Chapter 19 : What Harry Knows or Ignores

Match Day – Harry's POV

The crowd was electric. A bustling, enthusiastic, and furious energy—the fever of a match about to start. He would've loved to play for a crowd like this, but it wasn't his time anymore. Hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, Harry made his way through the stadium toward the locker room, hidden under a gray wool hat and a matching scarf that covered half his face. He had no desire to draw attention to himself today. He wanted to see his son.

His sons,he corrected himself. Of course, both his sons mattered to him.

But since he'd be watching the match from the Gryffindor stands, he wanted to see Albus. Albus was his priority. His second-born had looked pale and tired last night—nothing unusual before a match, but that sadness... He had hated seeing that sadness on his son's face, enough to worry an old father.

"Old," he muttered to himself. "Not yet, for heaven's sake!"

He reached the locker room, removing his hat and tugging off his scarf as he passed through the door. The reaction from the players was immediate—welcoming and excited. Harry had always been surprised to provoke such enthusiasm in a locker room full of Slytherins, but his own old prejudices, even unconscious ones, were hard to shake.

A tall dark-haired boy stood up to shake his hand—Briani, if Harry wasn't mistaken.

"Albus should be here soon, Mr. Potter," the young man said, and Harry nodded with a smile.

While the makeup of the team was familiar, one face stood out. A face, yes, but especially the hair and the eyes… He recognized those features, having observed—and sometimes hated—them for a long time. It all seemed so distant now. But this face felt both familiar and unknown at the same time—a too-perfect oval, nothing sharp about it, lips that were too full, too red. He was used to fine, pale lines, quick to form an arrogant sneer—the characteristic features of the Malfoys.

This one made him uncomfortable. Sitting on the bench, apart from the rest of the team, his detachment was disconcerting. His back and head rested against the wall behind him, his eyes—too bright—were lost in the void. The boy suddenly inhaled sharply but deeply, blinking several times as if pushing away an emotion. He exhaled slowly.

Harry remembered the last time he had seen the boy. In this locker room, he saw none of the detached, haughty boy who had walked indifferently through a restaurant where hostile gazes overwhelmed him. Sadness shadowed his face.

The door opened, and the captain entered. Harry's heart swelled with pride at the sight of the badge pinned to his son's chest. But the boy didn't see him immediately. He was looking at Malfoy, who raised his eyes to meet his before quickly looking away. Annoyed, his son walked toward the boy, hand extended.

"Albus!"

A slim brunette entered the locker room abruptly—a Ravenclaw, judging by her scarf. She wrapped her arms around Albus's neck, pressing her body against his.

"A little encouragement?" she smiled and kissed him, carefully biting his lower lip playfully. The team cheered with whistles and claps.

Harry looked away, out of respect for his son, and noticed that Malfoy did the same, lips pressed together, disdainful.

Harry finally cleared his throat. Albus noticed his father and pulled away from the embrace, blushing with embarrassment. Harry smiled at him, knowing his son's reserved nature—such a public display of affection troubled him.

"Dad… this is Kate, Katelyn Davies, Captain of the Ravenclaw team."

"And his girlfriend," the young girl added, extending a warm hand toward him. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."

Harry saw his son grimace as he shook her hand. He himself gave her a polite, but unconvincing smile—his own inherited sense of modesty.

"Kate, I'll see you after, okay?" It was an inelegant way to send her off, but she didn't seem offended and left after stealing one last kiss.

Albus ran his fingers over his neck, then through his hair, while gazing at his father with a sigh.

"Are you ready?" asked Harry, brushing off his son's shoulder guards. He should have polished them, but his Al wasn't one for appearances, even for a first match.

"Yeah, we're going to win."

Harry smiled, a little surprised by the confident response.

"You seem more certain than yesterday. You seemed… unsure."

"I wasn't sure about my team yesterday... my whole team. Today, I am."

Harry observed the young man, more protectively than he would have liked. This match was important to his son, he knew that. Every match between Slytherin and Gryffindor was a test. Too much heavy history, unresolved tensions, old wounds.

That was Hogwarts' past, and both the spectators and the players anticipated this competition. And this year, even more so. A rivalry between brothers was a bitter and intense cocktail. Potter had pretended to ignore the bickering and sharp remarks, but this summer—this unbearable summer—had been punctuated and poisoned by their constant fighting over everything and nothing, from the amount of food on their plates to the number of pants they owned or time spent in the bathroom, even to how much time Harry spent with each of them. Everything had become a competition.

