breaking. "He's my only son."
"So you should be proud of him," Harry replied. Suddenly, he himself felt proud. Even that Albus had not asked his help—while it stung, he was still proud. Albus knew how to handle himself. And he trusted that he and Ginny had taught him well.
Neville shook his head, looking exasperated by Draco. "Go do something useful, for Godric's sake. Give Scorpius a reason to be proud of you."
Harry fell in step with Neville, heading back towards the village, but he couldn't help but feel a little better leaving Draco behind with the cowed expression on his face.
The soporific effects of a bubbling cauldron on low heat had Albus drifting off a little but he forced himself to stay away. His eyes were burning. After trying to resurrect a conversation, Imogen had left him alone in the kitchen and returned to the sofa about a half hour ago. Through the door, he could make out her socked feet resting on the curled arm. The sun was rising; dawn light peeked through the kitchen curtains like an uninvited guest. Albus nodded off once and jerked awake, the room still quiet.
He left the cauldron for a moment and made his way to the sofa in the next room. Imogen was asleep, her head tilted back and her mane of dirty blonde hair tumbling over the side of the couch. The Sword of Gryffindor lay across her coffee table, oddly out of place.
He jabbed her awake.
"Oi!"
"Can you sit with me? I'll fall asleep if I don't have company."
She glared at him in a way that satisfied him. Without a word, she stood up and returned to the kitchen. They sat on either side of the cauldron.
Imogen yawned wide like a cat. She rubbed her eyes. The potion let off an awful acrid smell, like leather burning.
"This is a little crazy," Imogen said, nodding to the cauldron.
"No one has a better idea, do they?"
Imogen bit her lip, then sighed heavily through her nose. She leaned back on the kitchen chair, balancing it on two legs. It made Albus anxious that she would fall and crack her head.
Stupidly, Albus found himself thinking of his dad. He desperately wished he was here now, that he was here to confide in. To explain that he thought Rose and Scorpius were losing themselves. That they were spiralling down into Dark Magic. That they had gone completely rogue, that it had all become too complicated and tangled. That he didn't know if killing Romnuk or the Goblin King would solve anyone's problems or if it would just bring them closer to annihilation.
And he knew what his father would say. The only answer to all of this mess was love. But love seemed so impossible in all of this.
"I'll make us some tea," Imogen said, righting her chair and getting out of it.
His bitterness lapped against his insides, turning him churlish. He hated her hospitality. Why had she so soundly accepted him when she had been the one to leave all those months ago?
She placed the cup in front of him and then stood over him, her attempts at patience cracking.
"Spit is out, Albus. Whatever you want to say."
He shook his head, as if to pretend it were nothing, when it was so clearly not nothing. She grew more frustrated. He was surprise she didn't try to clobber him.
"I thought you made peace with the fact I left," she snapped.
"I did."
"You clearly didn't."
Albus refused to say anything. He knew if he did he'd snap at her.
She sat down opposite him now, her face surprisingly soft. "I left because I didn't want to fight this fight. It wasn't personal."
"It was personal to me."
They stared at each other for a long moment, nothing but the bubbling cauldron making sound. He wondered if Scorpius and Rose were asleep, whether they hadn't heard their row. He prayed that they hadn't. He could feel his face burning now as he stared into Imogen's tawny, bright eyes.
He knew that she didn't love him. Not in the way that he had loved her. He hated himself for not being able to let it go. He didn't have the room for any extra weight to carry.
The potion turned a deep shade of scarlet, rippling the surface like blood. He tapped his wand on the bottom of the cauldron to extinguish the heat. Then he carefully lowered the leech eggs into the mixture. It sizzled sinisterly.
"I do care about you, Albus—"
"I'm going to get some sleep," he announced, standing with the chair scraping behind him. "Can you watch the potion and wake me in an hour please?"
She curled up on the chair, her knees tucked under her chin.
The trees in the Forbidden Forest had become as twisted and black as used matchsticks. Teddy once liked the look of smoke, the way it waltzed from the puckering light of a poisonous cigarette. He couldn't imagine how he could ever have entertained that thought. The smoke wafted mournfully across the village and school grounds in a thick haze. The stench made his lungs ache and eyes water.
Charlie stripped off his dragon hide gloves and threw them onto the pile with the rest of the dragon keepers' equipment. Victoire was having several burns on her legs healed with a thick paste. The scars would be terrible. He knew that she didn't mind them at all.
