—CHAPTER ELEVEN—
The cold was a blistering, billowing thing. It came in fierce squalls that tugged invisibly at their hair and clothes like a pesky poltergeist. Once they were thoroughly wind-whipped, it then soaked through their socks and shoes to turn their feet to blocks of ice. It rarely snowed in Orkney but the wind and rain were bone-chilling. The ground had become a slippery mix of mud and bracken, making each step painstaking and dangerous. Rose hauled the suitcase behind her—she insisted even when the boys tried to take it off her or reason with her—because she knew that when Romnuk was out of the box they had placed him in that he would not be happy.
They didn't Apparate. Even suggesting it around Scorpius seemed like a bad idea. There were no buses going to the beach during winter so they did the walk on foot.
Their feet ached from the cold. They had to keep stopping to use their wands as compasses and checking against their flimsy tourist maps that they were going in the correct direction.
When they arrived at the beach, night had fallen. Rose had slipped once with the suitcase and landed hard on her hip, Albus and Scorpius twice despite how carefully they trod. Their hands, wrapped in their dragon-hide school gloves, were bruised from catching their falls. They were too numb to feel it but the stinging bruises lay in wait for when their extremities began to warm up.
The beach was empty, windswept and frigid. The water was a foreboding steel grey in the dark gloom. The sand had turned to cold concrete. They lit their wands and began to probe the island's edge. There were caves up ahead, a fair distance from the water, so they levitated the suitcase above the rock and sand to make their way to the only shelter in sight.
The three teenagers set up concealment enchantments and immediately started a fire. They were operating on pure survival instincts. After thirty minutes, the cave was beginning to feel cosy. The heat and warmth was allowing them to think logically, the chill retreating from their brains so they could feel the extent of their injuries. They had been closer to hypothermia than they had realised.
Scorpius had grown decrepit and ancient. His right jaw throbbed, his stubbed tongue rolling blindly in his mouth like a phantom limb, trying to reach the tomb cap of his front teeth. He inched himself onto the ground across from the suitcase. Albus took Rose's little bag and retrieved a pot for the fire, which he filled with water from, and began to make chamomile tea.
The pale scent of the tealeaves was a balm on the week's events. It occurred to Scorpius how remote their location was. In the damp dark of this island at the very tip of Scotland, they huddled in a cave facing the North Sea. If they died here, who would find their bodies? It may take weeks, maybe even months. No one in their right mind would visit this beach in the dead of winter.
Rose accepted a tin cup of tea from Albus and brought it over to Scorpius so that he would not have to move. She blew gently on the steam of the cup. The gesture seemed so selfless and simple that tears sprung to his eyes. She crouched down behind him and wrapped her arms around him, cradling the tea into his hands and raising them with hers so he would drink. Her body curled like a harbour behind him and he leaned back into her like a ship mooring after bad weather. Her knees curved at his thighs and his shoulder blades rested against the warmth of her chest and she leaned forward so that her chin sat perfectly on his shoulder.
Rose stroked his feathery blond hair. In the soothing gesture she said, we're done for the day. Albus was getting a can of pumpkin soup working over the fire now. The creamy smell stirred up memories that he was sure were his own; a child home sick from school being fed their favourite home remedy. Rose dropped her hand from his hair and wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands coming to rest together on his belt as if she were a human harness on an amusement park ride. This was simultaneously comforting and arousing. Her neck curved over his shoulder, her arms loosely held him, in the way that marble statues of angels embrace their mortals or the way that a mother might pull her small child into her lap. He was embarrassed by how affected he was. He took another sip of the tea to hide himself and, in his condition, it tasted like a revitalising tonic, so powerful was the heat through his throat. Some of the drink dribbled down the side of his mouth, he still not used to drinking without his tongue, and he wiped it quickly with the side of his hand. He felt like an old man.
Albus spooned the soup into four bowls. Rose stared at the last bowl over Scorpius' shoulder. Albus returned her look and sent his pointedly at the suitcase. Where they all having silent conversations now that Scorpius couldn't participate? Or did they simply dread speaking out loud what would come next?
"We need to open it," Albus finally said.
The thought filled him with dread. They were finally granted a moment of peace. Couldn't he just curl into Rose's body and sleep? As if reading his mind, Rose squeezed him tighter.
"Can't we just leave him in there?" Rose whined.
"I'll do it," Albus decided, readying himself. "But both of you should have your wands out too."
They obliged. Rose got to her feet but Scorpius remained resting against her legs. Albus pointed his wand at the suitcase so that the lid flew open. He then pointed his wand inside and said the counter-charm for the Full-Body Bind.
There were a few beats of silence. Then Romnuk launched himself out of the suitcase the way a zombie might return from the grave. They all yelped in fear, despite having anticipating it. He lunged forward, swinging his hammer in his left hand but Albus cleared him easily and sent up a Shield Charm.
