(no subject)
Title: Silences
rating: G
wordcount: 1547
prompts used: sadness, cho chang, robin's eggs, blue lace, ocean, blueberries, lyric from into the ocean.
summary: Albus has problems after his parents divorce.
author's notes: It's a bit of a mess of diagnosis, I wrote it incorrectly on purpose because I generally believe that the wizarding world would have problems dealing with mental disorders.
Albus couldn't remember ever having a happy summer. Every one had been a misery. And whilst it was cliché to be the Hero's Resentful Son, he couldn't help but blame his sadness on his father.
The first twelve or so years of his life he spent his summers watching his father cry. His father never celebrated his own birthday, preferring to use it as a day of mourning for all those who died during the battle against You Know Who. And extremely unfortunately for Albus, he was born the same day as his father. His birthdays were nothing more then mum giving him a muffin with a candle in it, and hiding hastily wrapped presents in his closet as to not upset his father.
When the Potter children came home from their first/third/fifth years at Hogwarts, summer sank to a whole new low. Mum had moved out, and instead a weepy Asian woman was there. "I hope you can come to think of me as your mum" she said.
"I love her", dad said.
"He can do what he wants", mum said.
"Your father's gone 'round the bend", most of the aunts and uncles said.
"I hate her", Lily said.
"I hate them both", James said.
Albus didn't say anything. In fact, he stopped speaking altogether. He retreated to his room and stayed there. He only had to leave for two reasons, to use the loo or get food. He'd sneak downstairs to grab enough fresh fruit to last him for the day, then lock his door manually and try to get rid of the sickening feeling that he was falling. He couldn't afford to go downstairs, with dad and Cho and James and Lily all fighting, and relatives coming in and out and trying to talk sense into Harry with Cho still in the room.
It took a week for James to notice he wasn't talking. Albus wasn't offended by the seeming lack of concern on the part of his siblings. They all had the same distracting problem on their minds. In fact, he was inclined to not answer the door when James finally knocked, knowing James' curiosity would only annoy him. But the rapid patter of knuckle against wood meant that James was going to stand there knocking until Albus opened the door, no matter how long he had to wait. After a few minutes Albus gave up and unlocked it.
"Are you alright?" James asked, dark rings around his eyes. As bad as he looked, Albus knew he looked worse. At least James had showered in the last eight days, Albus was greasy and his hair stringy. Not to mention his teeth were likely blue from the blueberries he had stolen from the kitchen earlier. He held his hand out flat and tilted it to the right then the left.
"What are we going to do?" his voice didn't waver, James would never allow himself to show any sort of weakness. Any of James Sirius Potter's occasional sadness was channelled into anger, fear into fight, horror into activism. But Albus knew his brother, knew how miserable he was. Still, all he could do was shrug.
"Are you sick?"
Albus shook his head no.
"But you can't talk?"
Well technically, he probably could. Nothing had happened to his vocal cords, he was capable but the words seemed stuck in his throat. beyond that, he didn't want to. Everyone else was talking far too much, he was just evening things out. If James knew he could talk, he'd try to provoke it. So he shook his head no again.
"Well, that means you're sick. We're going to St Mungo's."
There was a certainty in James' voice, and he was definitely the most wilful of the Potter siblings, but Albus tried to rail against him anyway. He shook his head for a third time, quicker than the other two trying to show his own willpower. The look on James' face showed it was futile.
"Look, Albus. You're going to St. Mungo's. You can go there by choice, or I'll do some spell that'll have Percy's entire department on my arse, but you're going."
And so an hour later Albus found himself wandering down the hall of the hospital himself, looking at the numerous supposedly soothing pictures of ocean landscapes lining the walls. Coming to the hospital had been a bad idea, and now James was can't-be-scared-or-sad-so-he's-furious at him.
"What's wrong with him?" James asked, tone the nearest to quivering that Albus had ever heard.
The wrinkled Mediwitch neatly tucked her wand back into the pocket on her apron and crossed her dark spotted arms over her chest. "It's called elective mutism. When people have a strong emotional blow they sometimes collapse in on themselves. You only need to worry if his emotion starts affecting his magic."
"You mean there's nothing wrong with him? He's not sick? He's chosen to not talk?" James whirled around to face Albus, fingers balled into fists. "All the bullshit that's already going on at home and you chose to act like a prat? Fuck you Albus!"
With that James stormed out of the small room, and the mediwitch only looked at Albus until he felt uncomfortable enough to leave the room as well.
He stood in front of one painting, watching the waves roll and the blue turn to white as the water broke. He didn't think it looked soothing at all, to him it seemed more depressing. But he'd rather stay at the hospital and look at the horrible paintings than go home and deal with Cho or dad or James. Hell, maybe he should hex himself with something nasty, so he can just stay for good. It would be easier.
There were little pockets of chairs all over the hospital. Albus walked the halls until he was too tired to stand anymore, then plopped down on the first empty chair he saw. He ignored the blond teenager and black man sitting on either side of him. It was the way of hospitals, everyone in a waiting room was miserable and terse, and there was no reason to spread the misery by discussing problems.
