A/N: Much feels. Sorry, but not sorry :)

Chapter 16: I Can't

Tuesday, 5.51am

I couldn't sleep. I hadn't sleep a wink the entire night.

How could I?

I'd left the Ravenclaw tower before the candles had even flickered themselves into existence in the common room. It had been sometime around five o'clock I thought. I couldn't help myself. I couldn't sit still and the thought of lying in my bed any longer gave me a physical itch that was almost painful. I knew the Hospital Wing wouldn't be open, that I wouldn't be allowed in but… but I just had to be there. Just a little bit closer to Al.

Which was how I found myself, at ten to six, leaning on the wall next to the locked doors of the Hospital Wing. If willing them with simple desire to swing open had been possible, they would certainly have been long since struck from their hinges.

I hadn't gotten a chance to see Al again yesterday. Pomfrey wouldn't let me. After a long discussion with the Headmaster, Weatherwell and Longbottom, he allowed only a brief visit from the five family members of Al's still at school before we were all ordered to leave. Apparently Al wasn't stable and Pomfrey had some tests he needed to run and a close eye to monitor with. Lily had been the only one allowed back in when a very distressed Mr and Mrs Potter had shown up, nearly running in a fit of visible worry. They disappeared inside without a word, apparently unseeing of those of us waiting outside. A little while later a pair witches in the matching blue robes of Healers had appeared and followed behind them, similarly disappearing with a snick of the closing door. Apparently St. Mungo's had been called.

None of us, not myself nor Rhali nor Ozzy, not Rose or Hugo or Roxanne, moved for the rest of the day. Disregarding our classes entirely, we waited. Weatherwell gave us a brief glance of stern but silent disapproval as she left the Hospital Wing, but at an unintelligible murmur from Headmaster Tyril she had let us be. I'd never felt fondness for the elderly man before that – I'd always thought him only just shy of senile, to be honest – but in that moment something very near to it certainly arose.

We waited. No one spoke but simply… waited. Rose sat directly across from the door on the uncomfortable stone floor, heads bowed and frowning in intense thought that failed to conceal her evident worry. Her little brother Hugo looked like he was going to bite his way completely through his nails while their cousin Roxanne made an exceptional impression an owl for the wideness of her eyes as she stared fixedly at the hospital doors. As for Ozzy, Rhali and I… concern didn't even begin to cover it. It was only mildly comforting to know that I weren't alone with my thoughts.

At nine o'clock that night, we finally departed. The Healers and the Potters were both still secreted behind those blasted doors, but they wouldn't open for us. Stomachs grumbling from having survived only on a minimalistic lunch and dinner the Scarmander twins had brought us, we drifted off to our respective common rooms. I doubt any of us would have left at all had Pomfrey not stepped from brightness of the artificially lit Hospital Wing wearing a scowl that could scare the dead and shooed us away. He threatened with detentions and I fully believed he'd stand by his threats. Pomfrey was infamous for his forcefulness regarding how his patients should be treated and who should be given the honour of seeing them.

I didn't study all night. I couldn't. For the first night in as long as I could remember my books remained in my bag. I didn't even pick up a quill. I doubt I would have done much more had I managed even that much. All I could think about was Al, about how pale and lifeless he'd looked, about how he hadn't been breathing, and desperately wondering why. What had reduced him to that state? It had just happened so fast. I'd seen him only the night before and he'd been fine, and Ozzy, Ozzy saw him that morning. It couldn't have been the Harproot, surely. I knew now why he had freaked out – as freak out he certainly had – but still couldn't fathom how? What was it that had nearly killed him?

Killed him… Al had nearly died. The thought made me feel like I was going to throw up.

Harproot wasn't deadly. That was the main factor that had finally convinced me that partaking wouldn't destroy my life. Al even told me that, at its most extreme, it wouldn't do more than induce exceptional sleepiness. I believed him. Of course I did. So what had happened?

I knew what had triggered it. Between the Daily Prophet article and, from what Rhali and Ozzy had suggested in our brief exchanges throughout our day of wait, the reaction of the school to mine and Al's supposed date on Sunday, it didn't take a genius to figure it out. I felt nothing but seething fury for my fellow students. Rhali and Ozzy, Al's sister and cousins, they were the only exception to my anger. But everyone else, even my own housemates?

No, anger didn't even begin to describe how I felt towards them.

I didn't remain by myself for long on Tuesday morning. I hadn't expected to - from their identical expressions last night, I suspected that each and every one of us waiters would be back early the next morning.

I had not, however, anticipated all six of us to be loitering outside the doors by six thirty. As the minutes slowly trickled past, first Ozzy, then Rose, then Hugo, Roxanne and Rhali all showed up and took their designated places of wait outside the closed hospital doors. No Lily though, which I wasn't sure what to make of.

I noticed detachedly that we were all stationed in exactly the same places we'd been the day before, down to the half-dozen steps that Hugo was trekking back and forth directly before the doors. None of us spoke, barely offering a nod of heads in greeting as each person arrived, but that hardly mattered. I felt an unexpected and largely unfamiliar sense of camaraderie settle between us, apparent even through the riot of clamouring emotions battering in my skull. The shared worry for our friend – or family as the case may be – was… it bound us together somehow.

I'd never felt anything like that before, not with any of my other friends. And somehow, even in the midst of my fear for Al, that knowledge was comforting.

At seven o'clock on the dot the doors to the Hospital Wing swung inward. I pushed myself from the opposing wall within an instant and, with Rose on one side of me and Ozzy on the other, crossed to stand directly before the school nurse before he'd even fully raised his head to step through the door.