"We warned you that if you didn't co-operate we'd force you to," Albus said, not even flinching.
Romnuk was speaking in furious Gobbledegook, spitting in rage.
"English," Albus requested, almost bored. "English."
"You lock me in that box unable to move—are you crazy? I will kill you all as you sleep!"
"You don't seem to get it," Rose said between her teeth, advancing around Scorpius with her wand in the overarm position. "You're here because we've let you live. You're here because we made a deal. You're our hostage now!" she yelled, her voice bouncing off the rock. "If I want to bind you and remove all your fingernails, I will! If I want to break open your legs so you cannot walk and then stuff you in that suitcase, then I will! So you either learn to go along with our plans as you promised you would or I will quite happily torture you until we get to your stupid mountain."
"Rose," Albus said warningly.
"You think I will agree to your deals if you treat me like this?" Romnuk raged, his black eyes popping out of his head. "To hell with your deals!"
"You seem to forget that we're the only ones here who can work a wand," Rose replied. "I don't know why you still think you're in charge. I can easily wipe your memories and make you think whatever I want you to think."
Albus was pleasantly surprised by this suggestion and shrugged at Romnuk. "She makes a good point," he said.
Romnuk was reeling now, pushing against the protective charm and swinging his hammer in a rage.
"Calm down or we stun you and tie you up," Rose said.
"You dare—you dare to treat me like this! I will cut your throats and crush your skulls!"
There was a loud bang and a burst of red. Both Albus and Rose sprang apart. Romnuk crumpled to the ground. They were silent. Neither of them had cast the Stunning Spell. They turned towards Scorpius who lowered his wand and sent them a look that said, what? And perhaps if they inferred a little more deeply the look also added as a postscript, you were all shouting and my head hurts and Rose was right, we'll simply wipe his memories before we wake him up.
"Give Scorpius the extra bowl of soup," Rose said, gesturing to what Albus had optimistically left aside for Romnuk. "We'll tie him up just in case and then wipe his memories going back to the lighthouse."
They settled on this order of events. Albus did the Memory Charms and Rose bound Romnuk. They dragged his body towards the other end of the cave so that they wouldn't have to look at him. Their exhaustion was absolute. They needed to take it in turns to keep guard but they were all too tired. Albus pulled out their blankets and sleeping bags from inside the beaded bag and everyone settled in around the fire. Drowsy from the day, they slept almost immediately.
How different this all was from last Christmas break.
The week before Christmas, the snow was not sticking in London.
There had been days where the weather taunted them with sporadic flurries that turned to raindrops as they touched the earth. Whenever it did snow, harsh rains battered the pure powder away and turned the ground to a polluted slurry. It refused to stick. Teddy felt as if their recent calamities had so distressed the natural harmony of things that even the weather was in a state of disorder.
Teddy had found himself at the Leaky Cauldron at the beginning of that week. The old inn was being used as a space to reunite displaced families. Now that the enemy had been driven from Britain, they had lifted the protective enchantments that restricted Apparition between the village and Diagon Alley. The wall that had gone up during the siege was being disassembled.
There were four families staying upstairs in the guestrooms, having been recently reunited with the children who had lost their parents. The toddlers were still without guardians and had been placed in the care of his grandmother in a fifth guestroom upstairs. Teddy had sat with Andromeda most of the morning as they finalised the other families' kinship foster papers and discussed other ways to locate the relatives of the two small children in their care. As always, Andromeda had been calm and practical and wiry with her lop-sided compassion. She had erected a festive tree in the corner of the bar, "so that at least it will feel like Christmas, even if the weather doesn't agree," she had said, and the sight of the tree so fortified Teddy that he wanted to cry.
He now sat alone at the bar staring at the little tree and wondering what would happen to the two children upstairs. Had they asked Andromeda to handle this particular task because she knew how to manage a parentless child?
The Leaky Cauldron's door opened from the muggle passage and Teddy looked up to see who it was. To his surprise, it was his godfather. He had let his beard grow wild and it almost hid his lips completely, making it hard to tell if he were smiling or not. He was wet from the rain. The lenses of his glasses were speckled like the windows on the pub.
All the orphans seemed to be gathering here, Teddy thought.
Harry shook off his overcoat. He hadn't yet noticed Teddy by the bar. Teddy sat there immobile for a few seconds, scared to move in case he brought attention to himself. Harry had been overseas putting the repatriation programme into action with Ron. It was dignitary stuff and his godfather had always resented that sort of work. He hadn't really been himself, apparently, according to those closest to him. Not since the battle. Not since Albus and the kids had left.
