Author's Note:
Come on, guys, one review so far? You can do better than that…for crying out loud, tell me it sucks if you have nothing better to say, but leave me SOMETHING.

~ThaniMag

Chapter 5: Painful Remembrance

"What is this?" asked Elsa, curiosity imminent in her voice. She ran her hands along the blank wall where the door had been but a moment before.

"Magic?" inquired Albus, unable to help it, raising both eyebrows. Elsa turned and gave him a light punch in the arm in response.

"Yes, but where did you get it?"

"It's not mine. It's James'."

"You really like being difficult, don't you?" asked Elsa in annoyance, heading over and taking a seat in the ugly armchair.

"Not usually. I'm in the mood," said Albus, a little sourly.

Elsa gave him a quick, sharp look. "Okay, well, if we're going to have to act like we're fourteen again: how did James acquire this house?" she asked, making her question more explicit.

"You know Tragger?" asked Albus.

Elsa nodded slowly. "Wasn't he the rather odd old wizard that James was always spending time with, growing up?"

"Yes. Well, he and James were very close. When Tragger passed away four years ago, this is what he left behind for James. If James knows where Tragger got it in the first place, he's never told me. The two of us, and now you, are the only ones that know about it."

"Well, seems like a neat little place," said Elsa.

Albus suppressed a smile. "You don't know the half of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" demanded Elsa.

"You'll find out soon enough," answered Albus.

"Bloody hell, you're being irritating, Albus," said Elsa.

"You can leave if you want," offered Albus, waving his hand to indicate the blank wall.

"Nice try," said Elsa shortly, not moving from her chair. "Will you at least come over here and sit down?" Elsa said, gesturing to the couch.

"No thanks. I think I'm good," was Albus' terse reply. However, he moved from where he stood by the wall over to the kitchen counter. He leaned back against it, propping his elbows on the smooth surface.

Elsa couldn't help but notice that he hadn't changed at all since she had last seen him—well, besides that his hair had been a lot shorter then. More like average length, rather than the shaggy long locks it was now, that hung all the way to his chin.

He was the same height, standing at not much over six feet—taller than average, but not tall enough to really stand out. He was athletic, but slender to the point of being called skinny by many people. His eyes were as bright and piercing as she always remembered, but they were troubled now as well, not looking at her, but instead fixed intently at a place on the carpet a few feet to her left.

"Albus—" began Elsa.

"Don't," broke in Albus harshly. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Don't want to talk about it? Don't want to talk about it?" Elsa was half-yelling suddenly, on her feet, her fingers curled into her palms tightly. "I'm not going to give you that option anymore." Albus' gaze was now fixed on her, his eyes widened in surprise. "Our friendship is in tatters, Albus," said Elsa, going on quickly, not giving herself the time to second guess herself. "And I'm not going to let it get any worse. Unless—unless that is how you would have it. But I couldn't let it disappear without fighting for it one last time. Because—because I really care about you Albus. Of course, you should already know that. I want to go back to how we always were. You, me, and Scorpius. The three of us. No other cares in the world—as long—as long as we had each other." Elsa finished what felt to her like a tirade, breathing quickly. She had just put herself out there, giving Albus the chance to hurt her if he would like, but she didn't look away. Their gazes were locked, neither speaking for the longest time.

Finally, it was Albus that looked away first. He said quietly, practically under his breath, "We can never go back to the way things were, Elsa. You should know that. All three of us have made choices, and some things, once lost, are lost forever."

Elsa could feel the pressure on the back of her eyes—the pressure that had been so alien for so much of her life, but that had become so familiar in recent year—so familiar, starting almost three years ago. The pressure that meant she was busy fighting back tears.

"At least tell me why, Albus," she whispered. "Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me why you disappeared from my life so suddenly, without a word of explanation. I think you owe me at least that, after all we've been through."

Albus pressed the palm of his hands to his eyes, trying to blot all this out—trying to stop it all from happening. He had spent so long attempting to block everything out. So long attempting to not feel the emotions that were always there, churning deep down inside him.

Without bidding it to, a memory rose to the forefront of his mind. One he had tried to squash out of his head, thinking that perhaps if he couldn't remember it, it would have been like it had never happened.

Albus, twenty, was walking down a main street in Diagon Alley, Elsa beside him. It was a day just like any other, the two friends merely enjoying each other's company. Scorpius hadn't joined them, which was unusual, having given them the explanation that he was spending a day with his father.

As the sun had sunk, shops slowly began to close up, and the streets were slowly abandoned by the Wizarding folk that filled them for the majority of sunlit hours.

Elsa asked Albus if he would like to go back to her place—a common enough suggestion. The friends often hung out at each other's houses. Looking back, Albus couldn't help but wish so strongly that something, anything had been different—that Scorpius had accompanied them, that he had had some appointment himself that night, or that Elsa had suddenly gotten sick (however unlikely that would have been).