Pomfrey looked tired. At the sight of us, that tiredness only seemed to grow more pronounced. His eyes were faintly reddened as though he'd been rubbing them, and the scruff of day-old stubble darkening his usually clean-shaven cheeks was in perfectly unkempt keeping with the waywardly ungroomed state of his hair.

Pomfrey gave a sigh as he ran a quick eye over the six of us. "Come on then. You'd best come inside." Without another word he turned in place and drifted back into the Hospital Wing. The sound of scuffing shoes as we all frantically hastened after him was the only sound we made.

The room was empty. I noticed that detail without really understanding the full weight of what it meant. There was no Al in the bed I'd lowered him onto the day before, no distressed Mr and Mrs Potter or anxious Lily crowding around their son and sibling. The Healers from St. Mungo's were similarly absent, disappeared without leaving a trace as though they'd never been. And beyond that, not even another student stretched along the thin hospital mattresses. Empty was entirely the correct word for it.

Pomfrey walked straight into his adjoining office, not even glancing over his shoulder to ensure we followed him. Stepping into the neat little room, our group spread out awkwardly before the wide desk stacked with piles of handwritten parchment. The room was barely large enough to fit us all within its walls, and made smaller by the cupboards lining them with rows upon rows of labelled files and hardcover books. A single pot plant of some vine-like sprout that Al would likely have been able to identify stood in the corner beneath a small window that shed morning light across half of the room. Any homeliness or warmth it might have created, however, was dissipated by the sterile scent that clung to the walls, the floors, fizzling in the air as it seeped from the greater Hospital Wing.

Pomfrey released a heavy sigh as he eased himself into the hard-backed chair behind the desk. He looked older than his years; the lines around his eyes and lips shouldn't have been so pronounced in a man of barely thirty-five. He folded his hands before him, elbows propped on the desk, and dropped his chin onto clasped knuckles. Dark eyes swept across our number, scanning and assessing for… something.

When he spoke his voice was low and filled with weariness. "Mr Potter has been transferred to St. Mungo's."

That was it. That simple statement, followed by a pause, and the wary uncertainty that had settled upon me had its feet swept out from underneath it.

Oh.

St. Mungo's.

St. Mungo's was… taking Al to the British Wizarding Hospital meant that things weren't good. No, more than that. They meant they were bad. Very bad.

Oh no… Oh…Oh fucking hell.

The thoughts arrived slowly, simplistically, and even as they dominated my mind I was aware that my comprehension levels sat at somewhere around that of an eight year old.

"Is he alright?" Rose's voice wavered slightly, but from the corner of my eye I saw her jaw firm an instant later as she steadied herself steady.

Pomfrey turned his head slightly towards her. "No. No, I'm afraid Mr Potter truly is not 'alright'." At the communal flinch that rippled throughout us all, he raised a hand. "He is no longer in a critical state, but Healers Murphey and Ophel have deemed it appropriate to take him into intensive care."

"Intensive care…" Hugo muttered to my left. He sounded jarringly horrified.

Pomfrey nodded his head slowly. "You must all be aware, Mr Potter was in a very dangerous state when he arrived at the Hospital Wing yesterday. Suffice it to say that the situation would not have been quite so salvageable as it was had I received him much later."

I swallowed down a sickened rush of bile flooding my mouth. Not quite so salvageable… Merlin, that was a euphemism if ever I'd heard one. Salvageable? The nurse may have well have blatantly stated that Al was knocking on death's door. I closed my eyes briefly, pressing my lips together in an attempt to hold back a shudder that threatened to tremble my limbs. I don't think I was altogether successful.

Words slipped from my clamped lips before I gave them express permission. "Can we see him?"

Opening my eyes, I met the dark gaze of Pomfrey, fixed steadily upon me this time. There was sadness to accompany the weariness that swam in his narrowed eyes. "No, Mr Malfoy, I don't believe that is feasible at present."

"Why not? How can you just –?"

"At present, Mr Potter is in intensive care," the nurse repeated. He dropped his hands, still clasped, onto the table with a soft 'rap'. "Only his immediate family is permitted to attend his bedside until he has fully stabilised."

"But surely we could…" Rose began brokenly. My sidelong glance towards her once more saw her twitching her fingers up to flick nervously at her red curls before gesturing towards herself, Hugo and Roxanne. I tried not to feel resentful over the exclusion but feel I failed at that too. "I mean, we're family too."

Pomfrey shook his head. "No, Miss Weasley, I don't think that will be possible. The situation is very delicate, and the Potters have expressed their desire to keep the situation as private as possible."

"Oh," Rose croaked, understanding flooding through that simple word. An understanding that I too perceived in that moment.

Of course. Al was a Potter. The fact that he'd wound up in hospital – and for such a reason – would give any Wizarding reporter or journalist a field day. I felt another rush of physical nausea, tinged this time with fierce, sparking anger, welling within me.

For whatever reason, even after more than twenty-five years, the media still scrambled at anything vaguely related to 'Harry Potter'. He could scratch his nose with his left hand and the papers would be in uproar about his potential ambidextrous tendencies, that all these years of suspected right-handedness were a farce and what could this conspiracy theory mean for the Wizarding world?! It was utterly ridiculous, but the enduring obsession with the once-Saviour was as strong as ever. I couldn't dispute it, really; it had simply always been.