"How's the medical evacuation going?" Victoire asked, looking up at him.
"There are a lot of people dead."
He had been experiencing a catastrophe of panic during the attack, seeing what felt like his home burn and so many people burn along with it. But a numbness had set in when they had started laying out the charred bodies of the victims. Children, families, members of the resistance. Some were not identifiable at all. He had shut down when he had found Digby's body. He was certain it was Digby, despite the burns to his face. He had a mole between his thumb and forefinger that signalled the unbearable truth. He had not realised he had joined the Order. He had never made up with him. The last he had seen him was at his wedding.
Victoire took his hand. She was fearless and brave and Teddy wanted to be just as brave. He just felt old.
He squeezed her hand.
"I'm so tired of all the fighting and dying now," he said quietly.
"This was the last of it," she said. "They're all gone. Romnuk is missing, but the rest of the Kobold Könige are dead."
"Think of the aftermath. Of how much has been destroyed."
"We will rebuild."
How was she still so hopeful?
"You know, Teddy," she said, pulling him so he would sit down beside her. "By some miracle, we both survived this war. And we're both together again. And do you know what is more radical than revolts and revolutions?"
He shook his head. Victoire leaned in and rested her chin on his shoulder so she could whisper in his ear, as if sharing a secret.
"Love."
He felt something hard in his throat. He thought he might choke on it. Great sobs wracked his body. It was pure grief. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and slowly stroked his hair.
Imogen let the trio sleep soundly from about six-thirty to two in the afternoon. Rose was the first to wake up, still wearing a pair of Imogen's plaid pyjamas and realising that she hadn't packed them a change of clothes. They would need to get supplies today, before they set off. She tugged her fingers through her hair when she saw that Imogen was in the kitchen. It reminded Imogen of a feral animal trying futilely to groom itself.
Rose was rested but restless.
"Thanks for all this," she said, gesturing to the apartment in general.
"Least I can do."
It was an odd response, betraying some guilt. Although Rose was not one to comment on other people's guilt anymore. She had her own to wrestle with.
The potion had turned a rich ruby red. It was still and cool, sitting on the stovetop. If she didn't know any better, it could almost pass for tomato soup. She was tempted to dip her finger in it but thought better.
Scorpius joined them, also in pyjamas—although Imogen and her mother did not have any men's clothing in their home, so he was wearing a large knitted jumper and a pair of Imogen's jogging bottoms that were slightly too tight. The oddly androgynous look on his thin frame was compelling.
He had neatly folded both his and Rose's clothes.
"I stupidly didn't pack any change of clothes," Rose admitted. "I mean, I brought goblin armour with me. But not clothes."
"We'll survive," Scorpius shrugged, smiling a little.
He tentatively picked up the cauldron and returned it to the kitchen table. He sniffed it, and Rose realised it was now odourless. The foul smell had evaporated. He then stirred it cautiously, testing the consistency.
"A Stone please."
Rose left the room to retrieve her mother's small beaded bag. When she returned, Albus had woken up and joined them. His air was sticking up at odd angles and his eyes were bloodshot.
Rose handed over a fake Philosopher's Stone. Scorpius took it and examined it for a moment, his eyes darting over the ruby surface. Imogen opened her mouth to comment but then shut it again.
He carefully lowered the Stone into the potion with a pair of tongs. It sizzled as it touched the surface, then sank to the cauldron's depths.
"We'll have to give it a few hours," Scorpius acknowledged.
They stared at the cauldron in silence, as if expecting some sort of response from it. It sat there, inanimate, the potion still a macabre red.
"Well, if we have time to kill," Rose said slowly, turning back to Imogen, "perhaps you can take us to the nearest store? We need supplies."
Rose was far less methodical than her mother, who had created an inventory of everything they might need when she and her two friends had set off to search for Horcruxes. Rose had packed on whim, as the impulse struck her—they would need weapons and shelter and some books, of course. They would need a potions kit and healing balms and a set of scales. In this respect, she was well prepared.