Ginny found it amusing. She came from a large family, and sibling rivalry was no mystery to her. It was all very healthy. Or so she thought. Harry had never told her that the child who had suffered the most in the Weasley family had been Ron. She, the youngest and only girl, had been her mother's treasure.

"Good luck, son."

With a final exchange, Harry made his way back to the stands, taking his seat among the rest of his family. Ginny handed him a mug of hot, spiced mead, steaming and delicious in the freezing wind cutting through the low, dark clouds.

Harry took off his gloves and warmed his hands around the cup

"So? Are they feeling confident?" Ginny asked, stealing a piece of fried chicken from a box that Ron was jealously guarding on his lap.

Harry nodded, offering a reassuring smile, not wanting to linger on the subject. He hadn't seen James, and he wasn't a good liar.

He spotted Draco in the distance, standing with Theodore Nott. At least, it seemed to be him—the man had a grayish complexion and a gaunt face, his clothes too large, draping over his body as though they had fallen onto him rather than being put on. He looked frail, sickly. Draco stood beside him, wringing his hands, his lips pressed together. It was an anxious posture that Harry shared entirely.

The crowd stood as the teams entered the stadium.

James's appearance triggered a wave of applause from the Gryffindors and the other houses.

"He's quite popular," Ginny muttered, both exasperated by this exuberance but also admiring of her eldest.

The boy raised his arm like a conqueror, and the crowd responded with enthusiasm.

Standing tall and confident, Albus scanned the crowd before turning to his team for a final speech. Harry saw the heads nod at every word, and then they all mounted their brooms.

Ginny frowned.

"Nott's on James's team?"

"As a Chaser, and Scorpius is Slytherin's Seeker," Lily added.

She had come by to grab a handful of Galleons from her father's purse to buy sweets and was rushing back to her seat at the bottom of the stands, among the other Gryffindor students dressed as lions, with red and gold painted faces.

The players soared into the air, a magnificent procession of green and red. They all took their positions in the sky. The whistle blew, and the spectators' cheers erupted all at once.

The match took on the tone of a battle, aggressive, as if it was the culmination of months of tension. The Bludgers skimmed the players, and under a particularly violent hit from a Beater, one of them demolished the base of a tower stand, which had to be held up by a spell to prevent it from collapsing.

After 45 minutes of play, Gryffindor led 5 to 3, with one goal scored by James and four by Dorian Nott. Harry was surprised by the boy's strength in the game. His hair stuck to his forehead, and sweat beaded on his cheeks, but at no point did he seem to weaken.

James tightened his ranks, wasting no moments to encourage and command his team.

On his side, Albus held strong. Despite being 30 points behind, he didn't falter, his temple reddened from a Bludger that had grazed his face.

The match was in full swing. At one point, the Quaffle slipped from Dorian's arm after he took a kick to the ribs from a Slytherin player who had chased after him.

The crowd booed.

"Is that how you play?" James shouted, flying his broom close to his brother. "Keep your players in line!"

Albus clenched his jaw and looked away. He flew over to the player, his reprimand short but harsh, and the boy nodded, eyes lowered.

Suddenly, both Seekers darted toward the pitch, chasing the Golden Snitch. After two near-collisions with the stands' goalposts that almost unseated both boys, the Snitch shot up toward the sky, followed by the two boys, and they disappeared into the clouds. Creevey, the Gryffindor Seeker, emerged shortly after, trembling.

Harry grimaced, remembering all too well how high the Snitch often climbed, where the cold quickly became unbearable.

The small golden ball reappeared from the sky, slicing through the clouds and diving sharply toward the ground, followed by Scorpius, who was hurtling down at full speed with a shapeless blur descending toward the field behind him.

The Snitch is gaining too much speed, thought Harry, and he felt Ginny shift uneasily in her seat beside him, worried herself.

They knew this maneuver well.

The Snitch would plummet toward the ground at top speed and change direction at the last second, skimming the grass before shooting back up vertically. The Seeker had two choices: catch the Snitch well before it reached the turf or risk crashing if they couldn't pull up their broom in time, or abandon the chase and wait for the Snitch to rise again, hoping it wouldn't vanish from sight.

