Harry James Potter was a damaged man, the scars imparted by his turmoiled past, physical or spiritual, were apparent to any educated observer. If he had pulled through all the hardships with being the Chosen One — endured the death of his loved ones, the bereavement of a proper childhood, the precipice of mortality— then it was the fate that befell his favourite son that finally destroyed him.
Although still respected due to his seminal role in saving the Wizarding World from Voldemort, the recent mess surrounding his second son had raised rumors and objections regarding his fit for the title of Head Auror, and for his sanity in general.
Given the way gossip spreads, preposterous postulations had severely damaged his reputation. There was talk that, during a moment of softness and fatherly love, he had deliberately enabled Albus Severus Potter to escape the hands of justice. That love had blinded him from seeing his son as the monster he was. At times, these speculations also ensnared the long-serving Minister of Magic herself: there was also talk that he and Hermione had colluded to ensure that Albus Severus Potter consistently stayed out of Azkaban.
These insidious insinuations even reached the Auror department, where Harry Potter, generally held in high regard due to his good track record and treatment of his employees, was facing private grumblings. There was no open challenge to his authority, but there was a small simmering segment of discontent. The man was no idiot — he could tell.
He knew everything: the suspicions he faced, the compromised reputation. It was nothing new. He had experienced it all before, back when he was a student, back when people thought him mad, back when no one believed him that the Dark Lord had returned. He could take it.
Losing Albus, however, was something he couldn't.
Every day, when he woke up, at work (gazing at the desks his son could have been in), before bed, he would have to contend with the fact that he had failed as a father. Somewhere, along his road of parenthood, he failed to prevent his son from being led astray. Sure, Delphi Riddle had a large role to play, but he should have seen it, should have done something about it. Why hadn't he seen anything? Was it all the pressure of living up to his reputation? The pressure of pleasing him? Now, Harry had no way of knowing.
Albus Potter was in god-knows-where, doing in god-knows-what, with god-knows-who. There was no way of tracking him, all the retrieval missions had been a failure and not a semblance of communication with anyone Harry knew.
Gazing at a picture of him and his son inside his wallet, taken at the day of Albus' graduation, Harry's eyes stung from being on the verge of tears. He had been through this too many times to actually cry, but it hurt nonetheless. It hurt. He would always remember brimming with pride as he welcomed his son into the ranks of the Auror, as Albus succeeded in task after task, rising through the ranks as his colleagues heaped praise onto the boy. He would remember the earlier memories too, when his family would go to the seaside, where Albus and James would fight over the stupidest things as Lily would laugh over them. He would also remember the times when Albus — even before being sent off to Hogwarts — would wait for him late at night as he came back from a particularly dangerous mission, scared and a head filled with questions.
Where did it all go? The good times, where did it all go?
~X~
It was less nerve-wracking than he expected. His compartment was filled with people... who were reading, out of all things they could have pursued. Not a single one of them was talking.
Then again, neither was he. It should have felt awkward - his dad loved to spontaneously declare "awkward silence!" whenever nobody in the house was talking. Yet Nigel found this strangely calming. (If no one was talking, then there was no pressure for him to do so either.) He took out his copy of Byzantine Bewitchments for Beginners and began reading.
"Can I... join?" a timid voice whispered desperately, the first hint of sound in more than an hour. It was a boy whose eyes appeared red from crying.
"Sure, come in! Name's Nigel Potter, by the way," Nigel concurred, got up and shook the boy's hand.
"I'm Yiannis... I'm kind of, well, uh... I'm new and..."
"Well, so am I," another person in the compartment got up and addressed the new entrant. "My name's Conrad Boot." He then turned around to Nigel. "I didn't know Harry Potter's grandson was starting Hogwarts! Hey guys, now that I'm thinking about it, we still haven't introduced ourselves yet!"
He reached out to the rest of the room enthusiastically, only to be greeted by indifferent silence.
"Oh come on!" Someone finally got up. "Name is Karen Jones. I'm also a first-year, by the way, and my whole family's been in Ravenclaw since time immemorial so I'm definitely getting sorted there."
"My mother was Ravenclaw," Yiannis piped up, his voice no longer trembling.
"No way! My whole family's been there too! Is this some kind of Ravenclaw 'squad' compartment?" Conrad sounded very excited.
"I'm muggleborn, but I'm pretty convinced I'm getting sorted there," another girl declared. "I'm Dorothea Smith! Also, I'm a big fan of Flitwick's work on Charms so I'm absolutely fascinated by the prospect of having him as a Head of House."
"Hey I love his books on Charms too! I have a copy with me!" Nigel gasped. All of a sudden, it seemed like everyone was clicking together like pieces in a puzzle.
"This is lit! Can't wait for all of us to be together in Ravenclaw!" Conrad exclaimed.
Nigel's heart sank. Now he felt like an outsider, the exception - he did not have many family members that were Ravenclaw, much to his consternation. And he was starting to like the bunch.
