albus.

Harry’s son was too ambitious for his own good. He had known that even before Albus was sorted into Slytherin. But there were much worse traits to possess. Hermione was ambitious. But she was also kind-hearted. Her ambition would have never gotten the best of her giving heart. Not that Harry was worried about ambition getting the best of his middle child. Albus had been raised differently than other Slytherins. But his Aunt Hermione would have understood Harry’s half-drunk, philosophical ramblings. After everything he, her, and Ron had been through, she would have understood that striving for a state of just okay would have been more than acceptable. 

“But if I use that for my next speech,” Harry started with a laugh, “then it wouldn’t be very good private, father-son advice, now would it?” Harry imagined himself standing behind the black mahogany, Ministry podium, addressing the wizarding public, and repeating everything he had just said to Albus. He would be fired quicker than a Golden Snitch evading the grasp of even the most-skilled Seeker. Then again, being fired didn’t sound half bad to Harry, now that he had a little bit of Firewhiskey in his system. 

“I ran into her outside the hall earlier,” Harry replied, speaking of his wife. “It may have been the first time we’d been alone since this whole bloody mess began.” Harry had been working late nights the past couple of days, and even when he managed to make it home, he didn’t sleep. He usually sat at the kitchen table, staring off into space. Thinking of nothing but Hermione. “Don’t worry about your mother, Al. She’s strong. Stronger than all of us. But yes, I’m worried about the others too. I wish your Uncle Ron would say more than three words to me. But I know he has plenty on his mind.”

She’d thought about the person who’d killed Hermione. She’d tried to imagine their face, the coldness in their eyes as they took her life without mercy. She’d thought about why they might’ve done it – to start some kind of war, to send a signal, perhaps even out of some deep, personal revenge. But those thoughts dissipated quickly, drowned out by the heavy sadness and emptiness that came from such a loss. “They will be. – The Ministry works quickly, especially in matters like these. I’d be surprised if they don’t have a suspect in custody within the next two weeks.” Hopefully it’d be the right one. With such a major crime, it would be devastating if the wrong person was accused and put away. But at this moment, Victoire would’ve settled for any form of justice… she’d find a way to live with the guilt later. Albus moved closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder. Victoire let out a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding onto. “Why do we have to be anything, Al?” she asked quietly, not even sure if she wanted an answer. “Maman has been making meals for Ron and Rose and Hugo, and Bill – he’s been with them since the moment he heard. Dominique and Louis…” She shrugged. “How are any of us doing right now? I help maman cook, I clean the house so that she doesn’t have to think about it, I listen to their stories about Hermione and try not to let myself fall apart in front of them. How do you do it? Be so strong all the time?”

Was laughter a good sign or a bad sign? It could mean super extreme offence, surely. Despite the worry, Azolia couldn’t help but smile at the outburst. Better than a kick in the teeth or a broom to the balls, as they say. The fire in her cheeks hadn’t quite had a chance to settle down, and not for the first time she was glad her complexion wasn’t pale, so she was never a walking beacon of embarrassment. What d’you do today then, Az? Made someone laugh at a funeral. Not bad, could be worse.

“Wouldn’t want to intrude. You’ve got a very cool, brooding look goin’ on right now, and I don’t fit into that.”

Despite the words, she plonked herself down on the hard bench, immediately swinging her legs restlessly. This was a relief. There was a feeling here of being able to say almost anything, like she was someone easily forgotten, but in a good way. Inconsequential and thus able to be a bit more freer. It was probably part of the reason that on some days Azolia prefered the company of strangers  – a fresh board to throw her personality up against and see what bounced back.

“Love talking. I could bend your ear backwards chatting rubbish about dragons, the Goblin Wars, cocktail concoctions, the little old lady who comes in the pub every Friday and just sits there… take your pick.”