Of course, most Seekers wouldn't attempt to follow the Snitch.

But Malfoy was hurtling down at breakneck speed, chasing after the Snitch. Murmurs of growing concern rippled through the crowd.

"He's going too fast, too low," Ginny muttered, anxious. "Why isn't he pulling up?!"

Suddenly, Scorpius let go of his broom and began to fall, arm outstretched toward the Snitch as it dove toward the ground.

Cries erupted from the stands, and the players stopped. Several wands were raised toward the boy, but Albus swooped in, catching Scorpius just before he hit the ground.

The two boys flew toward the referee, followed by James and Finnigan.

"What are you doing?!" shouted Finnigan, eager to resume a match they were close to winning.

"Stop the match," said Albus. "We've won."

Scorpius opened his hand, revealing the Golden Snitch.

The crowd exploded with joy.

In the Slytherin locker room

Draco looked as though he had aged ten years, his hands trembling as he hugged Scorpius tightly. The nurse had just finished applying a warming ointment to the boy's hands, which were severely damaged by the cold. Scorpius couldn't recall how high he had flown, but the frostbite on his fingers was deep.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that again, Quidditch is over for you!"

"No chance," said Scorpius. "I'm quitting the team."

Albus lost his smile.

"What?"

"I'm quitting the team," Scorpius repeated, looking at him.

"Wait, no, no, no. What do you mean, you're quitting the team?"

Scorpius shrugged.

"You can't just decide that!" Albus exclaimed.

"I've been thinking about it for a week. You wanted to win this match, and now you have. It's over. We're done."

Harry exchanged an awkward glance with Draco—a shared understanding between the two men. They both sensed something deeper in those words.

Albus remained silent for a moment, aware that they were being watched.

"I think we need to talk about this," he finally said.

"No need, it's done."

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Draco interrupted.

Scorpius nodded, a bitter smile on his lips.

"It's for the best, I think. Better for me and for everyone."

Draco nodded and placed a comforting hand on his son's shoulder, which made the boy's smile fade.

"You're too thin."

"I know," the boy sighed, rolling his eyes.

"I'll fatten you up at Christmas."

"Good luck."

"And you need a haircut. Did you do this yourself?" Draco asked, gesturing to the uneven strands of hair.

Scorpius ran a hand through his hair, feeling the jagged edges.

The locker room door swung open abruptly, as if it had been kicked. James entered, followed by Dorian.

"You're insane," Nott shouted, grabbing Scorpius in a bear hug. "Well done!"

"You too, a natural," Draco said, running a hand through the boy's tousled hair. "Flying runs in your blood."

"We trained hard," Dorian said with a smile at Scorpius.

"Your father's still in the stands," Draco said after a pause. "Go see him, please."

"He could've come down himself," Dorian grumbled.

"Please," Draco insisted.

"You should go with him," Scorpius said. "We'll catch up later?"

Draco nodded, patting his son's head before leading the way out of the locker room. Dorian gave Scorpius a wink, which made him smile.

Albus's irritated voice drew his attention.

"What do you want, James?" Albus asked as he picked up the bag his brother had knocked over—a clear signal of his arrival.

"I'm here to congratulate my little brother. Is it the victory that's making you so grumpy?"

"I didn't know you were such a good loser," Albus replied.

"Why wouldn't I be? This match doesn't even count!"

"James," Harry said reproachfully, raising his eyebrows to encourage his eldest son. The boy bit the inside of his cheek, seeming to hesitate.

"Good match, Albus," he finally said.

Lame congratulations, but Albus hadn't expected a handshake—James wasn't that sportsmanlike. What a farce...

"Thanks," Albus replied without enthusiasm.

James bumped his shoulder playfully and announced that he was going to meet "the others" in the stands.

"Wait, James," Harry called. "Boys, I'd like us to have lunch together—all three of us. You both free?"

"Yes," said Albus.

"No, but I'll cancel," James replied.

"Okay, 1 p.m. at the gates."

James nodded. He was about to leave the locker room but stopped when his gaze lingered on Scorpius and his scratched hands.

"Honestly..." he murmured with a smile.

