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.
"I shall leave and give you some privacy," Elfie nodded and before Albus could thank her for her hospitality, she Disapparated.
Draco sat on the rocking chair while Albus seated himself onto the black leather couch that reminded him very much of the sofas that were in the Slytherin Dormitory.
Albus evaded eye contact, wishing so badly that he was at the age of seventeen. That way, he could simply vanish into thin air and into an area that was slightly less uncomfortable. He jammed his fingers in his mouth and began chewing his nails frantically. Perhaps he was right after all. Perhaps this really was just another mistake. Albus tended to do that a lot lately, didn't he? Mistake after mistake. Regret within regret. He was disappointed in himself. Probably was a disappointment to everyone he knew. He couldn't help but think back to his first year at Hogwarts. Harry Potter and the Disappointing Son, he once said to his Father. He was growing so tired, so lonesome, it was as if nothing had changed within this year and his first year at Hogwarts. That's not true, of course, loads of things had changed.
Albus and Scorpius both had finally come to terms with who they were. Finally admitted that they fancied one another. Albus came out to his parents, to his loved ones, to the Slytherins. He was Scorpius' boyfriend. Boyfriend. Albus got the trick of duelling, jinxing and spell-casting. James Sirius and Albus were closer. Rose was no longer an annoying prat. Alright, scratch that last one. She was still pretty annoying, but they were friends, now—that certainly was a good change. More to that, the two lovely girls from Slytherin admitted that they were like Albus and Scorpius...that they were gay. If all of these things had really changed, why wasn't Albus celebrating? Why wasn't he happy? Why did he still want to cut?
"Albus!" Draco said a bit too loudly; enough to snap his son's boyfriend back to the Wizarding World.
Albus winced, peering up at him. "Yeah?"
Draco lowered his tone at once. "You're not...I'm not going to yell at you..."
Albus sighed. "Feels like you are..."
"Did you do something...wrong?" Draco questioned, flicking out his wand and summoning the steaming teacup by his lap and sipping soundlessly. "Something you shouldn't be doing?"
Albus darted his emerald-green eyes at him. "You were there. You saw me. You know what...w-w-w-w-what I-I was trying to do..."
Draco scratched his blonde beard, setting the tea aside. "I would hope..." he said adroitly, shifting around in his seat unnervingly, "...that it wasn't what I had thought..."
"I was looking for the Quill," Albus admitted, bowing his head. "That means there's something wrong with me, doesn't it?"
"Albus—"
"Who skips school to take a train to the place where he was face-to-face with Voldemort's daughter?" Albus laughed aloofly at his own misfortune. "Nevermind this place brings up bad memories of Scorpius getting tortured."
Draco suddenly felt as though he couldn't speak at the mentioning of Scorpius. It was as if someone had used the Langlock Jinx on him. It felt as though his tongue was tied to the roof of his mouth. He hated what had happened to Scorpius! Absolutely despised it! He couldn't stand that his own son, his own flesh and blood, had been battered in his own house and that Draco wasn't there to protect him. To protect both boys. What would Astoria think of me if she had known? Draco shivered. Even mentioning her...thinking of her beautiful name...was painful.
Draco put his cup of tea down, leaning forward, as if he were interviewing Albus for an open job posting at the Ministry of Magic.
"Did you come back to the Manor—to the cellar—seeking the Quill or seeking closure?" he asked solicitously.
"I wish it was that poetic," Albus muttered, his face reddening with shame. "It's not. It's e-embarassing."
"I want you to hear me out, Albus Potter. Want you to listen to me," Draco said strictly, sounding quite like Albus' own Father whenever Albus was in trouble. Surprisingly, the next sentence Draco uttered was heartfelt and benevolent. "Nothing that comes out of your mouth could ever be embarrassing. You can tell me anything. Alright?"
Albus slipped his hands deep within his robe pocket. A habit that normally brought him comfort. But the soothing comfort he once was rushed with whenever his fingers slipped within his pocket was no longer present for the Quill was not there anymore. Albus removed his hands from his robes and stared at Draco mournfully.
"I didn't come here because I needed closure. I came here because I just really wanted to find that damned Quill. Hogwarts, it's—it's too much. Too difficult. Unbearable. Kids are making fun of us because of what Skeeter said. But this shouldn't be so bad, right? It's just another day at Hogwarts, isn't it? I keep thinking...keep fearing that once we come out, it'll be even worse! I'm not sure if I can handle that! So I-I had to. Had to leave school today. I had the urge, Draco. The urge to cut. Only, I don't have the Quill anymore. The last place I saw it was here, so I thought, perhaps if I come here, I'll find it. I wanted to use it. Wanted to use it so badly. I know you think I'm ill...sick...and maybe I am, I don't know! I thought...thought I wouldn't have that urge anymore...but...it's still there...after everything, it's still there..." Albus sheltered his face with his hands and began shaking. "What's wrong with me?" He sobbed through his fingers.
It was so frustrating. Just when Albus was beginning to think that things were alright, they weren't. Skeeter published deathly lies about Albus and his boyfriend. Scorpius and Albus had that awful fight because Albus didn't like talking about what happened in the cellar. The Gryffindors duelled them in the Great Hall this very morning. Things were toppling down like a game of Gobstones. Only, Albus was the Gobstone, and the person throwing him from disaster to disaster was himself. He wanted to break those ludicrous fancy teacups and saucers, which were marked with those ghastly pink flowers. He wanted to chuck all of those rich, fancy rubbish into the fizzing fire. He wanted to wail as loud as he pleased and tell Draco would never understand what it was like to be Albus Severus Potter. His sadness came in waves of blue and orange, it seemed. First, it was a blue tide of sorrow and then the sorrow transformed into an orangey fire; the anger was loud, untameable and cruel. It would break anyone who dared to come close to it.