The minute that Al came out with you’re scary, things were somewhat normal for a moment and Scorpius raised an eyebrow. “Not the first time you’ve told me so, so I’m going to choose not to be offended by that,” he said, lifted one corner of his lips just a little in something resembling a smile. “I will take the compliment of being compared to your mom, though. That’s not a bad thing any day of the week.” Being compared to someone so important to Al? He was hardly going to argue that. “How is she holding up?”

His expression changed to something more serious as he listened to what Al had to say, and that was something he got as well. “I think that people should keep their expectations to themselves,” he said, visibly annoyed by the very thought of anyone putting what they thought to be appropriate on Al. “How you react today is up to you. Screw what anyone else thinks, there’s no right way to do this.”

Hand still on Al’s arm, Scorpius smoothed his fingers there gently before retracting the touch. “Anything you need me to sort out so you don’t have to think about it? I could get groceries in and stuff for home.” Practical things, it was true, but dealing with those could just be an extra burden on top of everything else, especially under circumstances like the present. “I’m going to have dinner with Dad, but I’ll be back later on, so you’ll get a few hours of breathing room. Could do breakfast tomorrow if you like?” The results had been mixed in the past, it was true, but Scorpius’ cooking skills had improved over time.

The question of how he was doing was the reminder that Albus knew him far better than most others could ever claim to. Scorpius tilted his head at him, took in the frown, and his immediate urge was to ease it. He was honest, nonetheless. “There were some reminders, but I wanted to be here for you,” he said. “You stuck around for me when it counted, so I’ll do the same for you. That’s how it works, Al.” Anyone who said Slytherins, or former Slytherins for that matter, didn’t understand loyalty wasn’t paying attention. “I won’t dig after how you’re feeling if you don’t want to deal with it today, but any time that you might want to, I’m here. Alright?”

Almost an hour or so had passed since the beginning of the reception, and Harry found himself in an unusual state of affairs: alone. Here he was, standing in the corner of the Great Hall, perched like a predator scouting out his prey. But instead of actively looking for someone to feed on, Harry was praying, with every fiber of his being, that no one was searching to feed on him. He looked up from his glass of pumpkin juice, which he was using to cleanse the fierce palette of Firewhiskey he had indulged in earlier, when he saw his son, Albus, walking towards him. 

Harry was used to Albus second-guessing his words. And he sometimes envied his son’s knack for being immediately aware of knowing when and how to correct himself, which would have come in handy when Harry’s impulsivity kicked in. “Sure,” Harry replied with a slight smirk. “If the universe will ever let me.” Harry’s entire life had seemed to be problem after problem. After destroying Lord Voldemort, he figured the endless reign of tragedy was over. Or so he thought. 

Harry sighed, then thought maybe his response might have been too pessimistic to say to his own son, who was probably turning to his father for some glimmer of hope. “Sorry. I, uh, yeah. I think we will all be okay eventually. But nothing more than that. There’s a life lesson for you, Al. Never be afraid to be satisfied with being okay. Sometimes that’s just how life is.” Harry couldn’t stop himself from continuing on. “Not that I’m not extremely happy with how you and James and Lily have turned out. But it’s in the moments where you are simply just okay, that you should find the best form of satisfaction.” Harry didn’t mean to monologue, but Albus did ask him a moderately philosophical question. 

There was something soft about Albus’s tone – something that seemed gentler. Maybe she was imagining it, too caught up in her own thoughts to properly read her younger cousin.The entire world seemed softer without Hermione Granger. They’d all lost a central part of their family – of the Ministry. Victoire hadn’t spoken with much of her family about how she was feeling, though. Instead, she kept herself busy, tending to her siblings, her mother, her father, making sure that they had anything that they needed – or wanted – during this difficult time. As Albus sat down next to her, she turned to look at him, instantly feeling guilt overwhelm her. He wasn’t the right person to unload all of her feelings onto. And yet… there he was, the only person who’d left the Great Hall to come and make sure that she was okay. “I don’t think any of us can justify it. Not yet. It’s too soon to make any sense of it all.” That was what she told herself, anyway. “Would you believe me if I said I haven’t been holding up?” A small, cynical chuckle escaped her. “I’ve been making sure everyone else is, really. And you?”