"What's the matter?" Dorothea immediately noticed his discomfort — perceptive individual indeed — and asked him.
"I'm not sure I'm going to be in Ravenclaw. Dad's side of the family is pretty much all Gryffindor and Mum's is all Slytherin," he mumbled. "I don't know about me."
In truth, he had originally been open to being in any house. Though on the platform, he had been vociferously debating with himself on whether he would be a better fit for Gryffindor or Slytherin. His cousin Maggie Zabini was also starting this year and she was a dead shoe-in for Slytherin, with her sardonic quips and propensity for mostly harmless manipulation. She also stuffed herself into a compartment filled with third-years, who were, according to her, much cooler than first-years and thereby leaving him to his own devices. No harsh feelings, but as he began chatting with his fellow compartment mates, Nigel realized that perhaps Ravenclaw had been the house he was looking for, the sweet spot of intellectual vibrancy, bereft of the mischief of Slytherin and the obligatory gallantry of Gryffinor.
"Well, I think you'll be in Ravenclaw," Dorothea said, trying to cheer him up, "You're smart, you like reading" — she gestured towards his book —"and you can always ask the hat, right?"
"Well, according to Hogwarts: A History, that's exactly what your grandfather did," Conrad lectured. "Now that we've established that we're all going to be in the same house, let's play Trivia Quiz!"
~X~
"You'll fit in RAVENCLAW!"
So at the end of the day, neither mother nor father won the bet as he rushed towards the Ravenclaw high table with relief. Karen, Conrad and Yiannis were all there and he was eager to join them in the common room tonight, overcoming the toils and troubles of getting past the front door riddles, braving classes and assignments together, trying out for Quidditch — now it all seemed laid before his eyes.
"Smith, Dorothea!"
The last part of their compartment gang was trying on the sorting hat. On the Ravenclaw table, there was a sense of anticipation among his friends.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Oh dear.
She looked a very distressed, clearly devastated at this unexpected revelation and the prospect of spending her time away from her first friends at Hogwarts. Nigel wanted to give her a hug and tell her that things will be fine. Slytherin was a decent house — its past reputation notwithstanding, his mother and uncle Albus both went there and they were among his favorite people.
"Poor girl, she'll get eaten alive there with all the snakes..." Conrad whispered.
"Yeah," an upperclassman nodded — Sophie, Nigel recalled, was her name," They are a bit better than they were before, but they're still kind of ... dark and not too friendly with muggleborns. I suspect your friend might struggle."
"Hey guys, my mother went there and she turned out fine. My uncle went there and he enjoyed it—"
"And turned into the most wanted international criminal in more than a decade," someone else on the table, a girl with brown plaited hair, Anya, interjected flatly.
"Well, that's —-"
"Everyone knows Nigel. Nothing against you, no offense, it's not your fault. But come on." He was shut down quite bluntly by Sophie. "My father — an Auror — was badly injured once because of your uncle. Get real."
"Well, I'm just hoping she likes it there. Who knows?" Nigel defended his statements. Admittingly, he felt a little indignant, vicariously, about the attacks on his family members.
"Here's hoping that you're right, kid, but rational thought is not on your side," Sophie said.
"Just ignore that," Yiannis, who sat next to him, whispered in his ear, "You clearly know them better than they do."
Nigel nodded half-heartedly. Everything was going so well before this mild altercation.
"I maintain my scepticism but you are of sound intellectual mind. I trust your judgment," Conrad added. "In Ravenclaw we agree to disagree."
Nigel snorted and gave the guy a dig: "Well, as a newcomer to this great and esteemed House I have much to learn from esteemed elders with ancestral experience."
"Oh you both stop being so corny," Karen said and they laughed it off.
"You guys wanna do some secret exploration tonight? Sneak into the library? Sneak into the kitchens?" Yiannis suggested.
"Oh yesssss!" Karen gasped. "So much find out about this place!"
"Well guys, I think I have the perfect tool to help," Nigel volunteered, pulling out the Marauder's Map his father gave him. They all smirked as their heads gathered around it.
Soon, he had forgotten about his arguments. All was (sort of) well.
~X~
Nigel enjoyed collecting postcards, both magical and muggle ones alike. When packing, his trunk had a special section dedicated to them.
His favourite one had to be at least 8 years old. It was a simple one about Chutt — a clandestine city situated inside the Amazon forest. A tall, ivory-engraved building carved with ancient symbols, emerging from the dense foliage and illuminated by a single torch brimming with blinding white light. The official address was not mentioned. It was signed by the initials A.S.P, his uncle's.
"Hope my little nephew is doing well. I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit. Sorry about not sending any candy too. I hope to see you one day! Let this be are our secret." That was the only message that came with it.
Nigel had wanted to pin that onto his wall but was scared his roommates might find this correspondence mildly suspicious, even if it was the only thing he had gotten from his uncle in all the years since the man left. He shared it with Dorothea once and she found it fascinating. He left out most of the details, such as the name and identity of the actual sender.
