Chapter 2: Belief from Others

Albus, still eleven, headed down toward the lake, moving towards a blonde head that lay on the shore. Beside the blonde was another form, this one with long, black hair. Albus recognized her as the girl that had been in Scorpius' compartment on the Hogwart's Express.

Albus plopped down beside Scorpius. "Hallo," he said.

Scorpius shot Albus a glance from where he lay on his back, not bothering to move. "Hallo, Albus."

The girl that sat on the other side of Scorpius raised her eyebrows. "The boy from the train who wanted to be friends?" Albus couldn't help but notice that she had startlingly blue eyes, the kind that made you catch your breath when you locked glances.

"Yep," said Scorpius, not bothering to fill anything else in.

"My name is Albus Potter," said Albus.

"I remember," replied the girl, her gaze fixed on him.

"What's your name?"

"Elsa. Elsa Brandwock."

The image of the three kids sitting by the lake faded slowly, and was soon replaced by another.

Albus, older now, thirteen. He tore across the grounds, fear gripping every bone in his body—fear not for himself but for a friend.

It was dark now, the sun having already sunk beneath the horizon. But Albus only noticed because it made it more difficult to see where his feet were coming down, his thoughts very obviously elsewhere. In his mind he kept replaying past memories over and over, wondering what he could have done differently, how he could have intervened more than he had—but in his heart he knew it was too late, devastatingly too late. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Albus burst into the Forbidden Forest, heading for the grove where he knew his friend would be. A grove only the two of them knew about.

And he was there. Curled in on himself like he would never move again, his face hidden, his blonde hair shining in the moonlight. He wore nothing but a pair of trousers.

Albus stopped fifteen feet from his friend, staring at him, not knowing how he should proceed.

Scorpius slowly raised his face to look at Albus, and their gazes locked. For the first time, Albus could read what those gray eyes held—and it made him tremble. Pain. Fear. And shame. The one standing and the other sitting, they looked at each other, not saying a word but communicating everything, Scorpius began to cry. Tears that flowed freely. Tears of brokenness.

Albus took a step towards Scorpius, but his friend flinched away at the movement, and Albus froze. Knowing there was nothing more he could do, he sank to the ground where he was, barely able to control his body as it shook with emotions he couldn't even begin to understand.

Scorpius turned away from Albus, so that Albus could no longer see the other boy's face. But it revealed the bruises and swelling across Scorpius' back—signs that he had fought back with everything he had.

And Albus could no longer hold it in—his own tears started to course forth, unable to be kept back. "Blackwell." The word was a curse under his breath. Rage shook Albus' slight body. Rage for his friend's pain. Rage against Blackwell for doing the unthinkable. Rage against himself, knowing he could do nothing.

. . . . . .

Albus gasped, sitting straight up on the couch. Remembered anger coursed through his body. Slowly, he came to his senses, started to calm his body down. Shaking his head to try and clear it of the terrible memory, he got to his feet and padded to the sink. Turning on the water as cold as it would go, he dunked his head beneath it.

The last rays of the setting sun were spilling in through the windows. Archimedes still slept within his cage, but Albus knew he would wake soon, and want to go out to hunt.

Albus left the apartment, and enjoyed the last bits of glorious reds, yellows, and oranges as they slowly faded from the sky.

Entering back into the house, he poured himself a glass of wine, and took his seat on the leather couch. Toasting himself on the edge of the glass table, he took a swig.

It was dark now, but Albus didn't move to turn on any lights. He had always enjoyed the dark. Something about the shadows and the idea of not being seen had always intrigued him. That was probably why he loved having his dad's Invisibility Cloak so much. Anytime growing up that he had ever mentioned he was excited for winter because it meant shorter days and less sunlight, his mother would always make the comment that men loved the dark because it hid their shameful acts. Albus never failed to pull a wry face at her in response.

Albus raised his glass towards his lips, but paused with it halfway, lost in thought. Suddenly, with a spasm of rage, he whipped the glass to the side, sending it into the wall. Splinters of glass flew in all directions as the wine splashed across the white paint.