Except then the teenager put his hand on Albus' knee, and when he looked to the side he recognised the bloke. It was unmistakably Scorpius Malfoy. And the Hufflepuff clearly didn't understand the rules of when to shut up, like most Hufflepuffs don't, because he asked "Why are you here?"
Albus just looked at him. If he couldn't talk, he obviously couldn't say he couldn't talk.
"I'm waiting for my dad. He's got this huge scar on his chest, sometimes it hurts so much he can't even walk into the floo himself. They've got this paste they make for him, something with whipped robin egg and blue lace and shredded pine tree needles and a bunch of other stuff. It reeks, but it helps him, which is all that matters, really. Mum can't make it, she got an Dreadful for her OWL in Potions before she dropped it. Are you waiting for family too?"
That he could respond to, with a shake of his head.
"So there's something wrong with you then. And if you were better you'd have already left, so there's something wrong right now. But you don't look mucked up in any way." Another shake of the head prompted Scorpius to continue. "So maybe you just need a potion too?"
Albus shrugged. He could take a Babbling Beverage to force himself to start talking again. He just didn't want to talk yet.
"Maybe you need a potion. Hmmm, like a Euphoria Elixir? You don't seem your normal jovial Gryffindor self." Albus shrugged again. "Is it 'cause your dad divorced your mum and married his first crush?"
Albus wanted to shout that they didn't marry they were just living together, but he couldn't make the words come out of his throat. Instead he jerked his knee away so Scorpius' hand was no longer resting on it.
"'M sorry. I talk a lot. It must suck. I can't imagine my parents divorcing. They hardly ever fight but when they do I get so cold it's like the entire house has dropped twenty degrees. If they left each other, I'd be as cold as cold as cold could be."
Albus stayed stone still, but closed his eyes so Scorpius couldn't see the tears that were welling up.
"'M sorry. My parents always yell at me for talking about other people's business. My dad hates rumours and speculation. Um, but take this? So you can write me, if you want to talk about it. I might talk too much, but I can listen pretty well too. It comes with the House. I imagine your relatives are all taking sides, it's probably hard to talk to them. I'm neutral."
Albus opened his eyes to see an address scrawled over a pamphlet discussing the pros and cons of Dragonpox vaccinations in children. He took the paper, and Scorpius didn't speak again until he said a quick goodbye when a balding blond man walked out of the office. But it was a silence that didn't hurt as much as the silences of his bedroom, and he did crumple the pamphlet and put it in his pocket.
rating: G
wordcount: 1547
prompts used: sadness, cho chang, robin's eggs, blue lace, ocean, blueberries, lyric from into the ocean.
summary: Albus has problems after his parents divorce.
author's notes: It's a bit of a mess of diagnosis, I wrote it incorrectly on purpose because I generally believe that the wizarding world would have problems dealing with mental disorders.
Albus couldn't remember ever having a happy summer. Every one had been a misery. And whilst it was cliché to be the Hero's Resentful Son, he couldn't help but blame his sadness on his father.
The first twelve or so years of his life he spent his summers watching his father cry. His father never celebrated his own birthday, preferring to use it as a day of mourning for all those who died during the battle against You Know Who. And extremely unfortunately for Albus, he was born the same day as his father. His birthdays were nothing more then mum giving him a muffin with a candle in it, and hiding hastily wrapped presents in his closet as to not upset his father.
When the Potter children came home from their first/third/fifth years at Hogwarts, summer sank to a whole new low. Mum had moved out, and instead a weepy Asian woman was there. "I hope you can come to think of me as your mum" she said.
"I love her", dad said.
"He can do what he wants", mum said.
"Your father's gone 'round the bend", most of the aunts and uncles said.
"I hate her", Lily said.
"I hate them both", James said.
Albus didn't say anything. In fact, he stopped speaking altogether. He retreated to his room and stayed there. He only had to leave for two reasons, to use the loo or get food. He'd sneak downstairs to grab enough fresh fruit to last him for the day, then lock his door manually and try to get rid of the sickening feeling that he was falling. He couldn't afford to go downstairs, with dad and Cho and James and Lily all fighting, and relatives coming in and out and trying to talk sense into Harry with Cho still in the room.
It took a week for James to notice he wasn't talking. Albus wasn't offended by the seeming lack of concern on the part of his siblings. They all had the same distracting problem on their minds. In fact, he was inclined to not answer the door when James finally knocked, knowing James' curiosity would only annoy him. But the rapid patter of knuckle against wood meant that James was going to stand there knocking until Albus opened the door, no matter how long he had to wait. After a few minutes Albus gave up and unlocked it.
"Are you alright?" James asked, dark rings around his eyes. As bad as he looked, Albus knew he looked worse. At least James had showered in the last eight days, Albus was greasy and his hair stringy. Not to mention his teeth were likely blue from the blueberries he had stolen from the kitchen earlier. He held his hand out flat and tilted it to the right then the left.