What I could dispute was that Al had been caught up in it. That, like his siblings and his mother, even his mother's family, the slightest abnormality, any drift from what was deemed 'seemly' for witches and wizards of this day and age, was leapt upon like a Niffler on gold. I'd read in passing over the years of the first time Lily failed an exam – everyone at school knew the reason was valid enough, what with her cat dying and her subsequent mourning – and had leapt upon the first quidditch match that James had played with feverish delight, though not quite so delighted as they had been the first time he'd lost the snitch to an opposing team. How the papers and rag mags – and even the more reputable magazines – got wind of such trivial knowledge was a mystery to me, but regardless of the how they always seemed to simply know.

Just like how they knew about Al. Just like how they jumped upon the tiniest morsel of information with greedy fingers and, with bias and exaggerated terms, spread it like a pervasive stain across the papers in bold headlines.

Ridiculous. It was ridiculous. And completely unavoidable.

Everything about the situation was so unfair. So stupidly unfair.

Pomfrey had been talking for some time now and I realised with a start that I'd missed just about all of it. That was unusual for me. I wasn't one to tune out. Ever. And yet, even as I struggled to attend to his words, my mind remained at least half occupied with thoughts of Al, with debilitating worry and concern, with growing anger towards the world at large and weariness that hung suspended in my head like a surfacing headache.

"… flush it all from his system. The treatment is often quite painful and distressing for the patient, so I believe the Healers consider it a benefit that he is still asleep."

"He's still sleeping?" Rose asked worriedly. She seemed to be the spokesperson for the Weasley clan at least, though Rhali and Ozzy themselves didn't seem inclined to saying a word.

Pursing his lips, Pomfrey dropped his eyes to his folded hands. "I am not at liberty to discuss the physical state of Mr Potter – I'm sure you understand patient-physician confidentiality, Miss Weasley – but –"

"Surely you could just tell us if he's awake," I interrupted. My words sounded like a demand even to myself, but I didn't really care, not even when Pomfrey turned frowning eyes upon me. "We're his… we're his friends. Our interests arise from feelings of concern not… not…"

I couldn't even choke out a conclusion to my exclamation but Pomfrey seemed to hear it nonetheless. He stared at me for a moment before slowly, slowly then with more conviction, he nodded his head. "Yes, Mr Malfoy, I do understand. And it is entirely for that reason, that you are his friends and confidants, that I have brought you into this circle of trust." Circle of trust? Oh, bloody hell, give me a fucking break. "I am sure I don't have to request your communal silence on all topics discussed within these walls."

The nurse swept his gaze over the lot of us, his eyes widening slightly in what I thought may have bordered on threatening. I didn't judge him for it, nor feel disgruntled at the insinuation. If anyone in the room – family or otherwise – chose to break that 'confidence', they'd be wishing that Pomfrey had gotten to them first. I wouldn't be quite so merciful as to offer mere detentions.

Regardless of my personal resolutions, Pomfrey waited silently, pointedly, until all of us had nodded our agreement and understanding. "Now, the Healers of St. Mungo's have requested that I interview each of Mr Potter's closest friends so that we may ascertain the catalyst of this situation."

I felt a hand tighten around my chest. Ascertain the catalyst. Well, it didn't take a genius to deduce what the school nurse was referring to. And from the tail end of his previous words, '"flushing it all from his system" seemed to indicate the assumed cleansing of toxic substances.

What was I supposed to say? What were any of us suppose to say? The fact that Al – and Rhali and Ozzy, and now I – used recreational drugs on a regular basis was school wide knowledge. Or maybe not about me, but as much was certainly true for the other three. And even though I didn't quite know how they maintained such obliviousness, it was similarly no secret that the professors didn't know. There had been a delicate balance on the subject for so long… how were we supposed to answer questions without routing out such an enduring secret?

I didn't care about getting in trouble for it. A brief, sidelong glance towards Rhali and Ozzy, taking in their tight eyes and thinning lips taut with nothing but concern for Al, was all the indication I needed that they felt the same. Even expulsion didn't seem all that critical at the moment, which I knew when considering my own dedication to studies up until a day ago was ground breaking in its sincerity. At the moment I… I didn't care. I didn't really care about anything but Al, could hardly think of anything except my heartfelt plea that he would simply be alright.

But what did we say? The Healers had to know about the Harproot. It was a primary contributor to the situation I had belatedly realised in the long, silent hours of yesterday when memories resurfaced and the musky scent hanging in the Hufflepuff dormitory rose to the forefront of my mind and made sense. It was essential that they know everything I could possibly tell about the situation because… because it would help Al.

But it couldn't have been the Harproot. It simply couldn't have been. Could it? It had to have been something else, something…

Pomfrey's words intruded upon my worrying and effectively put a halt to the pointless circling of my thoughts. "The Healers of St Mungo's informed me that they are aware of a presence of a certain calming drug that has evidently been utilised for a significant period of time." Ah. That would be the Harproot, surely. I bit the inside of my cheek, resolutely not glancing towards Rhali and Ozzy. "Such calming effects would likely not have been critical to Mr Potter's physical state had not they been coupled with a novel substance taken simultaneously."

"Novel?" For the first time Ozzy spoke up. His voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper, yet each Weasley's head abruptly whipped towards him as though he's begun cursing in a loudly obnoxious tirade. I knew the reason; few enough people heard Ozzy talk, even if he was more inclined to do so than Al or Rhali. I almost forgot that fact most of the time.