But the practicalities had escaped her. She had not thought to pack clothes or soap or food—and this she needed to rectify. In all her father's retellings of the tedious camping in the woods during the Second Great Wizarding War, the lack of food had been his biggest complaint. It was not merely that the trio had limited resources and a limited breadth of practical magic—Hermione was not a good cook. Rose knew this from experience. After getting married, Ron had realised that if he wanted to satisfy his appetite he would need to learn the basics from his mum—so it was Ron who usually made dinner, big hearty dishes that accounted for the weight around his belly. Whenever his wife offered to cook, Ron reminded her of the rubbery mushrooms she had prepared while they were in hiding and this would quickly end any further offers.
After Albus had showered and dressed, the four teenagers took off to find the nearest supermarket. Imogen reassured them it was a fifteen minute walk but it seemed longer. Rose felt strangely exposed in the muggle streets, where mothers pushed prams and men jogged by with dogs on leashes. They were not quite used to being out and about, having spent so much time shuffled between safe houses and then locked inside Hogwarts. She had forgotten what it felt like to just walk down a street. After a while, she linked arms with Scorpius and rested her head on his shoulder. She wondered what they looked like to passers-by—maybe truants from school—and it amused her to feel so normal, like stepping into a different skin.
Albus purposely dropped his pace so Imogen was now ahead of the pack, leading them, and fell into step with his other two friends. To fit three across the pavement, Rose had to relinquish Scorpius.
"You two are awfully chummy," Albus commented, cocking his eyebrow. "What did I miss while I was looking after that potion?"
"We just had our first good night's sleep in an eternity," Scorpius said lightly.
"You two a quite frosty," Rose echoed back, lowering her voice. "What did we miss while we slept?"
Albus rolled his eyes and shrugged. "The sooner we're gone, the better."
"Can't relate." Rose linked arms with Scorpius again, forcing Albus back in front of them. He turned around to keep his eyes on her, walking backwards. She gave him a toothy grin. "This almost feels like old times."
Old times. Before everyone was dead, she meant. Albus shook his head and joined Imogen again, just as they came to a supermarket parking lot.
The doors slid coolly open for them, anticipating their arrival, just like magic. The store was huge, broken into aisles filled with colourful products. Scorpius' eyes lit up.
Albus, choosing to take control of the situation, suggested that they split up to make sure they covered all the aisles. Without waiting for input, he strode down the cereal aisle. Imogen winced and shrugged, citing that she needed to grab some groceries anyway, and she too took off.
"I'll take Imogen, you take Albus," Scorpius offered.
"Are we match-making or counselling?" Rose joked back.
But Scorpius wasn't kidding. His face was pinched, concerned.
"Rose, we're going to the Goblin Kingdom. Do you really think Albus wants to part on such terrible terms with Imogen when this may be the last time they ever see each other?"
She stood there, not knowing what to say back. She realised with the gravity weighing his words that he was implying they wouldn't be coming back. Panic squeezed her heart again—if anything happened to either of these boys—
Scorpius pecked her quickly on the lips and then ambled after Imogen, still looking ridiculous in his borrowed jogging bottoms but unfazed. Rose realised she would need to do the same.
The two corresponding conversations went something like this.
Scorpius cornered Imogen by the frozen food section, and after marvelling over the fact muggles had found a way to freeze food to be consumed later after being reheated, he leaned against one of the freezer doors and frowned down at Imogen.
"Is this really how you want to leave things with Albus? A trip to Aldi and then au revoir?"
"I don't speak French," she said coldly. "And I've been trying. He's the one—"
"Who lost his closest friend," Scorpius completed. "So I suggest trying a little harder to make amends."
On the other hand, as a complete juxtaposition, Rose tracked Albus down to the non-perishable goods. He was turning over a can of beans to read the label. He glanced up at Rose and rolled his eyes.
"Weren't we supposed to be splitting up?"
"Why are you being so cold to Imogen?"
"Does that really require asking?" he snapped pack. He selected a different, cheaper brand of beans and put the can in his shopping basket. Rose turned to peruse the shelf.
"I thought you had moved on."
She said this without looking at him, as if she were just discussing the shelf-life of tinned tuna. He threw her a side-long glance and then returned to the tuna also.
"I have. Honestly."
"Then what is it? You suggested coming here."
"I know. But seeing her just—brought up all these unsaid things. And seeing you and Scorpius being so—"
"What?"
"Disgustingly cute," Albus snorted. "I dunno."
Rose turned to him, taking the red basket out of his hands. Her look was crippling.
"You retrieved the Sword of Gryffindor. I don't need to tell you to be brave."