Of course, Albus had agreed.

They had watched a movie (Elsa was from a half Wizarding, half Muggle family, and enjoyed the Muggle form of entertainment). Partway through, Elsa had risen to get a drink from the fridge. As Albus had watched her go, a slight movement of her body—one that normally he wouldn't have even noticed, one that wasn't particularly unusual in any way shape or form—for some reason sent nerves all up and down his body racing, his heart pumping.

When she came back, she sat right next to him, their bodies touching all up and down their sides. And then, when the movie had ended, Elsa had gotten up without a word. Going to the door of her room, she looked back at him. Her glance sent his insides lurching, and his whole body felt like it was on fire. Then she disappeared into the darkness, still without a sound passing her lips.

Albus sat where he was on the couch, battling with himself for many long minutes. He knew what the right choice was: he should get up, and walk straight out the front door. But the feelings coursing through his body waged war against reason, and it was strong, so strong, the power of his flesh. His mind told him he would regret it later if he followed Elsa, that he would find no fulfillment there, and that he would wake up feeling hollow and empty. But his nerves felt like any moment they would catch a spark, and incinerate his skin right up. The possibilities were so tantalizing.

Albus moaned pathetically, a mix between a whimper and a sigh, knowing he was doing the wrong thing, but feeling as if he could do nothing else.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, and pursued Elsa into her room.

The whole memory whipped before Albus' mind's eye in a moment. With it came all the terrible things he had felt the next morning: the regret, the emptiness, the knowledge that he could never go back—even the guilt of realization that he had not only let himself down, but Elsa as well, even if she wouldn't see it that way.

"Was it because of that night?" asked Elsa softly. "You disappeared from my life two weeks later, and that whole time you were different—distant."

"Of course it was because of that night," snapped Albus, taking his palms away from his eyes, and looking at Elsa as if she were something alien. "What we did was wrong, Elsa. We took something that was supposed to be sacred, and treated it like it was meant for cheap pleasure. Did you not feel it? The sensation that your soul was being split apart?"

"No, I didn't, Albus. Because for me there was never anyone other than you. I have never, and still haven't, ever pictured my life with anyone other than you." Elsa's eyes were bright, staring straight at Albus, mesmerizing him into looking back. "That's all I have ever wanted—you, and with Scorpius as an ever-present friend."

"Doesn't that just make it worse?" Albus cried out, desperation in his voice. "Why couldn't we have waited? Everything would have been perfect. But we were foolish, and slack, and betrayed ourselves and betrayed each other. We've been soiled, Elsa. And what's to make us clean again?"

"Why? How?" asked Elsa. "It was just with each other—"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Albus. He needed to make her understand, to make her see, but what could he do? Did she really have none of the overwhelming feeling that engulfed him? None of the sense that shouted throughout his body that what they had done was simply wrong? "If you don't understand, there is nothing I can do."

"Then help me to understand," demanded Elsa. She crossed the gap between them until she stood arm's-distance away, and grabbed his hand. "I want to know what's going on in your head. I want to know why what we did sits so badly with your soul."

Albus looked down at their interlocked hands, his head suddenly throbbing. It almost seemed like everything was unreal, as if it was happening a long distance away—as if it was happening to someone entirely different. How could he ever have gotten himself into this situation?

"I don't—I don't know if I can explain it," he said slowly. "It's as if it went against my sense of morality. What we did—you would expect it to leave you feeling whole and full of life. Especially when it was with someone you love so much. But it didn't, Elsa, it didn't at all. Sure, it felt good while it lasted, but only in a bodily way. As soon as it was over I felt worse than I have ever felt in my life." The words felt as if they were being pulled syllable by painful syllable right out of his heart. But despite how terrible they were, he knew they had to be said. "Those two weeks it practically made me sick just to look at you. I wasn't happy at all—just the opposite. I felt too guilty to even be in the same room as you. Too guilty about myself—too guilty about you."

Elsa finally looked away, her hand dropping his. Her face gave away nothing, except for the slight tremble in her lower lip. "Okay. I still can't say I really get why you feel the way you do, but I guess I understand what you're feeling. Maybe—maybe in time I can understand the rest. But can—can we work through this together? Give me another chance, at least—at least to try to be friends." Her eyes flicked back to his. There was no pleading in their depths, only the question, with a small spark of hope.

Albus pushed past her, walking to the foot of short staircase that lead up to the second floor where the bedrooms that he never used were. He stood, gazing up at the ceiling, Elsa unable to see his eyes.

"I'll do my best," he said. "That is all I can promise you." His gaze fell from the ceiling and stared straight ahead. Elsa could read the deep weariness in his slumped shoulders, in the way his arms hung loosely by his side. "There are three bedrooms." He jerked his chin at the stairs. "Choose whichever you like."

Elsa smiled softly. It was not a smile of true happiness, but a smile at the hope, however small, of a second chance.