When Ginny had last sat down for dinner with Teddy in the Great Hall, she had asked him a favour. Could he chat with Harry when they next saw each other? "He has a soft spot for you," she explained. "God knows he won't speak to me. He stupidly thinks he's playing the hero when he behaves this way but it drives me mental."
He was in half a mind to sneak away to continue to nurse his own thoughts.
But now that he had seen Harry properly, he understood Ginny's concerns. He did not look himself at all. Or rather, he looked like a much grizzly and gruffer version of himself.
"Hey, Harry," he said loudly to give himself away.
Harry turned to the bar. Behind his unkept beard and glasses, it was hard to make out his face. He walked over to Teddy and slapped his shoulder in greeting.
"Saw your Nan this morning," Harry said, taking a seat on the barstool beside him. "Apparently she'll be taking over from Fleur in this department."
What department was he referring to? The Department of Bereft and Bereaved Children? Teddy scratched the back of his neck, where his moon tattoo was inked, feeling it itch.
"She's upstairs," he said, because he had nothing else to offer. "Probably came straight from speaking with you."
"Saw Victoire too," Harry added.
Teddy nodded, unsure of what to say next. He felt like a child being called to the headmaster's office, not knowing whether he was in trouble or not. But Harry didn't volunteer anything further. Instead he turned towards the bar and stared at the empty shelves. Everything had been used up during the siege. He drummed his fingers on the counter.
Teddy remembered his promise to Ginny to have a chat. What exactly was he supposed to chat about? The weather? The uncharacteristic lack of snowfall? Whether Harry was spiralling?
"How was Australia?" he asked instead.
"Hot," Harry said drily. You might guess he was smirking under the beard. Then, "there are a quite a few more refugees there than we thought."
"I remember," Teddy said, because he had seen it himself. It was the most defining memory of his Honeymoon. A camp of human misery.
"A lot of them will be coming back. But a lot of them won't want to and it'll make things…messy for us." Harry began groping around in his jacket, searching the inside pockets. Only now did Teddy notice he was wearing a very nice suit. A muggle looking suit. It was in stark contrast to the rest of his appearance, as if some benevolent soul had spared the gold to dress up a homeless man.
"You're looking quite dapper," Teddy said, aiming to change the tone of the conversation. "Nice suit."
Harry snorted and took out a silver flask. He offered it to Teddy who frowned. It wasn't even midday. He shook his head and watched Harry take a few gulps. He wondered what was in it.
"Was with Hermione this morning at the Ministry of Magic," Harry said, gesturing to the suit. "That's where I bumped into your Nan. We're preparing to re-launch the Ministry or…whatever. I dunno. I told Hermione we'd need an interim Minister until proper elections can be held. And we hosted a Wizengamot meeting this morning and we all unanimously voted for her. I'm not sure if she was stressed or relieved."
He took another gulp of his flask, drinking whatever it was as if it were water. Then he tucked it back into his jacket.
Teddy massaged his temples and closed his eyes. Victoire had said she was going with her parents that morning to the Ministry but he had decided to stay behind and mind the kids. In fact, he was avoiding her. Since their conversation in the owlery she had continued to needle him on the subject. He continued to clam up. The more she wanted to talk about it the more he searched for another subject.
A part of his brain knew that he could not go on like this forever. This sort of self-sabotaging behaviour had risked his relationship once and he couldn't do it again. If he kept pushing Victoire away he knew she would off and leave. He couldn't bare that.
He wondered what the Ministry was like. Every time he imagined it, he pictured it in ruins. But he supposed it was much the same—untouched. It hadn't been destroyed in the way that the rest of Wizarding Britain had been.
"You wouldn't think of moving across to work with me on the repatriation programme?" Harry offered.
Teddy shook his head.
Harry hesitated. He looked over at the Christmas tree. "I'm not sure if where you are is the best thing for you, Teddy."
This man was so clearly in pain, so clearly wrestling with it, and still he was trying to solve somebody else's problem. Teddy wondered how Harry managed it. Was it to deflect from having his own wounds tended to? Or was it easier to fix someone else than it was to fix yourself?
"I need to be where I am. I know there will be others. There are whole families in the Hospital Wing being treated for burns–more parents will die. They'll just keep dying. Children will just fall through the gaps."
Harry stared at Teddy for a long moment and sighed. He removed his glasses and wiped them clean. His eyes, momentarily naked, were bloodshot and tired. He returned his glasses and settled his gaze on Teddy.
"I know," he said throatily. He opened his mouth but nothing seemed to come out. He cupped Teddy's face in his hand and dug his fingers into the back of his hair, so his nails clipped his godson's scalp. He then dropped his hand heavily.