Scorpius blushed and clenched his teeth, remembering that it had been James who healed his hands the night before. He hated owing him anything, and he hated even more that James was teasing him in public, where he couldn't retaliate. Instinctively, he glanced behind James to see if Albus was watching. Albus wasn't paying attention to the exchange.

But Harry, the Great Harry Potter, was watching both of them. Scorpius froze.

"You should buy your Seeker some gloves," James told Albus as he left the locker room. "Just a tip if you want to win the next match—one that counts this time."

Albus grimaced and averted his eyes, busying himself with packing his Quidditch uniform into his bag.

"You ready?" Harry asked. "Let's go find your mother."

"Yeah."

Albus slung his bag over his shoulder and followed his father.

He passed by Scorpius, who was tying his shoes. He stopped next to him, hesitating. But Scorpius ignored him.

"He's right," Albus began. "We should find gloves that fit you."

Scorpius didn't look up, only tugging harder at the laces.

"No need. I'm quitting the team." His voice was flat.

"Nothing's decided yet," Albus insisted.

"I've decided."

"Without telling me!"

Malfoy stood up abruptly, facing Albus. Though shorter, he stood tall, and his gaze was so piercing that Albus felt the urge to step back.

"Yes, without telling you," he said in a hissing, venomous voice. "You see, everything is exactly as you wanted. Enjoy your victory—it's my parting gift."

He brushed past Albus, nearly bumping into Harry on his way out. He muttered a quiet "sorry" as Harry moved aside, and he left, slamming the door behind him.

They had met at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. A special request made to McGonagall. Harry rarely asked for anything, but tonight he wanted to invite his two sons for lunch to gauge the atmosphere between them.

"So, this Katelyn Davies," Harry said, putting down his utensils. "Is it serious between you?"

Albus's face turned scarlet. James chuckled beside him.

"She's already imagining the wedding, that's for sure."

"Shut up, James!" Albus turned to his father. "We're not having this conversation."

Harry leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smile.

"She reminds me of my ex-girlfriend, Cho Chang."

"What was she like?" Albus asked reluctantly. The idea of his father having a love life made him uncomfortable.

Harry thought for a moment.

"Unbearable."

Albus burst out laughing, followed by his father. Silence settled between them.

"He seems pretty decided," Harry finally said.
Albus looked at him for a moment, unblinking.
"He should've talked to me. If he was thinking of leaving the team, he should've told me."

"Who's leaving your team?" James asked.

Harry ignored him:

"But you're not speaking to each other."

Albus opened his mouth, surprised, and turned away. His eyes wandered to the frost-covered lawn outside.

"It's his fault," he muttered.

Harry nodded politely and continued:

"Quite the spectacle, though. A kid lets himself fall to the ground to win a match for you, and you catch him just before he hits the ground."

"What?"

"Nothing, just an observation. I'm not great at interpreting actions. I'm actually terrible, which is why I pay a lot of attention to them. I've often been wrong about people's intentions."

Albus shrugged, looking dark.

"He knew I would catch him."

"But you might not have made it. To catch him. He must have a lot of trust in you."

"Or he didn't care about crashing into the ground," James chimed in.

"That's nonsense," Albus growled without looking at his brother.

"Here, Al," said Harry, taking out his coin pouch. "Get us a coffee, please, and settle the bill at the counter for me."

Albus took the wallet and stood up.

Seeing the girl at the counter lose her smile, James couldn't help but laugh. The waitress seemed disappointed that the great Harry Potter wasn't paying himself.

Harry discreetly raised his wand and sabotaged the coffee machine, a rare Muggle acquisition in Hogsmeade. The waitress tried several times to turn it on before calling her boss. Once he was sure it would take a while before they were served, Harry turned to his son.

"Why are you doing this?" James asked.

"James," Harry began softly, fixing his gaze on him. "Leave Scorpius Malfoy alone."

He waited, but no emotion appeared on his son's face.

The teenager inhaled slowly.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know what's going on between you, but I'm sure your brother and him are on bad terms because of it."

James shrugged.

"They don't talk anymore."

"And you had nothing to do with that?"

"What? Of course not!"

Seeing his father's disapproving look, the boy lost his patience.

"I don't even go near Scorpius. We don't speak to each other. Ask anyone!"

"Don't take me for a fool, James. I know you're smart enough to hide your schemes. I don't know what's going on, but it has to stop now."

