Found In the Past

24

Albus POV:

"So did you get a letter from Scorpius?" Rose comes up to me after dinner, taking me by surprise. The very fact she's talking to me is weird enough, but actually starting a conversation? Maybe I've finally gone mental. "Albus don't even try to hide it I see it in your hand," she points down with a smirk to where I'm holding the parchment firmly.

"Yes. I got a letter from Scorp," I confirm, tucking said letter in my pocket so she can't steal it. My communications with him have been read by her before and I'd prefer to keep this particular one private.

"Well what does it say?" She asks, nearly making me trip over my feet. "You know I can ask him myself," she teases and my face goes red.

"Please don't," I plead and Rose looks even more intrigued, as if I'm a book she is trying to understand. That look alone frightens me to my wits end. "It was nothing... he just said he may be coming back to Hogwarts soon," I settle on a half truth. I don't want to speak my suspicions that his nightmares have been getting worse instead of better. He's constantly avoiding the subject as if it's Dragon Pox.

"When he gets back will you tell him about your feelings?" Rose questions, her head leaning to side. A sudden chill runs up my spine, not just because of the open windows. I rub my hands together as we continue walking together, and I can't help but note the stares from all the Gryffindors that pass us. Rose is taking a big risk associating with me, another thing I can't help but admire about her. "Albus?" She breaks me out of my thoughts and I look back at her sheepishly.

"I don't know," I feel myself blushing as another thing I 'forgot' to tell Rose pops into my head. At the bottom of the letter in Scorpius's perfectly loopy handwriting, was a single phrase. Love Scorpius. L o v e. I turn right down the corridor as Rose turns left and she sends me a confused look.

"Where are you off to? Curfew's in twenty minutes, Albus," she reminds me like the mother hen she's proven to be even though I'm over a month older.

"I have to... send a letter," I tell her lamely, distractedly messing up my hair. Not to Scorpius though, no matter how much I want to. It would take too much time making sure the letter feels casual and not like I spent an hour over my words, trying to get muggle terms right. It's also better if I owl him when I'm not so happy. I can't be too careful about what I could accidentally say to ruin our years of amazing friendship. I'll probably check to see if Mum has written me back yet.

"Okay, see you tomorrow!" Rose waves and I head up to the owlery, humming a Weird Sister song that I've forgotten the words to. The moving staircases are particularly difficult to navigate tonight, and I run straight into a Hufflepuff girl.

"Sorry!" I hurriedly apologize and move on. Having my head in the clouds is not good for my health tonight. When I finally get to the owlery, I realize I've forgotten a quill and decide to give up on the idea for the night.

*****

I wander into breakfast the next day, rubbing my eyes groggily. Of course I over slept my alarm. Again. I run a hand through my hair, which is suffering from even worse bed head than usual. I lost my hairbrush a year ago so I guess it's fine. I sit down at the end of the Slytherin's table alone.

Owls are flying in and one particularly familiar eagle owl swoops in front of me, nearly decking out my breakfast. My forehead wrinkles in confusion as I see a scroll tied to the animal's leg. I just got a letter from Scorpius though... I quickly take the note off the owl's leg and feed it a tiny scrap of food as payment. This letter isn't written in Scor's familiar loopy cursive. Now even more confused, I start to read.

Mr. Potter the Junior,
By now I am sure that you are aware of my son's health problems. I am writing this letter to inform you of a formal request that you visit the Manor for the Holidays. The doctor has told us that your presence may in fact help with the nightly terrors Scorpius is experiencing. My son also misses you a great deal. Please write back with your answer as soon as you have made a decision. If you owl us, I will pick you up at the train station and we will leave by portkey for Malfoy Manor.

Sincerely,
Draco Malfoy, Scorpius's Father

I set the letter down, even more confused after reading it. What does Mr. Malfoy mean by my presence could help with the nightmares? That means Scorpius has been getting worse instead of better if they're contacting me.... so my best friend has been lying in his owls. I should have asked him about that sooner.

"Another letter? Wow, Al, you've become quite popular," I look behind me, folding the letter so  Rowle and Rose can't see. I make eye contact with my cousin and mentally beg her to help me out.

"Yeah he is. Anyway-" she starts to help but Rowle cuts her off, leaning down to see the seal.

"What does it say? Who's it from?" She tucks her blonde hair behind her ear and flashes me a smile. "Please... The regular gossip is boring. I can only listen to Rose-y drone on for so long before my ears bleed," I snort as Rose shoots her a glare.

"It's from Mr. Malfoy," I tell them, holding a finger to my lips so they don't yell anything out for the Slytherins around us to hear. "I've been invited to stay at the Manor for the Holidays."

"Well what did you say?" Rose asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I'll have to ask my parents," I shrug, trying to pretend my heart isn't racing. My son also misses you a great deal, my mind repeats again. Scorpius misses me. The sentiment in the words make me smile.

"Do you think Uncle Harry, I mean your dad, will agree?" My cousin asks, concern crossing her face. I bite my lip nervously, the prospect more daunting than flying a stupid broom stick.

"Guess I'll have to ask," I say weakly, standing up.

"Wow that was not the tea I was expecting but okay!" I give Paige a confused look and she sighs. "Muggles use the term 'tea' for like gossip and things. I've been brushing up on their culture!" Rowle links one arm through mine and one through Rose and starts pulling us down the Great Hall. I stumble along, trying to keep up. The nagging voice in my head refuses to shut up as worries fly through my brain.

What if my father doesn't agree?