Pomfrey turned shrewd eyes upon Ozzy. I could see the calculation hardening his face. He knew that Ozzy at least wasn't surprised by the circumstances. Or at least not certain aspects of the circumstances. Evidently he wasn't as oblivious as I had considered him. Certainly not as much so as his fellow professors. "Yes, Mr Ipping. Novel. Traces of the marketed drug Meta-Ambrosius have been discovered, the particular strain of which is unknown."

"Meta-Ambrosius?"

Ozzy, I realised in that moment, was not really all that good at hiding his thoughts and feelings. Maybe that was one of the reasons he didn't like talking. There was so much to be read from his simple words that it was almost like reading a book: Ozzy knew about Al's drug habits, and likely had at least a suspicion of what this Meta-Ambrosius was. The name rung a bell, but I couldn't think of where I'd heard it. Certainly I'd never heard Al speak of it before, let alone use it.

Pomfrey nodded again slowly. His eyes were trained like a hunting hawk upon Ozzy. "Yes, Mr Ipping. Is there perhaps a reason you can think of that Mr Potter may have been partaking of such a commercial drug?"

Commercial drug? Oh… that's where I'd heard it from. Meta-Ambrosius, or MA as I'd heard it called, was doing the rounds at the moment. A strange name for something that apparently induced a wide range of often dangerous effects, from hallucinations to inflated confidence to temporarily forgetfulness. The thought of any of them, of Al subjecting himself to any of them, was… horrifying.

Why? Why would he do that?

Ozzy was shaking his head and Rhali, by his side, was mimicking him in more hesitant denial. "No, Al wouldn't… Al doesn't take any of that. He doesn't do the commercial stuff. He doesn't…" Ozzy glanced at Rhali, who met his gaze with an unreadable stare. "Al doesn't do that."

Pomfrey frowned, the shrewdness of his gaze sharpening. "Not of the commercial brands you say? Yet you are aware of him being involved in other similar situations?" At Ozzy's guilty start and ensuing silence, Pomfrey sighed in something that sounded more like a growl. "Mr Ipping. Mr Potter has fallen into a very serious condition. If you know anything, you would do well to tell me so that I may convey such knowledge to the Healers at St. Mungo's and ensure his recovery."

Ozzy remained silent. I could tell he was at war with himself, fighting an internal battle as surely as I was. I should say something. I should. This was Al's health on the line, and yet… I couldn't think that he'd want me to. And in spite of it all, in spite of the foolishness that drove me into holding my tongue on critical information, I couldn't bring myself to speak. I didn't want to act in a way that Al didn't want me to. I didn't… I didn't want that.

As it happened, I didn't have to. After a brief pause in which I wondered at the possibility of Ozzy actually managing to sink his lanky limbs through the stone floor beneath him, Rose spoke. Her voice was low and she stared very pointedly, unblinkingly, at her feet. "Al was… I know Al's been using… been taking drugs for a while now."

My eyes slid towards her as though magnetised, her tall frame slightly bowed and red fringe falling before her face. I still didn't want to speak, didn't want to utter those words that would be a betrayal of confidence. And yet, peering at Rose's thin face, at the hopelessness, the helplessness written there, reality set in.

I didn't want to. I didn't want to say anything. But this wasn't about my wants. This wasn't even about Al's wants. It was about what he needed. And right now, Al needed his Healers to be as informed as possible. He needed them to know exactly what he had taken, what had happened, so that they could help him.

More than that, so that they could ensure he didn't die.

Taking a painful swallow, followed by a deep breath, I turned back to facing Pomfrey. Something in my expression must have indicated to him my inclination to speak, for his eyes narrowed as they fastened upon me with focused attentiveness. I couldn't look at Ozzy or Rhali, or the Weasley's even, when I finally managed to speak.

"Al was… lately, he's been using a lot of Harproot. Smoking it, although… perhaps smoking isn't the right term. It's not quite smoking in the conventional sense."

"Harproot?" Pomfrey's eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of confusion and worry.

I dipped my head in a nod. "When burned in a… certain way, it releases a fragrant smoke that induces a state of calm to those who inhale it. I know that Al… that Albus used it to calm down."

I felt terrible, like I was sawing my leg off in an attempt to drag out the truth. It was physically painful – even to myself, it sounded as though I was accusing Al. It wasn't like that. Al wasn't abusing the Harproot, even if he had been using it a little more often now than usual. He wasn't. My recent realisation of the degree of Al's anxieties, of his struggle beneath them, made as much apparent. He needed it, not because he got a kick out of it and revelled in the escapism from monotony. Al had a problem and –

My mind ground to a halt. Al had a problem. Yes, I could see that now. It was not bad. There was nothing wrong with him and yet… yes, Al had a problem, and resorting to Harproot to deal with it wasn't the right way to fix it. He was coping, but it wasn't helping him.

This anxiety thing. I suddenly suspected it was a lot bigger than even I had gradually come to realise.

"Mr Malfoy?"

I blinked, drawing my mind back from where it had drifted. Such distraction was happening with disconcerting frequency over the past days. The past twenty-four hours, to be precise. I found it unhinging, yet even realising that I knew there was nothing I could do about it.

"I'm sorry?"

"I asked if you knew of how long Mr Potter has been using this… Harproot for."

I twinge of guilty relief flickered through me. I could answer this one with a semblance of honesty at least. I didn't know exactly how long. I shook my head, very deliberately not looking at Rhali or Ozzy. "No, I don't."

Pomfrey studied me for a moment, eyes flickering between both of mine as though digging for fallacy. Finally he sighed. "Well, such information is irrelevant at the moment. Are you aware of how long Mr Potter was partaking of Meta-Ambrosius?"