"I'm telling you again. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Fine. I can't keep an eye on you all the time anyway. I just hope you know what you're doing."

"This is unbelievable! With Albus, all you have are words of encouragement, and with me, it's just complaints."

"Complaints? Stop being melodramatic."

"Oh, I'm exaggerating, am I? It's always about Albus with you! He's not made of glass, for God's sake!"

"Watch your language, James."

The boy ignored him, annoyed at being interrupted.

"I wish you'd give me some credit for once. Just because things are easier for me doesn't mean I don't need you to be proud of me and show it."

Harry sighed and sank back into his seat. His son didn't take his eyes off him, almost waiting for Harry to contradict him. And it seemed pointless. He admired his eldest a lot, but since childhood, James hadn't needed him.

Albus was the more fragile, the more tormented one. He was the quietest child yet seemed to require the most attention and care. James succeeded in everything, as if the world had left a place for him, just waiting for him to take it. He was the child and teenager Sirius might have been, Harry was certain of it. But perhaps he had been wrong.

"I'm not casting you in a bad light. I'm just trying to balance things out. You've never been easy on Albus. He's lived in your shadow for a long time. It's like that in many families—one child shines more than the others, and it stifles them. No one's to blame. But at some point, the other children need to shine too."

He paused, weighing each word.

"I'm proud of you, and I know you'll succeed in anything you do, and I encourage you with all my heart. But this isn't about you. I feel like Albus is changing, becoming more himself. I think young Malfoy has something to do with that, and I don't want you interfering between them."

"I'm not interfering with anything..."

"I've seen the way Scorpius Malfoy looks at you."

James seemed to think about it, then shook his head.

"What are you talking about? He doesn't like me, and I don't like him either. When we look at each other, it's obvious. That's normal!"

"There's disdain, sure, but that's not all. It wasn't that which made me think. It was the look that followed, when Scorpius checked to see if Albus wasn't watching your exchange, and the way he tensed when he noticed that I had seen it. As if the idea of being seen together was forbidden. Why? I don't care to know. But the thought bothers me, James. You can be sure of that."

James swallowed, staring at the table. He scratched the varnish on the wood with his thumbnail, his lips pressed together.

"Do you have nothing to say to that?" Harry insisted.

"No, think whatever you want."

"James, please…"

"I don't care, think what you want. But if you think Scorpius is a good influence on Albus, you're wrong, and if he's changing, it's not for the better."

"Let him decide that for himself and live his own experiences," Harry urged.

He waved his wand and reactivated the coffee machine.

"So, you still want to be a Healer?"

Harry changed the subject, hoping James would relax. He had no desire to overwhelm him. And he wanted to know. James cleared his throat, a little caught off guard by the sudden calm in the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm supposed to meet the advisor in January to find out what scores I need to get in the exams. But it should be fine."

Harry nodded.

"Yes, I think so. I don't know where you get that talent in Potions from."

"Not from Mum or you, that's for sure," Albus interjected, placing the coffees on the table.

"That's true. I don't even think I could've passed my Potions N.E.W.T.," Harry replied.

Albus looked surprised.

"I thought Aurors had to get an Outstanding in Potions."

"I never took my N.E.W.T.s. My seventh year was… eventful."

Albus didn't take his eyes off his coffee cup as he nodded.

He never knew what to say when his father talked about the war. Or rather, when he didn't. He never mentioned specific events, places, or names when he alluded to it, as if it were a story he no longer remembered the details of, but had only a vague memory of. Which was completely false, of course.

Albus and James had learned about the war from books, like everyone else, and Harry had never confirmed or denied what was written.

"I'll leave you two now. I'm sure the Slytherin dungeon is already celebrating the victory."

"Not until tonight," Albus objected.

"Oh? You're more restrained than the Gryffindors, then. They'd celebrate even a loss."

"That's the plan," James said with a smile as he grabbed his jacket.

Harry laughed. He missed that life. He followed his sons out and walked with them to the castle gates. He gave them both a quick hug, and this time, he held James a little tighter.

He watched them walk away, despite the cold biting his hands. He stuffed them into his jacket pockets, refusing to leave until they were out of sight.

When he could no longer see them, he Disapparated.

End of Chapter 19

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