"It was always difficult being Harry Potter and it isn't much easier now that he is an overworked employee of the Ministry of Magic, a husband, and the father of three school-age children.
While Harry grapples with a past that refuses to stay where...
Lights come up on the Potter home. It appears less cheerful now, and this has nothing to do with the lack of Christmas decorations. On the couch, a flattened pillow and disheveled blanket signify that HARRY is not sleeping in the bedroom. The writing desk is overflowing with open scrolls and unsteady towers of books. The portrait of GINNY is gone from the mantlepiece, and the Weasley family clock has returned. It stands in the center of the space, half-wrapped in an old quilt. We listen to its rhythmic ticking and watch as time persists to carry on in an empty, lifeless room.
Eventually, the front door opens. HARRY and ALBUS enter. They say nothing as they take off their shoes. Despite the long stretch of silence, the tension between them is as perceptible as the ticking of the clock. ALBUS, smug and irritated, his eyes have become darker, his face more sallow. HARRY's gaze has never been clearer, his eyes fixed on the back of his son's head with something close to wrath. It's like watching a fuse fizzle into a stick of dynamite. We are all simply waiting for the explosion, unsure what has caused it but certain that the eruption is mere moments away.
In the absence of words, HARRY rolls up the blanket and places it on the floor along with the pillow. He gestures for ALBUS to sit on the empty couch. ALBUS snarls and stays put.
HARRY(with a growl): Sit!
ALBUS sighs and then sits — numb to the world — his dad standing over him.
ALBUS: Go on. The faster we get this over with...
HARRY (through gritted teeth): Of all the stupid things! What — the — devil — were — you — thinking? You might be expelled! Do you understand that?
ALBUS: I don't care.
HARRY: That's obvious.
ALBUS: It's a temporary suspension.
HARRY: Thanks to me. You destroyed school property!
ALBUS (defiantly): Uncle George destroyed school property when Uncle Fred was alive. A lot, in fact. There's literally a puddle of swamp roped off in the fifth floor corridor with a little sign next to it. Tell me how I'm so different.
HARRY: That's a load of tosh. It was a different time and different circumstances. The twins were never malicious. You purposefully destroyed a piece of history, and you broke into the Hufflepuff dormitory to do so. For what? Just to hurt me?
ALBUS(sounding out each syllable): The Legendary Harry? Nothing can hurt him. He's the Boy Who Lived!
HARRY: Don't play games, Al. Whatever gibberish you're talking, you need to stop it, now.
HARRY rubs his face. He does look rather drained.
Honestly, do you not regret devastating an entire house of your fellow classmates?
ALBUS: No. I'm not James. I'm not Lily. I'm certainly not you. (beat) I'm nobody. Hogwarts isn't actually that pleasant a place when you don't fit in. I'd probably be more content in Azkaban. Besides, none of this matters.
HARRY: Al, you know it matters! It mattered to them! It mattered to me! I gave Hufflepuff that Cup in honor of Cedric! And you destroyed it on a whim.
HARRY is slightly heartbroken.
ALBUS(amusedly): You won on a technicality. It was a tie...
HARRY: You weren't there...
ALBUS: ...and your opponent died, no thanks to you.
HARRY: ...you don't understand.
ALBUS: And yet...
ALBUS puts a finger to his chin. He taps it slowly.
...you kept the winnings. Bit selfish, are we?
HARRY (breathless): I've never been selfish! I gave those winnings to Fred and George so they could open their shop on Diagon Alley. I never cared about the Triwizard Tournament, not for a second.
ALBUS: Harry Potter, not putting fame and fortune above all else? Even the rules of the tournament? I'm shocked. Utterly.
HARRY: I'm not going to rise to your bait. You know I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire. If this is who you think I am, you really don't know me. Regardless, you're stuck with me for three weeks. The rules are as follows...
ALBUS laughs to himself, making HARRY more determined to break his son like a stubborn horse.
Firstly, you'll keep a civil tongue or you'll wish you'd never been born. Secondly, no owls. No outside communication at all. Thirdly, I expect this entire house to be cleaned from beak to tail. And don't think for a second that you can get help from Robespierre or use magic.
ALBUS: What?
HARRY: No arguments! In fact...
HARRY extends an open palm. ALBUS rolls his eyes and grudgingly hands over his wand.
You'll get this back upon your return to Hogwarts. If they even let you back. For now, your wand will be locked away upstairs, so don't bother looking for it.
ALBUS: Is that all, Master Harry?
HARRY: Yes. So — remind me — how will you be spending your evening?
ALBUS (sounding miserable): I will be cleaning the whole house by hand until my knuckles bleed.
HARRY: Too right, you will.
ALBUS stands, walks in a wide arc around the clock, and trudges up to his bedroom. HARRY lingers at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a scowl.
I swear, I'm putting a stop to this rubbish. I'm stamping it out of you, one way or another, boy.
A door slams. HARRY looks suddenly weary as he reenters the living room. He looks up at the clock face and shakes his head. We are to assume that the hand marked "ALBUS" is pointing in the wrong direction. HARRY sits at the writing desk. He opens a book.
Fade to black
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