Albus caught Imogen at the register as she unloaded her items onto the conveyer belt. To the woman behind the register, chewing her gum with a slack jaw, the two teenagers could simply have passed as young quarrelling couple.
"I'm sorry about the way I've been acting," Albus said, squinting at her. "I don't want to be childish and resentful. The truth is, we were close, once. And now we're not."
"Well," Imogen said, her face turning a little pink. She gave the check out woman a fluttering look and turned back to Albus. The electronic bleeps punctured the awkward pause as each barcode was scanned.
"I think I had feelings for you then," Albus admitted. "And after you and André…I moved on. I don't have room in my head for you anymore, Imogen."
"Good to know," she said crisply. She handed over her money and swept up her bag into the crook of her arm. Albus had to jog to catch up to her as she took off, leaving a receipt behind.
"I'm not trying to be mean this time, I swear! Look, Midge, I'm okay with the choices you made, even if those choices hurt. I did move on and I'm not trying to punish you."
She squared off with him. Her hair whipped around her face in the wind.
He shrugged, struggling to find the words, not out of cowardice or resentment but simply because the feeling of grief that stuck to him was so strong. He mourned the Albus he once was, the one he had grown out of. He had been purer and clearer and the world had seemed simpler to him then.
"I wish I could go back to a time where unrequited love was my biggest problem," he explained, laughing abruptly. "Seeing you made me wish I was back there, back in the world of school drama where dumping Lucy Bird or dealing with you dating André Zabini was the worse thing that could happen. But I'm not there anymore. I guess I took it out on you because you reminded me of what I've lost."
They stared at each other for a moment. A man walked past pushing a line of shopping trolleys. People continued to unload their grocery bags into the back of their cars. A small part of Albus knew that this would be the perfect moment for her to reassure him that he hadn't lost her—that she loved him and had just been stubborn. But he didn't even allow those thoughts to unfold. Whether she loved him or not was immaterial. Imogen wouldn't act on those emotions and, even if she had, Albus no longer wanted to respond.
Instead she said, "Is it really a good idea to be going to the Goblin Kingdom?"
"They brought the war to us. We're now taking the war to them."
The supermarket was cycling through a pleasant playlist of ballads that had a tinny, muffled resonance through the speakers. Occasionally the music would be interrupted by an almost undistinguishable voice asking for a price check. Scorpius was quite amused by the atmosphere of the place, its pedestrian monotony. He pushed his shopping trolley, adding a few pairs of socks that were on sale to his growing hoard.
Rose traipsed down the other end of the aisle. She took hold of cart and grinned.
"I just saw Albus head to the register after Imogen."
Scorpius nodded, wondering what the outcome would be—whether a confession of love from either of them would change anything. He couldn't imagine it would. Albus was set on his path now, the same path they were on. He couldn't drag Imogen after him. And Scorpius didn't fancy Albus as the kind of man who would even try that. If someone loved you, they chose you.
"Why three pairs of socks?" Rose asked, scrunching up her face. "Just buy one—we can duplicate them if we need more."
"Touché," Scorpius said, bowing his head. Rose took out the additional pairs and dumped them near the cosmetic section, forcing Scorpius to retrieve them and return them to their correct spot up the aisle. As he walked back to Rose, who was shaking her head in disbelief, he noticed the music change overheard.
"Is this Celestina Warbeck?" he asked, gobsmacked.
His incredulity made Rose laugh. "No, you muppet. It's Adele. You always have this reaction when you hear her—Merlin, after this is all over I'm getting us concert tickets."
"You have to admit it's uncanny how similar they sound."
"I've played you Adele before," Rose accused, thinking of their first real kiss.
Scorpius was smiling and she thought perhaps he was playing coy. He came around the trolley to face her.
"Not this one. What's this one?"
She paused to listen. "Sweetest Devotion."
He smiled as he also listened intently to the lyrics and she wondered what he heard in them, what he was thinking. She thought she might know. She could still feel herself blushing, thinking of her confession on the balcony at the break of day.
He offered his hand to her. "Care to dance?"
"Here?" she said, eyes wide. She looked around comically, as if expecting a security guard to walk towards them waggling a finger disapprovingly.
He widened his eyes in reaction, teasing her. "Is it not allowed?"
