Confession, Chapter 7.

"If only, if only, the woodpecker sighs, the bark of the tree was as soft as the skies. The wolf stands below, hungry and lonely, and cries to the moon: if only, if only." -Madame Zeroni, Holes, Louis Sachar

"Have you ever been alone in a crowded room? Well I'm here with you." ~Dark Blue, Everything in Transit, Jack's Mannequin

"Maybe it's not my weekend, but it's gonna be my year. And I'm so sick of watching while the minutes pass as I go nowhere. And this is my reaction to everything I fear 'cause I've been going crazy; I don't want to waste another minute here." ~Weightless, Nothing Personal, All-Time Low again

"This is a place where your mind can escape all the problems today and go far, far away." ~Welcome to Mystery, Almost Alice, Plain White T's

"I invite you to a world where there is no such thing as time and every creature lends themself to change your state of mind." ~Her Name is Alice, Almost Alice again, Shinedown

"Anything that can go wrong will go wrong." -Murphy's Law, source unknown

"Everybody's got their problems. Everybody says the same thing to you. It's just a matter of how y solve thouem and knowing how to change the things you've been through." ~Hell Song, Does This Look Infected?, Sum 41


Scorpius' house is scary. It would be magnificent if only there were lights in the windows or if the foliage allowed any sunlight to reflect off of the polished panes. It would be magically wondrous if only there were two fine, loving parents waiting to welcome their only child and his friend.

If only.

An ominous creaking accompanied Scorpius' careful hand nudging the door open. He gestured to the ajar door, but I had already passed inside. Dubious and uncertain, he waited for a few more moments until passing inside and operating a complicated locking network.

I took advantage of this time to examine my lavish surroundings. Dozens of haughty, blond, and generally old portraits glared down from the walls. A grandiose chandelier hung delicately in the center, perfect in it's sparkling cylinders except for a dark red stain on one of the intricate crystals. Scorpius hissed softly, "James, come out of your cloak." I jumped; a snake was not out of place here, and for a wild moment I thought I might have inherited Dad's talent for their language. The cloak slid off at the motion, but I caught it before it hit the ground.

He saw my line of side and nodded grimly. "Don't worry, that's not the blood you should be worried about. Just a war artifact. Come on, I've got to show you your Christmas lodgings."

As he led me through the claustrophobic walls, I kept on asking myself, What have I gotten into? There was no time to think, however; Scorpius' pace was urgent and brisk, for good reason.

Soon, I faced a blank wall. The dead end, however, swiftly sank away to reveal a small enclosure of stone. Scorpius cleared his throat. "Um... Only a Malfoy or a Malfoy house-elf can open your this dungeon. Otherwise, express permission would have to be given, and only the man of the manor can grant that. So..."

"I'll be stuck here until you call me?"

"If you want, I could call transportation from outside the grounds and have them escort you home..." He looked absolutely miserable at the prospect.

I shook my head, trying to remember how this was all I had left. Surely it had to beat the hell that awaited me at my house? The hell of being ignored, of that devastating disappointment. Here was something past sad boredom. It was an adventure! I tried to rally my spirits into a wan smile. At least my carefully cultured acting abilities wouldn't go entirely to waste, I thought wryly as I beamed to my last friend. "As long as you don't forget about me, I'm fine. Don't worry about it. I knew what I was getting into," I lied easily, which brought my mind to Rose. Rose, the first to suggest that lying would be necessary, though likely not referring to this situation. Rose, constantly indicating in tiny and unintended and natural ways how she was a Slytherin, how this was possible, how that could be real. Uncle Ron loved to detail the adventures of the War as bedtime stories, seeing as he "hasn't any imagination of his own," as Aunt Hermione puts it, and the vivid scene in which Hermione insisted on invading the Ministry of Magic, despite being a widely prosecuted. The contrast set with her daughter's complacence at being left out of the action was stark.

"What are you thinking about?" he interrupted my musings.

"Rose," I said honestly.

"Oh..." His brow furrowed. "Yeah, I was worrying about her, too. I mean, that she might get in trouble, or get us caught." My interest perked, and I gestured for him to continue. "Well, I think she might have some residual potion on her, from when she was brewing it. Because I swear I caught a whiff of it on her in the station."