"I never knew he was taking it," I replied, then frowned and shook my head once more. "No, that's not right. He hasn't been taking it. I'm sure I'd know." I hoped I'd know. He would have told me, wouldn't he? This was just a once off thing, wasn't it? "Al was always careful with what he would and wouldn't use."

Pomfrey's expression became sceptical and I could read the thoughts passing though his mind easily enough. Obviously not this time. "Yes, well, be that as it may, Mr Potter has been found to have such in his system. This is…" Pomfrey's lips thinned. "This is highly concerning. That a student would be using illegal substance in the school…"

"Al's not going to get expelled, is he?" Rose suddenly broke in. Her voice sounded abruptly fearful, and I immediately felt an upwelling of my own panic. Oh shit, how did I not even consider that?

Dropping his eyes to his clasped hands, Pomprey pursed his lips once more. "At present, Mr Potter's health and safety is of primary concern. I am not at liberty to make assurances on the future of his enrolment after this point, but given it is certainly a very serious situation... well, the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress briefly discussed the situation last night, but as far as I am aware they remain inconclusive on the matter."

I felt my chest seize once more. I glanced once at Rose, met her eyes and the worry, the guilty, bared plainly within them and felt a kindred spirit in her. We'd routed Al out. If he got expelled, not only would he be devastated, surely, but it would be our fault. I gulped another painfully grazing swallow and glanced to my right towards Rhali and Ozzy. They briefly flickered their gazes towards my own before dropping them back to their shoes in perfect synchrony. We'd shared a moment of understanding, however, and I knew – knew – that should the worst come of this incident that we would stand alongside Al. We were, after all, as guilty as he.

I felt a crushing blow of horror at the thought – expelled? I would be expelled? Merciful Merlin, it would end me! – before I resolutely thrust it to the side. Yes, my life would collapse. Yes, it would very possibly lead to a tidal wave of unforeseen issues that would strike me with painful whiplash. More than that, more than destroying my own prospects, my own education, it would rebound against my family. I could just imagine my father's disappointment as he averted his gaze, my mother's hysterical indignation at the world that would flip in an instant to fiery fury directed solely towards me.

But it was my fault. I should have considered it straight off the bat. It would be my fault if this all ended in disaster for me. I had chosen to take Al up on the offer of joining him in the Niche all those months ago. And, going back, though perhaps I might have been more hesitant about folding that sliver of Happy Gum into my mouth, I would not have turned away from the hand offered by my now-boyfriend. Even knowing what I did now. Al, Rhali and Ozzy – they had given me too much for me to regret that.

Pomfrey continued in a weary tone, more to himself that to the six of us lined up before him. He regretted the pervasiveness of a unseen 'drug problem' through the school, mourned that it had collapsed so heavily upon one of Hogwarts' students, and offered words of supposition, not quite reassurance but almost, that under the care of St. Mungo's' Healers Al would be okay.

And, with a final extraction of another vow of silence from all of us, he urged us from the room. "Be sure to attend you classes. There is nothing that can be achieved from sitting idle in wait for word. A message will be sent to each of you should there be any development on the matter."

The doors of the Hospital Wing clicked closed behind us. There was a sense of finality to the sound.

I glanced around me at what had become my de facto comrades. A support squad, if you would. Rose's eyes were still blown wide in horror as she stared with glassily down the hallway. Hugo's face was wrinkled into something nearly as worried, and he'd gone back to chewing on his fingernails. Roxanne seemed to have developed something of a nervous twitch and fidgeted from foot to foot as she cast her glance between her cousins, towards me, even pausing briefly on Rhali and Ozzy. Al's two friends didn't pay her – or any of the rest of us – a second of notice. Their heads were bowed yet still half-turned towards one another. I got the impression they were holding a silent conversation, speaking a thousand unheard words, that I wasn't party to. It left me feeling a little hollow inside; yes, they were my friends, but they had been friends for so much longer. I couldn't hope to be as close to them.

That hurt, just a little. Though really, what did I expect? The worst part of it all was that it only made me miss Al all the more.

"We should…" Rose's voice was strained and she paused to clear her throat. "We should head down to breakfast or… or get ready for class." With fumbling motions she reached into her pocket and extracted her want. Waving it briefly, she cast a Tempus Charm. Seven eighteen. There was still over an hour until classes even started.

There was too much time. Too much time to idle and ponder and consider horrendous possibilities. I already felt my mind drifting towards that field of excessive, nagging worry, the array of unanswerable questions, the persistent need to be near Al yet the knowledge that I was unable to hasten to his side. A flicker of jealousy flashed through me – why should his family get to be at his bedside but not me? Lily was surely there – before I crushed it guiltily. It was horribly unfair of me. They were his family after all.

"I think I'm going to head up to the dormitories," Roxanne murmured, barely loud enough to be heard. She was a tall girl, just like Rose, yet her bowed head and hunched shoulders made her seem smaller. She glanced towards Rose as though asking for permission before starting in nervous strides down the hallway.

"I'll come," Hugo muttered, too quietly for Roxanne to have heard with the distance she'd already put between them. He hastened after her and the pair disappeared in moments.

Turning from their absented figures, I glanced once more towards Rhali and Ozzy to find… that they had retreated themselves. Without a word, both had turned and were walking with slow, weary steps down the corridor. I opened my mouth to speak to them but felt my voice catch. At the T-junction at the end of the corridor, the two split without another word and headed in opposite directions.