"I know you know," Teddy said, dropping his voice. He felt like an arse. "I know you get it better than anyone. At least I was raised by Nan. You were left to the Dursleys—"
Harry raised one had to silence him. "It's not a competition in human suffering."
They sat in silence for a few moments. They had both uncovered something uncomfortable that continued to writhe between them. War had taken their parents from both of them, before they could even remember it, and war continued to take parents. Different wars each time, different parents each time. It was hungry for it. It took parents and it took children. A different mouth each time but the same ravenous stomach.
"I think about it a lot, too," Harry finally said. "Not just you or me. But also about Tom Riddle stuck in a muggle orphanage not understanding the powers he had but learning quickly how to abuse them. I often wonder if things would've been different if…well, I'm not sure."
He trailed off, lost in thought.
Teddy had never thought about that, although he never had a reason to. Voldemort was almost a fictious entity to him, a villain before his time, the reason his parents had given their lives up. He never spared a thought of him as a boy in an orphanage. He wondered how often Harry thought about him. For some reason, it disturbed him. He didn't want Harry exercising empathy on him.
"Is this why you don't want to have children?" Harry asked, turning back to Teddy.
The question startled then angered him. So, he had spoken to Victoire this morning, and not just about the Ministry. Had he been sent to 'chat' with him? To check on him? She had asked favours of Harry, asked him to perform relationship espionage. Although, hadn't Ginny requested the same of Teddy?
Teddy turned the question back on Harry. "Why did you have children?"
Harry didn't get defensive or angry. Instead he thought on the answer. Perhaps no one had ever asked him that question before. He fumbled around for his flask again but then stopped, as if he had arrived at his answer without needing to be protected from it.
"I really wanted children, I think, because I wanted to be a part of a happy family. I had never had that, you see," Harry explained, his fingers still tucked into his breast pocket. "Ginny and Ron had. I always envied them for it. How big their family was, how full of love they were. I wanted another one after Lily, you know," he said, smiling slightly. "Ginny said I was mad. Three was enough, she insisted. She grew up one of seven, so she apparently knew when to draw the line. And after all, she was the one pushing them out so I couldn't really argue with her."
They both laughed, grateful for the reason to break the tension. It was such an honest answer, it surprised Teddy. Although Harry had never hid from him.
"So, you finally got to be a part of a big happily family?"
Harry paused again to think. This time he did retrieve the flask. He drained whatever was left.
"No family is perfect," he said. "But they're the best thing I've ever done. Merlin, if anything happens to Albus now—just when you think it's over—"
He went to drink from the flask but remembered he had just finished it. Regretfully, he returned it to his pocket.
"I feel like we keep going around in circles," Harry said.
They sat in silence for a little longer. Andromeda would be coming down soon to prepare lunch for the children and their relatives. It would force them both into action. He could already tell the moment was slipping away and that nothing had been resolved. If anything, they were both more worried for the other. It was almost laughable.
It was time for Teddy to forgive his parents, he knew. If he didn't learn to forgive them he would never heal. It was hard to admit you hated a martyr, let alone your own mother and father.
"Hey," Harry said, disrupting the moment. He half stood and Teddy did too, looking around in alarm. But Harry only pointed outside and even through his untamed beard it was clear that he was grinning. "Look at that! It's snowing."
Having pushed herself to her absolute limit over several days, Rose slept heavily throughout the morning. Neither Scorpius nor Albus minded. It was almost a relief to have her ferocity penned away in her dreams for a few extra hours. They took this time to count their stock of food and potions, and then, looking for an excuse to get out of the cave, they went searching for firewood.
The plan with the selkies seemed like the workings of a lunatic but they had no better ideas. Both young men would have to confess that they knew hardly anything about selkies. It was a NEWT subject of Care of Magical Creatures and neither had chosen the elective in their sixth and seventh years. They could list the facts they knew on one hand: selkies were similar to the merpeople in the Black Lake, but less aggressive; they were shapeshifters that took the form of seals in the water; they could not return to the water without their seal-skins.
Seal-folk were capable of ancient magic beyond anything humans could produce with a wand. Even if Rose was right and the selkies surfaced on the winter solstice, they were under no obligation to help two wizards, a witch and a goblin who had nothing to offer in return. Would they even risk being attacked as they had by the centaurs?
They collected sticks and bracken along the sandbanks that could be dried out to feed the fire. Albus generously allowed them to work in silence without trying to have a one-sided conversation. Albus had always been good like this. Unlike Rose, he was comfortable in the lengthy silences that Scorpius often retreated into. If it weren't for his tongue, it would have almost felt intentional.
They slowly made their way back to the caves, using their arms to shield themselves from the blasts of wind. What sand wasn't frozen solid was blown into their faces with the stinging accuracy of a hundred furious Bowtruckles. They returned to their shelter with renewed gratitude.