"What are we going to do?" his voice didn't waver, James would never allow himself to show any sort of weakness. Any of James Sirius Potter's occasional sadness was channelled into anger, fear into fight, horror into activism. But Albus knew his brother, knew how miserable he was. Still, all he could do was shrug.
"Are you sick?"
Albus shook his head no.
"But you can't talk?"
Well technically, he probably could. Nothing had happened to his vocal cords, he was capable but the words seemed stuck in his throat. beyond that, he didn't want to. Everyone else was talking far too much, he was just evening things out. If James knew he could talk, he'd try to provoke it. So he shook his head no again.
"Well, that means you're sick. We're going to St Mungo's."
There was a certainty in James' voice, and he was definitely the most wilful of the Potter siblings, but Albus tried to rail against him anyway. He shook his head for a third time, quicker than the other two trying to show his own willpower. The look on James' face showed it was futile.
"Look, Albus. You're going to St. Mungo's. You can go there by choice, or I'll do some spell that'll have Percy's entire department on my arse, but you're going."
And so an hour later Albus found himself wandering down the hall of the hospital himself, looking at the numerous supposedly soothing pictures of ocean landscapes lining the walls. Coming to the hospital had been a bad idea, and now James was can't-be-scared-or-sad-so-he's-furious at him.
"What's wrong with him?" James asked, tone the nearest to quivering that Albus had ever heard.
The wrinkled Mediwitch neatly tucked her wand back into the pocket on her apron and crossed her dark spotted arms over her chest. "It's called elective mutism. When people have a strong emotional blow they sometimes collapse in on themselves. You only need to worry if his emotion starts affecting his magic."
"You mean there's nothing wrong with him? He's not sick? He's chosen to not talk?" James whirled around to face Albus, fingers balled into fists. "All the bullshit that's already going on at home and you chose to act like a prat? Fuck you Albus!"
With that James stormed out of the small room, and the mediwitch only looked at Albus until he felt uncomfortable enough to leave the room as well.
He stood in front of one painting, watching the waves roll and the blue turn to white as the water broke. He didn't think it looked soothing at all, to him it seemed more depressing. But he'd rather stay at the hospital and look at the horrible paintings than go home and deal with Cho or dad or James. Hell, maybe he should hex himself with something nasty, so he can just stay for good. It would be easier.
There were little pockets of chairs all over the hospital. Albus walked the halls until he was too tired to stand anymore, then plopped down on the first empty chair he saw. He ignored the blond teenager and black man sitting on either side of him. It was the way of hospitals, everyone in a waiting room was miserable and terse, and there was no reason to spread the misery by discussing problems.
Except then the teenager put his hand on Albus' knee, and when he looked to the side he recognised the bloke. It was unmistakably Scorpius Malfoy. And the Hufflepuff clearly didn't understand the rules of when to shut up, like most Hufflepuffs don't, because he asked "Why are you here?"
Albus just looked at him. If he couldn't talk, he obviously couldn't say he couldn't talk.
"I'm waiting for my dad. He's got this huge scar on his chest, sometimes it hurts so much he can't even walk into the floo himself. They've got this paste they make for him, something with whipped robin egg and blue lace and shredded pine tree needles and a bunch of other stuff. It reeks, but it helps him, which is all that matters, really. Mum can't make it, she got an Dreadful for her OWL in Potions before she dropped it. Are you waiting for family too?"
That he could respond to, with a shake of his head.
"So there's something wrong with you then. And if you were better you'd have already left, so there's something wrong right now. But you don't look mucked up in any way." Another shake of the head prompted Scorpius to continue. "So maybe you just need a potion too?"
Albus shrugged. He could take a Babbling Beverage to force himself to start talking again. He just didn't want to talk yet.
"Maybe you need a potion. Hmmm, like a Euphoria Elixir? You don't seem your normal jovial Gryffindor self." Albus shrugged again. "Is it 'cause your dad divorced your mum and married his first crush?"
Albus wanted to shout that they didn't marry they were just living together, but he couldn't make the words come out of his throat. Instead he jerked his knee away so Scorpius' hand was no longer resting on it.
"'M sorry. I talk a lot. It must suck. I can't imagine my parents divorcing. They hardly ever fight but when they do I get so cold it's like the entire house has dropped twenty degrees. If they left each other, I'd be as cold as cold as cold could be."
Albus stayed stone still, but closed his eyes so Scorpius couldn't see the tears that were welling up.
"'M sorry. My parents always yell at me for talking about other people's business. My dad hates rumours and speculation. Um, but take this? So you can write me, if you want to talk about it. I might talk too much, but I can listen pretty well too. It comes with the House. I imagine your relatives are all taking sides, it's probably hard to talk to them. I'm neutral."
Albus opened his eyes to see an address scrawled over a pamphlet discussing the pros and cons of Dragonpox vaccinations in children. He took the paper, and Scorpius didn't speak again until he said a quick goodbye when a balding blond man walked out of the office. But it was a silence that didn't hurt as much as the silences of his bedroom, and he did crumple the pamphlet and put it in his pocket.