I stared down the empty hallway, bared of their presence. Maybe that was just their way of dealing with it. Neither wanted to talk because they simply didn't talk.

"Do you want to come down and get some breakfast with me?"

I turned back to Rose as she spoke up once more. Her voice was quieter now but without the waver. The set to her jaw bespoke a deliberate intention towards determination. Towards resilience. In that instant, I knew that Rose Weasley truly did embody the traditional image of a Gryffindor. It surely took an inordinate amount of strength on her part to be able to pull herself together, to struggle through her fears for her cousin. A close cousin, Al had said, though not as close as they had once been. She was surely stronger than I.

I guessed Weatherwell wasn't thoughtless in her appointment as a prefect after all.

I didn't usually mix with Rose. Truly, I'd barely spoken more than a handful of words to her over the years, and most of them were necessary given our corresponding prefect duties. But I had a sudden urge to take her up on the offer. For the first time in a long time I really didn't want to be alone. Not now.

Nodding my head, unable to speak, I gave her a small, struggling smile. She offered a feeble one in return and together we headed down to the Great Hall. Our footsteps rung hollow and disconsolate on the stone floor with our passing.

Wednesday, 8.13am

I tore the letter with a vicious shredding motion. Even the flinch that reflexively twitched through me didn't slow me. It wasn't enough. I was angry, and that letter… another bloody business partner. No, I didn't think he was even a business partner; Kelvin Markerson was just a middle class lord with an inflated sense of importance.

I didn't care. I didn't care. What did it matter that he considered me an upstanding young man? What did it matter that he thought I would do remarkably well at LeFay? Why should I care that he wondered at the possibility of the Markerson family tightening the grasp on their shares? Father would care. Father could care.

I didn't. It just made me angry.

I was angry a lot today. I'd barely been out of bed for three hours, but most of that time I'd been seething with an untargeted rage. My robes had a crease in them that wouldn't iron out, even beneath the force of a charm. It was horribly vexing. The nib of my quill snapped when I pressed on it too hard so I burnt it to a cinder. The toast at breakfast this morning was closer to bread, and not nearly warm enough to melt butter, so I stabbed it viciously into pieces and left my knife standing upright at the very centre of the shredded pile like a proud flag pole. Even the scene of the massacre didn't ease my frustration.

Uncharacteristic didn't begin to cover it. I knew my anger was illogical, knew it was startling. I didn't even need to glance sidelong at the wary stares of my housemates. I did anyway, though, if only to glare and scowl at them hard enough to draw shudders and cause shoulders to bunch nervously. Most of the first years evacuated within seconds beneath my focus.

I didn't care. They deserved it. Everyone in the hall, professors and students alike, who dared to speculate over the paper, over my Sunday trip to Hogsmeade. I felt angry with Flitwick when he approached me with comforting words and a suggestion that I 'talk to someone'. I was angry with Longbottom who sat like a sack of potatoes, staring listlessly at his plate with a hand to his forehead and face pale. I felt angry with them all. All of them deserved to feel even a modicum of unease, barely a candle to the bonfire of distress that roared through me. I could only be thankful that, somehow, the media hadn't gotten wind of what had happened yet.

Yet even their unease didn't satisfy me. Nothing would, I knew, because there had been no word on Al. And I was nearly tearing my hair out.

I was angry with Al, too. That too was illogical, unfair – I knew that most of all. But still, angry I was. How could he do that? How could he be so foolish as to take MA, something that he hadn't made? And more than that, he apparently took it in conjunction with Harproot. Magical drugs had a vast array of undiscovered effects, broad and varied simply because of the confounding magical reactions between substance and body systems. Two drugs together? What had he been thinking?

I was angry. I was so, so angry, furious that Al could have done that, could have carelessly pushed himself to the brink of death and left me. Didn't he know how much I needed him, how much I cared for him? Anxieties aside, it was possibly the most selfish thing he could have done.

And in thinking that, I knew that I was being infinitely more selfish.

The letter from Markerson had arrived at ten past eight on the dot. I was already struggling to keep from upturning the Ravenclaw table simply for the hell of it. The thought of scattering dishes in far-flung chaos was satisfying in a way I hadn't considered. I was not a messy person – I despised mess – but even the relative order of my surroundings seemed infuriatingly blasé in the face of the mayhem running rampant in my mind.

It had been running non-stop for two days now. I was exhausted, I couldn't sleep, and I was only growing increasingly angry. Really, standing in the eye of my own personal storm as I was, understanding my own emotions, I could hardly blame my housemates from keeping well clear of me. Even if they did deserve to be the focus of my anger.

My textbooks were spread around me. I was trying to study. Trying. Anything to take my mind off of… things. It worked, almost. Not quite, but almost. And that annoyed me even more. Not only could I do absolutely nothing for Al, but I couldn't even be productive while I waited. I didn't want to squander my education, but…

What the hell was happening to me?

As I stared blankly at the open Defence book in front of me, an owl arrived. It took me a moment to actually realise it was for me, though of course it was. No one sat near enough to my seat at the table that it could be anyone else's. I slowly turned my head towards the owl. An eagle owl, I noticed detachedly, and its piercing orange gaze was far from deterred by my glare. Of course it wasn't; it was one of Father's owls, and he would never stand for a courier of his own to cower under intimidation.

With more force than necessary, I reached for the envelope of heavy parchment attached to the bird's leg and tugged it loose. The owl wavered slightly, caught off balance, but I didn't care. As soon as the letter was torn free, the bird waddled in a tight circle, spread its wings and launched itself away. I didn't spare it a second glance.