When they got back, Rose was still asleep and Romnuk was still unconscious. They sat by the fire, contemplating whether they should crack into their supplies for breakfast or skip the meal to conserve supplies. Albus was of the mind that Scorpius needed to eat well and regularly to return to his full strength after his injuries, while Scorpius felt that they should ration their food from now as the journey ahead was unpredictable. Scorpius communicated this by tugging the bag from Albus' hands and tossing it over to Rose's sleeping bag.
Albus raised his hands in surrender but did not seem satisfied.
They began drying out the wood with their wands so they could fuel the fire. While they had some daylight now, they needed it to stay warm. In any case, it was going to be the shortest day of the year. Keeping the fire strong wouldn't hurt.
Albus glanced over at Rose. "It's not just me who thinks this selkie idea is mental, right?"
Scorpius smirked and shook his head. He also thought it was an outlandish plan but most of Rose's outlandish plans had worked.
Albus was not so trusting. They had no reason to believe the selkies could help them, and if he were completely honest, he was not expecting any selkies to surface at all. He was anticipating this disappointment and then another round of problem-solving.
He desperately wished he could talk it through with Scorpius, especially now as his cousin slept. Scorpius was such a methodical, logical thinker. Surely he'd had a Plan B forming in his mind. If only he had some way to share it.
Scorpius pointed at Romnuk and then tapped the temple of his head twice. Albus twirled his wand in his hand.
"You think I should wipe his memories now?"
Scorpius nodded.
"I've never tried the Memory Charm before. It would be so much easier if we could just brew a Forgetfulness Potion," Albus lamented.
Scorpius nodded plaintively. They were most in sync when they brewed together. Alchemy lessons had corroborated that fact. But Albus did not want to dwell on Alchemy too long. It reminded him of Imogen, of Stella Bellucci, of the horrible potion Scorpius had brewed a few days earlier and the glittering red stones infused with the mystery poison. He did not want to think of Dark Magic. He did not want to stop for too long to think about any of it.
"I suppose I should do it now while Rose is asleep," Albus conceded.
Memory Charms would solve most of their problems. If they could wipe their memories of certain traumas and events, would they be able to go back to being the people they were before? Before that terror attack in the Three Broomsticks, before Meredith was dead. If he were to wipe Rose's memories while she was asleep so that she never even remembered who Meredith was, would that resolve everything?
He looked over at Rose's body, curled up in the sleeping bag. Even in sleep, she looked tense. Her brow was pinched and her lips pursed. Her eyelids flickered with dreams. To remove someone's memories without their consent was a grave thing. Even with their consent, it seemed like an unwise thing to do. Memories, even the very worst of them, were the sum of their identities—however broken and mangled they had become.
Albus sighed heavily and moved over to Romnuk. He would erase any memories of rancour over the last few days that would stop Romnuk from cooperating. This at least he could do without an uneasy conscience.
Harry's hatred for his old potion's classroom was so vehement that he took pleasure in the sight of its destruction. When the Slytherin dungeons had been flooded, all of the phials and pickled jars had been smashed or swept away by the water. Everything was ruined. Shelves, ingredients, books. Draco had volunteered to sort through the inventory of everything that had been damaged or lost, and repair the room to its former state. Harry found him in the room, carefully going over a sheet of parchment. When he looked up and saw that it was Harry who had entered, he sneered.
"Did no one ever teach you how to groom yourself, Potter?" Draco asked snidely, his eyes combing over Harry's unkempt beard and shoulder length hair with contempt. Harry's appearance could not be in greater contrast to Draco, whose silver blonde ponytail remained neatly bound at the nape of his neck. He was freshly shaven too. Smelled of a nice aftershave. Where did he have the time?
"No, sadly. Although, unlike you, I did get lessons in how to not be an absolute git," Harry said.
They stared at one another for a few seconds as if sizing up whether it was worth reverting into their eleven-year-old selves, flinging stupid insults at one another. Then Draco pointedly returned his attention to the parchment on the desk.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Do you have anything to drink?"
Draco looked up, genuinely surprised. "Something to celebrate?" he asked.
Harry rolled his eyes and turned towards the cauldron filled with waterlogged debris and smashed phials. Bat spleen and rat tails sat on the very top of the pile.
"Hermione wanted me to check in with you about her offer," Harry acknowledged instead.
"Tell her I'm steeply underqualified to become the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Draco said coldly, returning to his papers.
"The public service would suit you."
"Ha!"
Draco returned his quill to his inkpot. He stared at Harry for a moment, studying him curiously.
"Rumour has it that you're not returning to the Auror Headquarters."
"I recommended Ron to take that office."
"He's a complete buffoon.".
"Which also happens to qualify him for the public service."