Albus found that Victoire and him, despite of being sorted in different houses, could be alike. It wasn’t necessarily in their personalities or interest, but as they got older it became increasingly clear in how they viewed things and dealt with them. Both of them seemed to default to not having their emotions about a situation right away and for everyone to see, and kept to themselves while they let others process. Because of that, though, it seemed that neither one of them knew what to say faced with someone who responded the same. “I just hope that whoever did it gets caught soon,” he told his cousin. “It doesn’t make it right and it’s not going to, but it might to easier to process it knowing the person behind the attack won’t hurt any more people.” That was what he’d been thinking about the past couple of minutes, after days of just being angry. Such an attack couldn’t have been for the sake of it. They could strike again, perhaps go after the next Minister for Magic, perhaps go after another muggleborn. The world wasn’t as safe as it seemed until the week before.

Ginny had lost count of how many people had wanted to talk to her. She had appreciated the effort, really, but it was easy to get overwhelmed. You’d think by now she’d master the art of slipping out of a funeral without people noticing. Sometimes Ginny didn’t want to talk. It was the same thing over and over again. People just didn’t know what to say.  They all thought they had left the evilness in the past.  It certainly didn’t help that the place was crawling with reporters either. The past couple of days, the red head hadn’t really sat down to process what was truly going on. She was just truly running around just like a chicken with its head cut off. 

If there was anywhere around the school grounds that she hoped she would get a minute of peace, it was the quidditch field. The field had always held so many memories for her. Happy memories that right now, she very much needed. Spotting Albus, messy black hair and all, Ginny couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at her lips. “I just escaped a lot of reporters. You knows, perks of a ‘famous’ family and all that.” She laughed, air quotes around famous. Death was a thing that was so familiar for her that she had almost forgotten not everyone was as accustomed to it.  She wouldn’t wish the feeling on anybody, especially her kids. So much time was spent trying to protect the three of them from it, but now she no longer could. “I know, Al. Everyone deals with death differently. There’s no playbook for it.” The redheaded woman let out a soft sigh as she looked at her middle child. “Do you want to be alone?” 

As it turned out, his mother and him had been thinking the exact same thing. Albus was not at all surprised by that. As much as Albus looked like his father - the messy, dark hair spoke for itself - he took more after his mother personality wise, and it showed in moments like these. They both picked this spot to get a breather. Albus didn’t know what the quidditch stands symbolized for his mother, but for him it was a space that he fitted in at, that he belonged, both in his house and in his family. It was a place of peace, not something he reckoned many associated it with.  He merely wrinkled his nose when Ginny mentioned the reports. He didn’t understand why they had to be there. Yes, his family was famous in the broad sense of the world; his father defeated some dark wizard when he was much younger (an accomplishment no one would ever live up to, Albus understood enough to get it had been an incredible feat) and his mother had been a professional quidditch player. As far as celebrities went, they were pretty much it. And then there was aunt Hermione. She’d been Minister for Magic. He shot a quick look behind her. “Seems to me they haven’t followed you here,” he offered. “So you’re save from censoring yourself, for now. I won’t tell.” What he wouldn’t tell he didn’t know, but he guessed that there were plenty of things no reporter needed to hear. 

Avoiding eyes wasn’t easy. Everyone seemed desperate to talk. Azolia was usually only too happy to oblige, but in this case she didn’t know enough. Between the dickheads speculating about who could possibly have had the balls to do this, taking notes frantically with their Quik-Quotes Quills or whatever they were called, and the people who actually knew Hermione Granger and cared so much that this event hurt like nothing else, there was no space for her.