My mother's script spelled my name in fluid calligraphy on the front of the envelope. Mother, not Father. And it didn't take a huge leap to suppose what the letter was about. How mother would even be aware of the situation when the rest of the Wizarding world remained ignorant I didn't know, but I didn't question it. Mother had her ways.

My dear Scorpius,

It is with deepest sadness that I hear of Albus' situation. My love, I am so sorry. So truly sorry for the pain that you must be feeling for your friend and lover. I could offer empty platitudes, console with caring words of understanding, but I do not believe that such would make you feel any better.

Though I can offer so little, please know that I am here for you should you require my support. Whether you find yourself needing a brief respite from the school grounds – which I doubt – or simply wish to exchange words, I will always be here.

It is my sincerest hope that Albus will make a rapid recovery. For both your sake and that of his family, Ginny Potter of whom is responsible for my knowledge on the matter. She felt it necessary to inform me of her son's hospitalisation, if little else, as she claimed she knew how much Albus cares for you. She claimed she knew similarly that he would worry for how you were enduring. I don't believe Mrs Potter was inaccurate in her assumption.

Do not fear, my son. Whatever the cause, whatever the situation, I am certain that Albus will Heal. Hold strong, Scorpius.

Your loving Mother

I stared at the words on the paper in numb silence. It hurt. They hurt, leaving me with a hollow ache as though I'd been punched in the gut.

A punch that, I slowly realised, seemed to have knocked the anger forcibly from me.

That hurt, too. The absence.

I stared at the letter for long minutes. I wasn't quite sure how long, exactly. I just knew that I was still staring when the school bell chimed in low gongs to urge students to class that I still stared.

It was the closest I'd come to crying since I was six years old. I remembered. Because nothing – nothing – has hit me quite so hard as my mother's words did. Mrs Potter's words. Or, more correctly, Mrs Potter's interpretation. My mother, at least, had been entirely correct in her assumption.

Please be alright, Al.

Thursday, 10. 45am

Mid spring wasn't warm enough to comfortably sit outside and study. Not in Scotland and certainly not with the persistent wind that flipped pages with the jovial delight of Peeves terrorising first years.

I wouldn't move back inside, though. Nothing could induce me to spend my single free period of the week from my seat in the north corner of the Eastern Courtyard. I was fairly certain it could be storming and I would still be sitting there.

I wasn't alone. Rose sat alongside me. It had been quite a find to discover that we shared a free period. I wondered that I'd never seen her studying before in that time, but then I knew I'd never really cared to notice anyone else. My own studies were of utmost importance, so why should anyone else's matter?

Before Al, before my friendship with him, Rhali and Ozzy, I'd rarely studied with anyone. Oh, others sat alongside me, but I very deliberately dissuaded conversation, save to point out when they erred in a verbal description or spent too little time with their noses in their books. How much had changed in the past months…

The term studying could be used only loosely. I tried. Rose tried. But the weight of near-sleepless nights was weighing upon me and even my own words scrawled on the parchment were beginning to blur and morph together. Weary? No, weary didn't begin to cover it. I was exhausted.

But I still had to try to study. I had to try. Not only for my N.E. , and not only to provide a feeble and largely unsuccessful distraction from my own thoughts. I'd made the resolution to take notes for Al, too. I didn't care about Pomfrey's words, didn't care that they might be useless if Al was indeed expelled. I'd do my utmost to help him when he woke up. When he woke up, because he would.

Rose sighed heavily at my side. She fidgeted slightly and I didn't need to glance her way to know she was tugging her phone from her pocket and checking it for incoming messages. I similarly didn't need to ask her if she had received any – the disheartened slump of her shoulders was indication enough.

That phone was the only reason we braved the incessant cold. Apparently Hogwarts held only a few constant hotspots in terms of reception and all of them were outside. Rose had approached me yesterday afternoon, dark smudges of tiredness and worry marking her face, and informed me of such. She said that Lily promised she'd keep her updated with any news of Al and that if I wanted to I could sit alongside her when we studied and wait for news with her.

Nothing had buzzed through since Al had been moved to St. Mungo's. I tried not to let that get me down. I tried to think positive. Such was difficult, though, when every muscle within me urged me to drag myself to my bed to sleep, yet my mind plagued me with unanswerable questions and horrifying doubts.

I rubbed an eye and peered more closely at my half written essay.

"Do you… did you by any chance manage to get a sketch of the longitudinal section of the Moonseed sapling?"

I lifted my gaze at Rose's question. She was flicking through a stack of loose pages, each covered in charcoal sketches of plants and diagrams. Her brow was furrowed and she was blinking rapidly in a manner I was all too familiar with of late. I'd been struggling to keep my own eyes open for most of the day.

I wasn't usually one to share work. I offered support when I must, but giving direct answers? That wasn't how one learned. But in this instance I felt particularly obliging. Rose was just like me, struggling to drag herself through classes with as much attentiveness as possible. Besides, she'd offered me a glance at her Ancient Runes homework when I realised I'd missed half of the questions we'd been assigned.

Flipping through my own notes, I squinted at the smudged ink for the requested sketch. I knew it was here somewhere, but my efforts at the moment were poor at best and my handwriting truly abominable. I could hardly read it myself. Moonseed… moonseed… moonseed…

A buzz of vibration, accompanied by a faint tinkle of musical tones, drew me up short. My fingers froze in their flicking and I snapped my head gaze Rose. She was barely a second behind me in responsiveness. Her stack of parchments cascaded from her lap to the ground, immediately becoming smeared with speckles of dust and damp. Rose didn't seem to care. She didn't even appear to notice.