~X~
Maggie Zabini finally approached him on their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the only one Ravenclaw had with Slytherin.
"What's up, cousin?"
Oh now she's trying to talk to me, Nigel couldn't help feeling a little cynical.
"I'm good, you?"
"It's all been sooo exciting! Made a lot of good friends here, the Slytherin common room is amazing by the way, you should totally come visit!" Now she was smiling widely. Nigel knew she was like that — a little bit artificial at times, but not necessarily malignant. "I'd love to show you around. Also, your friend..." Maggie pointed towards a sulking Dorothea in the corner, who smiled weakly at his friends in Ravenclaw (were they already drifting apart?) and striving to fit in, "she's struggling a bit. It'll be a great way for you guys to help. You know, she doesn't 100% click with my house but I try to be nice."
A shrug. What did she expect him to respond with?
"Good of you to tell me."
"You know, because you're my cousin and she's your friend. I'll try to take care of her. She needs a make over though…" Maggie whispered.
Nigel shuddered at the prospect.
~X~
She bestowed him with her accursed presence tonight again. Tracing the contours of his body with her deft fingers, admiring, infatuated, she then pressed her lips against his. Whispering honeyed words into his ear, she made him forget what was wrong with his world.
"Oh Albus, how I missed you..."
"I missed you too..."
This was how he wanted to remember her, not as how he actually did.
Was it all a lie, their love, all the words she spoke before him — everything...?
Even if it was, it was just one night, one night where he would liberate himself from his worries. An oasis of bliss in a life of turmoil
~X~
A ghost wanders the Department of Secrets, a ghost of the last living descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Her presence was faint, too faint, for any wayward researcher to notice and her connection to the mortal world too weak to manifest any tangible importations. Every day she pines for him, desperate, intrigued, yet too frail to leave the place of her death. Anger and confusion reign too, for she does not know why she was betrayed — and yet she does! She does!
There was no reason why he wouldn't have. That was the way he was made, the way destiny was drafted! Diametric opposites, it could only have ended in bloodshed.
But did she love him? Did she regret anything at all?
There was no other way, no other way at all. No other man in the world, in past or present, in all that encompasses the universe, nothing that could have made her whole otherwise. She loved him more than anything, she had realized belatedly, after what seemed like aeons of contemplation and regret.
Were she ever to start all over again, she would relinquish her ambitions, her other identity. Destroy the Rowles with his help, confess the truth and plead for his love. But alas! It was not to be so! But she was not ready to leave! Not ready to forsake the mortal realm, where he resided — and where he would continue to reside in until his soul was mended.
And so she continued to wander the halls, unable to leave, hoping to seek a glimpse of him once again.
~X~
After 6 years his soul was still as fractured as ever. He had poured through every single dense tome about horcruxes and dark magic he could lay his fingers on, consulted every expert (indirectly, of course, for there was no way he would go around blaring his secret) and yet there was no answer to his problem.
Or rather, there was no other answer.
Every single source, every single suggestion, everything, had led him to one solution: repentance.
And yet how was he supposed to repent? What he did was not only right, it was necessary. And here lies the paradox, the befuddling mindfuckery and mental gymnastics he would have to perform in order to attain the path of salvation.
Okay maybe he did not have to kill that many people. But the Rowles? Delphi? Was it all wrong? He couldn't bring himself to either admit or believe.
~X~
She was alone in the room and there was a chair in the middle. It was a regular wooden chair, not too comfortable by the looks of it and yet something beckoned her towards it. The gentle lulling of voices gone.
When she sat on it, everything around her changed.
Fire, all around her. The smell of smoke. Beams of red and green light flying in the air. Laughter, high pitched, pernicious laughs, wormed their way into her ears. The dodged a deadly spell headed her way, only to realize the immateriality of it all. Muzzled voices that were supposed to sound coherent, blurry faces that were supposed to possess distinct contours, a situation that she would have otherwise ran from made her want to stay put more than anything. A sign, a sign of something…
Bright green eyes! Her own, perhaps. No. One that was all too familiar. Kin, blood-related… brother!
Albus Potter, pinning a woman to the wall, an elderly, sinister creature shrieking indistinguishably in the distance. She did not recognize the woman's voice. But she recognized her brother's. Gradually, his utterances became more apparent.
Howhowhowhow - it can't be true. Liar, liar, liar, liar! You lie! HOW?!
A thud.
The woman was dead and her killer stood up, striding towards the exit.
He stopped right in front of her. His eyes impassive, they narrowed and she could almost wager they had a red tint about them.
Albus.
"Albus-"
But it was to no avail, he did not hear her words. She was but a mere guest in this reality that was no reality. A dream, but perhaps something more? A more realistic estimation of reality? Just why was she here?
Laughter. This time she recognized it - and yet she didn't. It was so eerie, so cold, so unlike him.
"Albus! You answer me right now!" She demanded in the most authoritative voice she could muster. "Damn it! -"
But he was gone.