"What? No way, she doesn't smell anything like ocean mist and brownies."

"No, she doesn't smell like that, but- Nevermind. Forget I said anything."

"O-kay." Pregnant pause. "So... Are your parents going to care that you're a not Slytherin?" A reaction response, and an idiotic one at that, but at least it filled up some of the silence.

"Oh, it'll be alright. Mother's always proud of me. He's never proud at all; I was a shame ever since I was born a Half-Blood."

In my old life, I would have either been vilified for my unwise insert or given a deferential silence to rectify my mistake. Instead a well-meant, overly honest response. How everything can change... Suddenly, I felt horribly exhausted. Why did this have to happen? Either I was a robot, or I was stranded in this jail, grappling something that may very well be far beyond my control. Is the golden concept of normal an illusion?

Once again, the silence was broken. "You know, since I have control of this cell, you don't have to live in total discomfort."

"That would be better," I said. It would seem less like a punishment.

"What do you want it to be like?" Scorpius asked, his back turned to me as he busied himself with dislodging his wand from his pocket. "Do you want it to be like your home? Hogwarts?"

"No!" I said, the emphatic monosyllabic response reverberating in the small room. "Uh, anything but that. Just make it different. Interesting."

"Alright..." he began muttering instructions to himself, or perhaps the room itself. "magic allowed... a window... um... thoughts... fairly small... large... comfortable space... bathing area... no chains... no food... no apparition... wall colors... mood ring... carpeting... mushrooms... not poisonous, no... bed... um... down...out." As he spoke, our surroundings transformed. In a psychedelic array of colors, shapes, and changes in topography that had me clutching the mushrooms- mushrooms?- for my life, the room had completely transformed. And Scorpius had left.

I sponged across the mushroom stepping stones/carpet towards my bed and sat as the walls settled at a comfortable kiwi green. A window was behind me, but I didn't glance at it yet. I didn't want to lose myself in this different, interesting abode I had for myself.

Pretty soon, I had the mushroom paths, fickle wall colors, and broadcasting window figured out, so I flopped back onto the down comforter of my bed and gazed sightlessly at the unchanged stone ceiling.

This stretch of ceiling was the only object that could possibly hold any residual memories of our conversation. Scorpius' response came back to me... "Mother's always proud of me. He's never proud at all." They didn't care about Sorting at all. How did his parents' indifference compare to that of mine? My parents, who take it for granted that I pass in school, that I don't come to them for advice and stay healthy. His parents, who are understandably caught up in their own drama. Rose's parents, who are trying to accept her for who she has become.

Would the success of this plan change anything? Scorpius' mom will finally be free, free to love her son, free to live her life, free to do whatever Scorpius'-mom-things out there. And maybe Rose's parents would be assured that she was still a good, empathetic person. And me... There was no way my parents would ignore this. There was no way they could keep ignoring me. This time, I was in the spotlight. This time, I could be the favorite, for once... or at least up to par. But wouldn't that by hypocritical? To try to put myself atop of the system I despise, rather than rebel against it. It was just like the popularity ideal I had based the last two years of my life on.

Like we would even succeed. Every moment that passed outlined the glaring flaws in the plan, outlined possible dead ends, disasters, and dooms. Did that make me a pessimist, or a realist? Or were the two the same?

Perhaps Pandora's box passed me over when it came along. Well, no, it can't have completely; I have my share of problems. But where is my healthy hope? Why can I not actually believe that change will not happen?

Maybe it's because it hasn't yet. In thirteen years, I have waited for it to. Maybe, maybe... maybe that's the problem. I've been waiting. There must be action to initiate the change. Well, now I've acted. I've torn out of the chains of popularity, discarded the restraints of house estrangement. Where have these revolutionary actions gotten me? Well, in a sanity-challenging box, in which only person could possibly ever get me out and feed me... What if something happens, and he doesn't get food to me in time?... I'd just have to summon Kreacher (like Uncle Ron said worked last time they found themselves in the Malfoy dungeons) and ditch the plan, it's stupid anyway and not worth dying for... but no need to worry about those kinds of things yet, just being prepared...