Draco chuckled in spite of himself and rounded the desk. While they had finally unflooded the dungeons and drained the lake out of the lower levels of the castle, the room still smelt terribly of mildew and salt. The dampness would probably cling between the stones for months yet. Such an odd place for Draco Malfoy to volunteer to spend his time.
Draco was thinking the same about Harry. Why was the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, not off rebuilding the Ministry? Fighting to attain Minister for Magic? Restoring the Auror Department at the very least? Why was he here at Hogwarts, dragging his feet whenever he was asked to undertake any task that required even an ounce of leadership?
"Were you joking about that drink?" Draco asked.
Harry raised his eyebrows, indicating that he was not. Draco lifted his wand off the desk and Summoned a bottle of firewhiskey from his internal office. He conjured two small tumblers from the air and set them on the desk. The bottle poured out two measures all on its own, then sat itself down on the table.
Harry immediately crossed the room to claim his glass. "You were holding out on the good stuff."
He took the shot down in a gulp and tapped the bottle with his wand so it would refill. Draco tilted his head. Now that Harry was closer, he could see how glassy his green eyes were.
"You haven't been drinking, have you?"
"Hardly," Harry snorted. "It's been like a bloody prohibition around here."
He tried harder to sip the second drink more slowly and self-consciously. He was in a bad way, Draco realised. He looked dreadful. Draco couldn't ever remember seeing him like this. The beard had been becoming on Harry when he had first grown it. Now it reminded Draco of the old bar tender of the Hog's Head.
"To rebuilding the Ministry," Draco said, raising his glass in a toast.
Harry gratefully copied the gesture as it gave him an excuse to finish the drink. "To staying behind," Harry echoed back.
Draco shook his head. He wasn't after a toast, perhaps for once in his life. He certainly didn't want one from Harry Potter.
"I often wonder if things would have been different should we have taken Scorpius and left. Perhaps he would have hated us for it but at least he would be safe."
Harry was silent. His green eyes penetrated Draco uncomfortably. It was making him feel defensive.
"I don't care if you think I'm selfish for it. If he hadn't insisted on staying with those other two, we would have taken him and run."
Harry finally looked away. "I considered taking my family and leaving."
This revelation was so surprising that it made Draco sputter. He could not imagine Harry Potter running from anything in his entire life. He had always seemed to waltz right into danger as if he were trained in the dance. It had always infuriated Draco—the bravery.
"Don't look so shocked," Harry said. "It's how all good parents think." This was paid as an uncharacteristic compliment towards Draco, with a raised glass. It made his former enemy uncomfortable. Harry went on quickly to cover his generosity, "in the end there were too many of us to go on the run. And anyway, Albus, Rose and Scorpius had already set their own path. No stopping them."
"Someone must explain to me how our sons ended up being such good friends."
"Because you and Astoria raised Scorpius well. And my one knows how to pick 'em."
"To our own detriment," Draco added. "Who knew morals came at such a high cost."
Draco finished his drink in silence as he contemplated how dense this last comment had been. Of course, Harry bloody Potter knew exactly the cost of morality. He had bankrupted himself on his morality.
To his credit, Harry did not comment. He didn't move or go to leave. Draco wracked his brains as to why Harry Potter had sought out his company. For a friendly drink? Unlikely. To badger him on behalf of their Minister for Magic? Slightly more believable had he badgered more, but they had not returned to the topic. The drink was the greater give away but not because Harry was there for a sociable encounter. Hogwarts was low on alcohol. The only place that still stored a few bottles other than Draco's office was Hagrid's primitive hut. Perhaps Harry felt less shame getting a drink off Draco than he did seeking one from Hagrid. After all, he saw that old oaf as a sort of father figure.
So, Harry Potter was an emotional wreck. Draco was not sure why this had only now occurred to him. Had he not endured his own demons in his lifetime? Had he not still felt the twinge of the Dark Mark once branded on his forearm? Men more often than not covered their pain with bravado or heroism or even contempt.
"It's killing you, isn't it?" Draco asked.
Harry winced and passed the empty glass from one hand to the other. Was Draco interrogating him to cruelly pull aside the light-hearted banter, to reveal the heartbreak behind the veil? It would his old habit to humiliate in this fashion, to taunt to the point of torture. Or was this question his olive branch, a conciliatory offer? Draco was trying, in his imperfect way, to empathise. The question may have been rephrased to, "it has been killing me also."
He was too self-conscious to clarify that his intention were to empathise, not to demean. The interrogating tone built a facade of arrogance only to make it easier to bridge the years of stoniness between them through his unspoken empathy.
"You never had parents to worry, I suppose." Draco said this in an off-handed way, still the old habit to demean. He hardly noticed how tactless it was. He went on, "But I now have a greater insight into what I put my mother through. Not that I had a choice, of course. With my father in Azkaban."
