The quarter is finally over so I can now breathe easy and (hopefully) work on my stories more!

xiii. stubborn

He's stubborn as anything, his family can attest to that. and why wouldn't he be? A deadly combination of Potter and Weasley not to mention a Gryffindor to boot; Albus doesn't (won't) willingly admit he's wrong.

And it's far more dangerous than he cares to (ever will) realize.

.-.-.

He's not sure when it started, it's been hurting for so long he never has given it much thought. If he had to guess, it must have been around the beginning of his third year- the same year he made his debut as part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

The practices were hard, there's no denying that. James, not only his coach but his brother, didn't ever go easier on him because of family relation. Neither was the game any more fogiving, difficult and dangerous in its nature.

For example, during his second match he fell fifteen feet from his broom and landed flat on his back, the frozen ground not offering much cushioning. His own team, as well as the Ravenclaw team rushed over. James had been flitting about:

"Are you alright? Do you want to sit down? Ice? See Madame Pomfrey?"

"James, shut up! I'm fine."

"Al-"

"I'm. Fine."

This was only the start of a long history of denial.

.-.-.

"Oof."

All the air rushed out his lungs as he was slammed into by Scorpius, who took the Quaffle grinning.

"Sorry, Al!"

Albus grimaced, sitting up straight on his broomstick and rushing after the Slytherin chaser (also known as his best mate). He bit his lip the rest of the match, a desperate attempt to keep the pain focused there and simply not acknowledge the pain in his back.

By sixth year, he'd already gotten his lip healed more times than he cared to remember for the same reason. And every time, Madame Pomfrey (bless her) scolded him for his 'horrid lip chewing' habit.

Still, sore lips were favorable than to missing matches (or class, or just about anything)

.-.-.

By seventh year and the lip biting had proved a second benefit- namely Allie Longbottom finding it endearing.

"You're so cute when you get nervous, biting your lip like that."

And Albus nodded because well, he wasn't going to name a real reason.

.-.-.

Something's going to give eventually, it's practically a law of nature. And for Albus, who had made it through three and a half years of Quidditch without ever taking a break- not for illness or an injury- he made it to the third match of seventh year before his body caved (his body, not mind).

They were playing Slytherin, a crucial game to decide who would have the shot at the Cup in each team's final game.

And once again, it was a hit from his best mate that sent the pain shooting up his spine.

The snitch was elusive and the game close. Albus had called for a pass, but it came up a bit short. He dived for the plummeting Quaffle, ignoring his protesting body. Scorpius, right on his heels, didn't realize Albus had reached the Quaffle until too late and went careening into him. And, in turn, Albus went careening off his broom, still clutching the Quaffle, down twenty five feet to the pitch below. Ten feet farther than his match in third year and with a host more problems accompanying him.

He passed out upon impact, with a sickening crunch that Olivia Parkinson would later swear she could hear all the way from the stands (but no one ever believed anything she said anyway, so this was a non-matter).

.-.-.

He woke up a week later, bleary eyed and laying perfectly level, a stiff splint around his middle.

"Madame Pomfrey?"

The elderly healer bustled around the room, "Yes?"

"Um, what exactly happened?"

"You nearly shattered your back! Under normal circumstances it shouldn't have injured it that much- only if there had been some previous issue with it. But with you the only issue I can attest to is your lip biting! Which had quite a nasty cut in it upon landing, may I add."

Albus groaned and slammed his head back against the mattress. On the table beside his bed, there were several notes- from the Headmistress to his father and brother- forbidding him from playing in the final match. They were all signed by Madame Pomfrey.

He cursed violently. All this over a split lip.

(because it was three and a half years since he started and he is still in denial)