All of these details, these vital details, overlooked in the invisible hours on the Astronomy Tower where I, Rose, and Scorpius deliberated. How did we ever find this plausible? Possible?

The Malfoys' (or, conversely, the Greengrasses') freedom, the Weasleys' peace, the Potters' equality... implausible? impossible?

Problems can't just be solved by attacking blindly. Doesn't the root have to be the target for any offense to be effective? So... why... why don't they like me as much as Albus or Lily? I don't care as much about Lily; she's adorable, everyone loves her. But what makes Albus better? Not the eyes. So long I've deluded myself that it was the eyes, but honestly, how could anything be so simple? Nothing's simple. Albus is less devious. He's less loopy; more straightforward, more assertive. Less confident, more of a worrywart. But parents are supposed to not pick favorites. We're all their children, why can't... why can't they be perfect?!

And oh crap, I just remembered. Albus is still mad at me, isn't he? After all of this, his last impression of me is my stubborn insistence on isolating Rose. Honestly, of all of the things...! I deserve it, of course, but if only I could make it up to him, if only I could confess and tell him that I was wrong. To have my own brother hate me... Somehow, in the strange, dreamlike state that my room and solitude had left me in, this devastated me the most of all of the threats, of the imminent danger and all of that... Or maybe it's the hormones...

The door banged open with an interesting 'pop!' "Dude," panted Scorpius, and with a glance at the flashing walls, "Calm the hell down, sort yourself out, get the cloak and the potion. It's time... Mum greeted me; she's scared; Dad's waking up; he's ready for his shots... It's time."


A/N: "the glaring flaws in the plan"= DH reference, haha. Okay, sorry, Harry Potter amuses me. Which is why I'm writing fanfiction, I suppose. AND Scorpius saying "It's time" twice is not a mistake.

Yeah, sorry about the surplus of Almost Alice quotes. But I've fallen in love with that album, especially Welcome to Mystery, Tea Party, and Follow Me Down. Her Name is Alice, the Lobster Quadrille, Strange, and Painting Flowers rock, too.

A return to a mostly introverted perspective from James, just to set the stage for anything to happen and to connect the story back. As it reaches it's end (sorry guys, but that's how it goes! We're right near the climax, then there's falling action, resolution, and... it'll be done...) I'm going to have to tie it back to the beginning more and more. This was also by suggestion of Lietus, who leaves amazing reviews and through aforementioned reviews reminded me that although I always designated a few paragraphs in the beginning of the chapter to James' feelings, I still was neglecting to give James the entire center stage.

Also, a bit of symbolism in here, which pleases me to no end. Did anyone catch it (please say yes?)

Lady Stephy: Teehee, yeah, not quite at all what you expected. "bringing the dead back to life"? Isn't necromancy illegal in magical terms, according to J. K. Rowling and Wizarding philosopher Bertrand de Pensees-Profondes' A Study into the Possibility of Reversing the Actual and Metaphysical Effects of Natural Death, with Particular Regard to the Reintegration of Essence and Matter? (I did not just make that up). I just couldn't help poking fun at your joke. But I'm glad you like this plan anyhow. No, you're not a pessimist. The issue with Rose's plan is that it had no consideration for any time of inconvenience; it is dependent on it's own success. There are no backups.

Katie: Yes, the twist will come up, to be sure. And I answered your amortentia question a bit abstractly. I updated! It's okay! You're misery is over!!

Lietus: Do you still miss James? Believe me, I was honored to receive such a review in the first place! Yeah, I guess relating can be difficult. You could simply imagine a loved one being in danger, being hurt, being close to death, etc... Eh. I won't force you to, I suppose. It's well enough for you to like this! :) As I said to Lady Stephy, the plan has no backups, no safety nets, etc. I think I've shown enough that it's not going to work, beyond foreshadowing at this point... If the story stays on schedule, we'll be done in month. Now that's scary.

mjmusiclover: Yes, unusual indeed. And it's nice that you're here.

Lalalala.... The next chapter will come next week, as usual. Until then, review, hang tight, and listen to Almost Alice!