The Inevitable Fate

Chapter Twenty Two: The Unexpected Ally

Content Warning: Mentions of Self-Harm

Albus heaved a tiresome sigh, wishing that the Black Quill would flutter by already, and drop itself directly onto Albus' lap. All Albus desired more than anything else, was holding that Quill; was cupping the fine edges of the Quill into his quivering fingers and to set it against a scrap bit of parchment. He ached to feel that searing pain, that uttering relief. It would put things at ease. His mind would no longer be screaming with terror, turmoil and his deepest insecurities. Once he had the Quill, Albus could finally leave the chilly cellar. He couldn't pretend being here, unarmed and unaccompanied did not provoke some kind of fear within him. Was he terrified? Most certainly. But the thirst, the anticipation, and the desperate longing to be reunited with the Black Quill brought him nearly enough adrenaline to wash those fears aside.

But nothing.

Nothing at all.

Perhaps Albus wasn't loud enough, passionate enough. It should have worked. The Summoning Spell always works. The Quill had to be down here. Surely, Albus did not come all this way for nothing.

He was growing discouraged, deeply unsatisfied and quite frankly, furious as ever, but did not have enough energy to display any of it. The grasp on his wand strengthened, although his voice was still quite feeble, hardly a whisper.

"Accio Black Quill..." he implored once more.

Were the students right all along? His uneasiness seemed to intensify each second, each minute, and each hour. With discomposure came Albus' insecurities and angsts, which appeared to stick by his side like Caramel Cobwebs from Honeydukes. He could hear it; that annoying little voice in the back of his mind that kept hissing at him cruelly, reminding the boy of all his flaws and mistakes. Perhaps everyone was right about you. Perhaps you really are a Slytherin Squib. No no. Another voice said. You're a great wizard. You've come so far. You're brave. You know it.

He needed everything to stop. He needed his mind to slow down. He needed that Quill. He needed it with every bursting bone in his body. Needed it as if his very life depended on it...

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Albus heard footsteps stir behind him.

Albus' eyes widened, and jumped to his feet, spinning around at once.

Draco Malfoy trudged forward, frowning down at him. His silky blonde hair was fixed in an elegant ponytail clipped with a flowy pink ribbon. He was wearing a rather expensive-looking large black suit. His Hawthorn wand was still grasped in his left hand; confident he would need it in case a duel of some sort broke out; a habit James usually had.

Once Draco saw the brown, feverish face of Albus Potter, he immediately put his wand away.

"Albus..." he murmured, offering the wizard his hand.

"I was just...just..." Albus tried to think of a lie, but to his revulsion, his mind, which was usually crawling with qualms and lies, suddenly went blank as a slate.

"Albus..." Draco said quietly, his grey eyes darting from the naked, unsightly walls to the pathetic lightbulb strung over the dry ceiling that kept flashing irksomely. "Why don't—? Why don't you come upstairs? I don't like that you're down here..."

"O-okay," Albus sniffled, wiping his eyes.

"Elfie, darling," Draco called as he and Albus plodded back up the staircase. "Would you be so lovely and pour us some tea?"

"Certainly, Mr. Malfoy!" Elfie squeaked, snapping her fingers.

The piping teapot, vintage saucers and teacups floated towards the den with a large plate filled with delicious-looking biscuits.