Archimedes leapt on the perch within his cage, startled out of his sleep, and hooted indignantly. He glared fixedly at Albus to show his displeasure at being woken in such a fashion.

Albus, however, did not notice. For he had leaned over, his elbows on his knees and his head held loosely in his hands. Despair was evident in the total collapse of his body. He barely remained on the couch at all—only because of the way his body was situated, and by no act of his own will.

At last, Albus looked up, but he stared at the blank wall in front of him, his gaze far and distant. He saw not what was in front of him, but only images within his mind—images of distant people and times.

"Why? How?" he whispered. "What is the point of it all? This world is full of pain and suffering, with no end in sight." He seemed almost to be talking to someone or something he saw before him, but who or what that was, who could tell? "You try for something more, you try to be better...but in the end you only end up with more failure and frustration. What should I do? What is my path to walk?"

Archimedes flew over to the window, and tapped the glass pane with his beak, asking to be let out.

Albus shifted, and rose to his feet, coming back to himself. He let the owl out and then turned to survey the mess he had made. "Typical," he muttered. Pulling out his wand, he fixed the broken glass with a quick reparo. But he left the wine stain where it was.

Without warning the apartment suddenly hurtled through space, without Albus' bidding. He did not move from where he stood, but simply looked towards the blank wall in expectation.

The door appeared, and a man in his mid-twenties stepped through into the living room. Briefly, as the door swung closed behind him, Albus caught sight of a wood shrouded in darkness.

The man was of average height—slightly shorter than Ablus, who stood at just over six feet tall. He had light brown hair with a neatly kept beard. He was solid, but not big, and wore a heavy leather jacket.

The man stood right next to the wall, the door having already dissolved. He looked Albus up and down soundlessly, and then said, "Good to see that you're all right."

"Why wouldn't I be?" asked Albus, but there was no hostility in his tone.

The man just shrugged. "Glad to see you're taking care of the place," he said, taking in the wine on the wall—it was a deep red in the dark; it looked like blood.

"The place needed a little color," said Albus flatly. "What are you doing here?"

"I read the paper, Albus." The man's eyes roved to the hat that lay lifeless on the table and then back to Albus.

"Ah," said Albus. Neither spoke for a few minutes, until Albus added, "So you can put two and two together."

"Come, Albus, we're brothers; we grew up in the same house. Don't think so little of me. You know me, and I know you. You're aware of that as much as I am."

"How well do any of us in fact know each other?" whispered Albus, but James didn't hear him.

"I'm here to offer my help, Albus. Not to interfere. I won't turn you in. I won't tell anyone where you are." James crossed the room and put his hand on Albus' shoulder, looking him in the eyes. "Do the authorities know it was you?"

"I think so. They didn't put it in the paper to save father the embarrassment, no doubt. However, they probably told him and mother privately. I wouldn't be surprised if you hear from them shortly."

"This is all for him, of course." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. James was right, he knew Albus well enough. "I have no clue why you would need the hat, but I trust you, so I won't ask. Do you know where he is? Do you have any idea?"

Albus moved away, letting James hand fall from his shoulder. Not looking at James, he said, "I have a few inklings, but nothing definite." It wasn't a complete lie. He knew Scorpius better than anyone else, if anyone might know where the blonde wizard had disappeared to, it would be him.

Albus could feel James' eyes watching him from behind, but he didn't turn around.

"Well," said James, "I'll do anything I can to help you. You need something, don't hesitate to send for me. You can use this place as long as you need. But of course you already know that. What is mine is yours." A few moments of silence followed. "Albus, I believe in you. Even if you don't believe in yourself. I know what you do will be what's right, even if you doubt it yourself."

Albus still didn't turn, but when he heard the door open a few minutes later he cleared his throat. "James. I could use some groceries. I don't have anything to eat."

"Of course," said James in response to the unasked question. The door shut with a soft click, and he was gone.

Author's Note:

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