Flipping her phone from her pocket, she nudged it into life, thumbs dancing across the screen. I stared at her unblinkingly as her eyes scanned the message. She didn't give anything away, her gaze blank as she read. As soon as she finished, however, she released such a heavy sigh that I felt sure she would deflate like a punctured balloon.

"He's… he's stable. Lily said he's medically stable now. He hasn't woken up yet, but…" Rose's voice trickled off into a waver. She offered me a feeble smile.

I loosed a breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. Closing my eyes I bowed my head. Stable. He was stable. No, not awake yet but…

With mechanical fingers, I passed the Moonseed sketch towards Rose. The parchment trembled in my fingers for a moment before she took it from me. I couldn't open my eyes again, not yet. The wave of relief that coursed through me was dizzying. I almost felt like I might fall backwards in collapse.

I don't think either of us managed to get an ounce of further study done that morning.

Friday, 12.29pm

I heaved myself to my feet from the Ravenclaw table and walked in slow, measured steps from the Great Hall. As I passed the Gryffindor table I caught a brief glance of Ozzy. He met my eyes for a moment and something approaching a weary, grateful smile settled on his face.

It was a relief, really. Ozzy and Rhali seemed to have dragged themselves from whatever hidden nook they'd secreted themselves in since I'd approached them at lunch yesterday. Relief didn't even begin to describe the torrent of emotions that wrought havoc across both of their faces. I'd always thought Rhali to be a bit of a cold-hearted, ruthless witch, but that moment effectively swept clean the assumptions that had already been crumbling over the past days. She'd actually cried, albeit a single tear that was hastily brushed away.

I was still exhausted. I still couldn't sleep more than a wink. I still struggled to study like a horse straining to drawn a carriage from the unyielding fingers of a muddy trench. But it was slightly better. I was slightly better.

Because Al was, at least partially, alright.

That's what I thought until I stepped into the Entrance Hall and nearly ran into Rose charging in the opposite direction. She backpedalled wildly, nearly stumbling over her feet. Such a frantic state was she in that I didn't think she even noticed my proffered hand of assistance.

When I saw the expression on her face, I felt my heart freeze in my chest. Tears painted Rose's face and her pale blue eyes glistened. She looked heartbroken. I didn't have to flicker my eyes down to the hand grasping tightly at her phone and clutched to her chest to know what she was about.

No… no, she can't… she can't be upset. She can't be, because that means…

"Rose…" I managed to choke out. My voice sounded pathetically feeble and broken. I didn't care.

Rose was already shaking her head before I spoke. She sniffed and wiped her fingers hastily across her cheeks. It did little to clean them of tears that had begun to fall anew. "No, no Scorpius, it's alright. Everything's fine, I'm just…" She huffed in a sigh that was almost a laugh, though more self-deprecating than amused. "I'm just so… so relieved. I'm just so…"

I still couldn't breath. Even with the reassurance, something seemed to have stilled the beating of my heart in my chest. Stilled it and held it with greedy fingers to prevent its straining attempts to beat. I stared at Rose wide-eyed, pleading in a way that I had never done before. Please, Rose, please… just tell me…

"He's alright," Rose stuttered, as though she had heard me. "He's… Lily just messaged me. He's going to be alright. He just woke up. I'm sorry, I was just so… so relieved, and I was just running down to tell Hugo, and you, and…"

I didn't hear anything further. With a gasp, the passage that restricted my airflow freed once more. Gasping, I slumped backwards, tottering until my back pressed against the door of the Great Hall. Before I realised it, I found myself sliding down into a crouch, my head dropping into my hands and clutching at my hair. Thank God, I thought… I feared…

"Merlin, Rose. Don't… don't do that to me."

We were the only ones in the Entrance Hall. I knew that, because my voice echoed off the empty stonewalls and rebounded back at me in wavering tones. It should have been humiliating. I should have been embarrassed to conduct such a perform, to exhibit such pathetic weakness, to be anything but strong, cool and composed in my role as a school prefect.

I had never cared less in my life.

Rose didn't reply immediately. The light scuff of her shoes on the stone floor spoke of her creeping steps to my side. I couldn't even glance up at her. My head felt heavy in my hands and my eyes were blurry as though wrapped in thick cotton. When she did speak, the closeness of her voice told me she'd dropped down to crouch beside me.

"You really care for him, don't you? I wasn't entirely sure how much but…"

I nodded, blinking to clear the cotton. My vision swum into clarity for a moment before blurring once more. My voice croaked as I spoke in reply. "Yeah, I guess you could call it care."

Silence reigned. The distant chatter in the Great Hall, the merry-making of the other students, sounded like it came from another world. "You… Scor, do you love him? Do you love Al?"

Love. I'd never really thought of the concept as involving me before. It was always an Otherness, an unattainable entity. A figment of fiction that would never apply to me, that I would never want nor need, let alone be afflicted by. To suggest that I was in love…

The blurriness in my eyes swum into bubble-like shards of imperfection. Oh. Tears. That's what it was. Over ten years and it was now that my body chose to finally break its stasis of waterworks and cry. Over the very thought of Love?

"Absolutely."

A/N: Please leave a comment with your thoughts if you have a second! And I'd just like to say a massive thank you to BuzzyBeeForever again for your gorgeous reviews. You're so beautifully kind, and I'm sorry for stressing you out last chapter!