Harry only nodded. He was debating with himself—no, battling himself—whether he should reach for a third drink. Hell, he would have preferred to drink from the bottle. It was already working on him, a kind of languid liquidity. He was afraid to disarm himself in front of Malfoy by drinking more.
But Malfoy was laying down his arms in his own way, continuing with his confession.
"Scorpius was such a sensitive child. I tried to teach him to guard himself from outward influences so that he may not be swayed as I was swayed."
"You think Rose and Albus were swaying influences," Harry acknowledged.
Draco tipped back his head. He considered this for some time. Harry was stating the obvious, of course. His outburst at the Centaurs attested to his feelings towards the Potter-Weasley Brood. But he seemed to relent.
"I wanted our existence as a family to be neutral and Astoria felt the same. Keep our heads down. Neutral and aligned to no faction. But I fear I mostly damaged him. I am not sure if I ever knew how to love him or if he ever felt loved. Our family was so marked by shame. We tried our hardest to love and spoil him but I think from his very youngest years he envied your family. You never had to try. It was natural."
"He envied us?" Harry asked.
"I know for a fact that he was pleased, even back then, that Rose Weasley had landed herself in Slytherin alongside him."
Harry chuckled. He poured them both a third glass, this time by hand. He splashed a generous amount into Draco's tumbler. They were careful to sip the drinks slowly.
"It is killing me," Harry admitted. He examined the amber liquid in his glass. It was as if every sorrow of his life was compounding upon him to feel the absence of Albus. He felt again the death of Cedric, of Sirius, of Dumbledore. The loss of Moody, Remus, Tonks and Fred. Then of course Seamus, Kingsley and all the others who had recently perished. It all seemed to build to Albus leaving, as if his departure with Rose and Scorpius was a final nail in his coffin. It seemed so senseless when he had no reason to believe the kids were dead. But still, it was impossible to shift the weight. It felt as if he was preparing himself for the loss of his son by relieving all of his past grief—and still, he knew that losing Albus would not even compare.
He couldn't dwell on it for too long without feeling mad. He remembered how wilful he, Ron and Hermione had been back at that age. How their three reminded him of these younger selves. He kept drinking to drown these thoughts, to keep them glossy and slow.
It was not the first time he had wanted to forget. Following the end of the Second Great Wizarding War, the grief had devastated him for ages. He kept thinking in the months that followed Voldemort's fall that things would change, that there would be a shift and a return to life before. It occurred to him on the first anniversary of the battle—the anniversary of death for so many of his dear friends—that the grief would never shift. It was not something to move on from, but something to learn to live with. It seemed unbearable at the time. He had night terrors every time he slept, revisions of the past where he was always too late to stop them dying. It was too heavy, this grief, he thought. He was desperate to put it down.
The nightmares became unbearable. In those days, he would drink a sleeping potion every night and glide through the following day in a groggy mist. It went on for almost two weeks before Hermione staged an intervention and poured all the bottles down the toilet.
Now it was as if he was numbing himself in preparation. Like an anaesthesiologist preparing a patient before an operation. To lose Albus, or James, or Lily would be like losing his own limbs, his own heart. If it were to happen, he needed to be adequately numb as to not feel the brutality of the amputation.
And Albus was tracking down a murderous goblin—if that indeed was their plan—and he had no way to contact him, no way to guide him or protect him. Letting him join the Order had been one thing. This was entirely different. This was the wheel turning. This was exactly what he had done at seventeen. How cruel it must have been for Mrs Weasley.
"You've always been so strong," Draco commented, bringing Harry back out of this reverie. It was an unusual compliment from Draco Malfoy. "You've gotten through a lot in this lifetime. More than most men could handle."
"I don't feel strong at all."
Draco pained himself for the right thing to say, for some pearl of wisdom. He could not think of anything.
"How have you managed all this time, then?" he asked.
Harry stared into his drink before finishing it. He placed it down on the desk with some finality, declaring that it was the last. "Friendship. And love. It made me strong when I wasn't."
Draco raised what was left of his glass but did not repeat the words out loud. Friendship and love. It sounded so foolish and soppy. Once he would have rolled his eyes and scoffed, but not now. There was more to life than ambition and power. He knew this.
They stood in silence for a few moments longer. To break it, Draco tentatively asked, "Does Granger really see me as the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation? Me, of all people?"
"She suggested you personally," Harry shrugged, his words fuzzy now. "Thinks you have shown surprising talent for diplomacy and, er, what did you call it? Neutrality."
Draco smirked. "Shall we have one final drink to that?"