She really shouldn’t be here. Maybe it was justifiable when she was accompanying her mums, something about being a comforting presence. But, now? Azolia was a spectator to some kind of gruesome sport, and all she could see were the hungry, blood-filled eyes of those who feasted on it.

So she snuck away. And immediately found someone else with those curious eyes, feeling like she was being judged for how she was taking all this.

“Nah, not long. Jus’ running away.” Azolia scratched the back of her neck, feeling her cheeks catch alight.

Don’t fuck up and say the wrong thing.

“Wouldn’t worry too hard, mate. These things are hard.”

No shit.

Closed starter for @ofpctters.

Scorpius had attended funerals in the past that changed his life, because they meant that someone beloved was gone forever. There was no way to soften how that felt. It meant that in this moment, he was focused on the people around him, because he hadn’t known Hermione Granger well. She’d been a presence around since he was a teenager hanging out with Al, someone he saw now and then. To the wizarding world, she’d been their chosen Minister for Magic, a force for change, lawful good in a world that had needed balance. But to many of the people in the Great Hall, she’d been much more than that. A friend, a wife, a mother, someone who had been there for most of their lives. It was impossible to consider that someone had wanted her dead and had actually achieved that goal. More than that, though, Scorpius remembered all too well what it was like to lose someone he loved. Observing others struggling with the same meant that he was careful about his approach.

With an uncharacteristically serious expression, Scorpius’ gaze moved across those gathered there, spotted Al talking to yet another person. Al was the kind of person who made sure that others were okay, but he could also end up doing it at his own expense without ever letting it show what it cost him. That was what worried Scorpius for his best friend in that moment, and it meant that he bided his time and waited it out until the conversation ended. Crossing the Hall to reach the other man, Scorpius nudged Albus until they’d moved aside from the main part of the hall, less likely to draw attention in one of the far corners. “You’ve spent every second since before the memorial checking up on everyone else,” he said softly. “Have you taken any time for you, Al?”

Studying him, Scorpius touched his arm, a gesture of solidity as much as comfort. Al had been there for him. He’d do the same in return. “You lost your aunt too, and you never got to say goodbye,” he said, quieter still. “I understand if you don’t want to do all of it right now, but you get to grieve. You’re allowed to feel mad, or sad, or whatever you want to feel.” Watching Al, Scorpius’ brows knit together a little. “Your grief isn’t less important than anyone else’s. You know that, right? Tell me to stay out of it if I’ve got the wrong idea, but I see you.”

There were no words for how Victoire was feeling. Her entire body ached from staying in bed far too long without sleep – her head felt light and airy, overworked from the endless thoughts that kept circling back to haunt her. How could this have happened to Hermione, of all people? The brilliant, ever-diligent, ever-impressive witch that she was beyond lucky to call her aunt? Victoire sat down on one of the benches, outside on the Hogwarts grounds. She pressed her lips together tightly, scared of what she might say if she dared to open her mouth. Her silence lasted only a moment.

“She’s really gone, isn’t she?”

REQUIRED INFORMATION:

CHARACTER LABEL: The Paradox

CHARACTER BIRTHDAY: January 13th, 2006

FORMER HOGWARTS HOUSE: Slytherin

FACECLAIM: Tyler Young

According to Ministry records, [ALBUS SEVERUS POTTER, TWENTY-TWO, HALF-BLOOD, CISMALE] has been considered innocent in the assassination of former Minister of Magic, Hermione Granger, and no further interrogation or a formal trial is necessary at this time. [HE/HIM] is free to return to their job as an [UNSPEAKABLE]. During their interrogation, they were found to be [INDIVIDUALISTIC] and [AMBITIOUS], but also could be [ERRATIC] and [OBSTINATE]. >>> [jules, 24, cet, she/her, n/a]

yes indeed, jules at it again, but this should be the last character i’ll apply for in a while. under the cut are my headcanons for albus which should give you a bit of an idea of how i see him. hmu if you want to plot & i should get a starter up sometime soon!