She grinned, taking his hand. For a moment, she thought of their giddy New Year's foxtrot in the lush, misty humidity of the Malfoy greenhouse. She thought of his ridiculous karaoke set up in the Great Hall. She leaned against him as he slid a hand around her waist and took the other to gently steer her. For the first time, she wondered what it would be like to live the rest of her life with Scorpius Malfoy. Complicated, yes. But life was complicated anyway. Didn't it make the end result all the more sweet?
Each lyric felt as if it had been written for them, right then, and written for what was coming. In her head, she vowed that when this was all over she really would get those concert tickets.
In his head, he vowed that when this was all over, he would one day ask Rose to marry him.
"Albus called us disgustingly cute," Rose grinned against his shoulder where her cheek rested.
"A very apt choice of words," he acknowledged as the song ended, transitioning into another ballad. They pulled a part. "Let's go pay. We need to head back to the apartment and get our plans straight."
Imogen's mother arrived at home in the afternoon to find three of her daughter's friends sitting on her sofa watching Netflix. She had never met any of Imogen's friends before. Her daughter had always been a proud creature and didn't like to discuss them.
She placed her keys in the ceramic bowel by the door and smiled warmly at the three other teenagers. Imogen had not explained in detail what was happening in that other world, the world of magic that Miranda didn't entirely believe was true despite having seen the proof a hundred times over. All she knew was it was dangerous at the moment—like our world, mum, with terrorists and everything—and she wasn't going back to school to finish. They hadn't argued much about this—Miranda hadn't finished high school either and she had turned out perfectly fine.
She insisted they stay for dinner, so they did. Imogen had washed all their clothes, so they were appropriately dressed. Rose had stowed the Sword inside her small beaded handbag and the remaining Potion had been Vanished. There were no signs to suggest anything was amiss. It could simply be a holiday visit.
She cooked a butter chicken curry and their guests absolutely devoured the meal as if they had not seen meat in a long while.
So at the end of the evening, as the time approached ten-thirty, she couldn't understand her daughter's melancholy. They had spent the whole day together and surely there was nothing stopping them from visiting again. But Imogen was uncharacteristically cowed as she showed them out.
"You definitely have everything you need?"
"Yes. Thank you, Imogen," Scorpius said. He moved forward as if to hug her and then decided—absurdly—on a handshake.
Rose was less cautious and gave her an enormous hug. After these farewells, she suddenly couldn't bare to say goodbye to Albus. She almost wanted to just shut the door on him.
But for the first time in that 24 hours, he seemed utterly calm again. His green eyes were clear and earnest, as they had been years before. He gave her a soft smile and reached out for her too. But he didn't hug her. Instead, he took her by the shoulders and held her for a moment at arm's length so he could meet her bright, tawny eyes.
"Thank you for your friendship," he said with a smile. "And thanks for looking after us."
He gave her a brief hug before taking both Rose and Scorpius in his grip and turning on the spot, vanishing with a loud pop.
Many months later, Imogen—who would be working at the local news agency and would pick it up as a whisper between two older women dressed in cloaks—would get word that the Ministry had re-established itself and the life she had put on pause was resuming. Like the many refugees and fugitives that had left to preserve their lives, she would eventually integrate back into that world of magic. She would learn of what Albus, Rose and Scorpius had done. In the years that would follow, she would bump into Albus at Diagon Alley and they would share stilted small talk about the common denominators in their lives, where he would feign a warmth that no longer existed between them.
Albus would fall in love again—again and again, each time thinking he would never see his broken heart mend yet surviving only to love again—until he would finally find someone (when he wasn't even looking) who loved him back in equal measures. And all that heartache was nothing but anecdotes to the great romance of his life, and he would look back without any bitterness. Imogen would not be invited to his wedding but would read about it in the papers, and she would smile a little, knowing he had got what he had wanted.
But their timing had never been right. And they had never been right for each other. She knew it as she shut the door. And she wished desperately, without knowing yet what would come, that he would survive this war to love someone new again, someone who could love him back in the ways she simply couldn't.
A/N: Please accept the typos I missed as a gift to you, as I wanted to get this chapter up ASAP.
For all those shipping Al and Midge (Midgebus? Alogen? Gee whiz, what a ship name) please don't kill me for sinking your ship. For all those shipping Scorose, enjoy the cheese in this.
Thanks for your patience, and your reviews! Much love, Van.