As the day had progressed, they had taken turns sleeping but Rose had woken at midday wide-eyed and alert. She had indulged in sleep and was ready for the long, black night ahead. They wouldn't let her keep watch alone—Albus slept first, then Scorpius. She suspected that they were afraid to leave her awake, unwatched, while Romnuk laid nearby unconscious. Admittedly, it took all her restraint not to smother him while he slept.
This had been her restless dream while she had slept; along the shore, she had been running from him, a weight clinging to her back. She could not see her but she knew she was carrying Meredith. They ran for shelter from the beach, towards a cave, certain that if they got there everything would be okay. Romnuk ran after them. Rose was wet, as if she had been in the water. A heavy force hit her on the back and knocked her to the ground. Sand in her eyes, in her mouth. She stumbled to her feet and readjusted Meredith on her back. The wet on her back was warm now. She could feel blood seeping through her clothes but it wasn't her blood. The cave was up ahead but the boys were no where to be seen. If she got to the cave in time she would be able to save Meredith. If only she had been kinder to her. If only she had been gentler. She launched herself into the cave, into its protection, and slid Meredith off her back in order to heal her. But the body that dropped from around her shoulders was not Meredith's but Romnuk's.
She felt the boys watch her and she watched him. A circle of vigilance.
Scorpius slept in the evening after their meagre supper. Hunger was gnawing at Rose. They had not eaten well for a couple of days now and she was beginning to feel it. Albus joined her at the mouth of the cage. She could hear his stomach growling in protest of their left-over pumpkin soup.
"You gave the mirror to your mum, didn't you?" Albus asked in a hushed voice. He did not want Scorpius to wake, let alone to hear him.
Rose nodded. It had been Albus' idea in case everything was to go wrong. She had exchanged the bag her mother had given her for the mirror. It was her hope that they would have no occasion to use it.
"Perhaps we could contact her and see if she could give us any tips for healing Scorpius' tongue," Albus suggested.
Rose was immediately against the idea. She shook her head vehemently and checked that Scorpius was still asleep. If he knew this were an option, he would insist they take it. It was painful to see him like this but still far too risky to contact her mother. If Hermione knew what had happened to Scorpius or what they were planning to do, she may send the Order after them. She may try to take over. It could throw everything off kilter. As far as the Order was aware, they were just trying to track down and kill Romnuk. If they discovered they were working with him…
Even Rose found it difficult to accept this necessary evil. Working with Romnuk went against every fibre of her being. During her waking hours, where she was in control of her own mind, she dreamt up ways to kill him. Smothering him, drowning him, breaking all his bones. There were so many ways to make one suffer. While her mother may not condone such devilish devices, she certainly would not sanction their collaboration with a murderous goblin either.
While it was frustrating to see Scorpius in such a pitiful state, his injuries were not hampering them enough to warrant such action. He was the most advanced at non-verbal magic. He was able to communicate enough with them to get by. They had a vague idea of what steps needed to be taken next without his counsel. Once it was all done, they could focus on mending all of their injuries.
They stared out at the sea. Albus was doubting her plans. This was why he wanted Scorpius' tongue healed. He wanted another voice of reason in the group, someone else to veto her ideas. But she felt good about this. It was the unknown and it was reckless to rest their chances on it, but she trusted the advice of the little black book. If the selkies were good enough for Merlin, they would be good enough for her.
And wasn't the fact that it just happened to be the winter solstice an indication of this prophetic plan? It was not as if the selkies were due to surface any other day.
The waves continued to lap against the beach and the wind howled like a banshee. It was eerily dark although the stars were bright. The later it got, the more pronounced their radiance became. She could see whole constellations in their milky pool of night sky, without any other light pollution to drown their luminosity. The night was so dark that she could not tell where the horizon lay, turning the expanse beyond the milky foam of the seashore into one endless abyss. It was getting quite late. Where were they?
Just as Rose was beginning to doubt herself, she noticed something over the water. She felt it first, an electricity, a tingling on the back of her neck and along her spine. Then she saw it. Albus noticed it too, quite unnecessarily pointing towards the horizon and saying, "look!"
Above the water, sprawling across the sky like a dancing ribbon, the Northern Lights began to shimmer. The Aurora glowed a glorious green that lit up the clear sky and sparkled across the sea. They marvelled, lost for words, as the universe boasted a magic of its own.
Then Rose gripped Albus' arm tightly. This time, it was her turn to point. "Wake Scorpius," she said urgently. "I can see them coming."
A/N: I wrote the bulk of this while I was travelling Scandinavia and even spent some time in Norway (the Goblin Kingdom) which is uncanny! Art reflects life or life reflects art?
Come and follow me on instagram vanscribbles to stay up to date with my other creative ventures.
Review, let me know what's missing from this. I think what's missing is some more ridiculous young adult drama so prepare for some oc character arcs to truly arc in the next chapters.