Draco quickly jumped out of his chair and ran across the room. He slid beside Albus, patting the curve of his back. "Nothing is wrong with you...for the record—I don't think any of those things. Don't think you're ill. You're sad, perhaps. You've suffered. And...and it's alright, Albus, it's alright." Draco enveloped his arm over Albus' shoulder, bringing him close to his chest, as if the boy was his own. He tried to do it in the same way Harry would console Albus. But Draco was no expert at this. He was making up the rules as he went. He wondered what to do next. What was a good way to approach this? Perhaps he should send Harry an Owl about all of this? Oh, no; Harry was down at the Ministry trying to get hold of Rita Skeeter. Getting Skeeter to apologize for the article, to have a new article published was important in making sure Albus and Scorpius felt safe at school. Draco ought to let Harry take care of that. It seemed, Draco had to do this on his own. But what was he supposed to say? What did the right cord of sentences consist of? He didn't want to say anything wrong or make things worse with Albus. He wanted Albus to be heard, seen, and understood. Albus needed to know he wasn't alone. Draco Malfoy had no idea what to say to calm the boy's mind. The fact that Draco walked in on Albus only seconds before Albus was going to cut himself...that meant something, didn't it? It meant he had what it took to continue to talk Albus out of it. Another question haunted Draco's mind. What if Draco didn't come at all? Would Albus be alright? Would Albus find another way to hurt himself? He didn't want to think about any of that. All he wanted to do was to keep Albus talking. It was easier said than done, wasn't it? Draco wished he could slip into Scorpius' room and chug down a vial of Liquid Luck. How helpful would that be right now. But...there was no Liquid Luck. There was just Draco and Albus. Draco continued rubbing the shoulder of Albus until his crying came to a dull hum. "You've got to give yourself come credit, some time, Albus. It hasn't been very long since Delphi...ahem...ahem...since it all had happened. You've been through hell and back. It's only been a week Albus. It's okay...to want to cut. Given everything, I don't blame you for wanting to. Stopping...it isn't easy. You can't expect yourself to stop cutting in just a matter of days. It's not like that. Stopping... it's a process. Just a process, Albus. Earlier, I had asked you if you felt like you were doing something wrong...something...something you shouldn't be doing. I misspoke. What you're doing...it isn't wrong. It isn't something you shouldn't be doing." Draco shook his head to himself. Everything he was saying, everything he was trying to say came out all wrong and cluttered. He cleared his throat. "Ahem. Ahem. Ahem. I-I mean yes, you shouldn't be cutting...but...you're...you're just trying to survive, Albus. You're on survival mode, yes? You're only trying to deal with everything you've got on your plate. I don't want to say what you are doing is wrong, because then it would make you feel ashamed of cutting. I don't want you to feel ashamed of cutting. Cutting is your way of surviving. But what I would like to say, what I am trying to say, is that it is important to find another option. Something other than cutting. A safer, healthier coping method. But if you can't find an alternative, well, that's okay, too. Perhaps we can come up with one together? Am I—? Am I making sense, Albus?"
Albus, too moved to speak, merely nodded. Everyone who knew of Albus' cutting always referred to it as wrong. They often demanded that Albus should stop. Of course Albus knew cutting wasn't particularly healthy...he was well aware that he should stop cutting. But stopping was quite difficult. It was a battle. A war. A seemingly impossible mission. It was strange, sitting there, and hearing someone say they understood what Albus was going through. That it was okay to cut. No one ever really understood Albus' perspective on it. Not until today.
"Can I ask you a question?" Draco asked politely.
Albus moved away from Draco and peered up at him, nodding.
"If I hadn't come, and you had the Quill...would you use it?"
Albus licked his lips, pondering if he should spit out a beautiful lie or mutter out the grim truth.
"Yeah," he said in a small voice.
"And that's okay," Draco nodded. "But the Quill, Albus, you won't find it in the cellar..."
"Must be at the Ministry then," Albus said glumly. "Would have headed there next...I know Dad works there and all, but I figured I would use Polyjuice to disguise myself...wouldn't be the first time..." He smiled to himself, remembering the time he and Scorpius went into the Ministry to find the Time-Turner in Aunt Hermione's office.
"It's right here," Draco murmured, ramming his large hands into the pocket of his suit and showing him the Black Quill, which was looking as if it were brand-new.
"Why?" Albus was breathing heavily. "Why are you showing this to me?"
"It's not real, the Quill," Draco said calmly, moving his hand away from Albus, who, to his great shock, tried to snatch it from his hands. Draco stared at him, astonished that Albus would try to pry it out of Draco's grip. Perhaps showing Albus his deepest temptation wasn't the wisest idea. Draco felt about as dimwitted as Crabbe and Goyle; those pathetic lunks. He stuffed the Quill back into his massive, rectangular pocket. "It's...a copy. We used the Gemino spell. After we did a thorough investigation, we had the real one destroyed. The reason the Summoning Charm didn't work when you used it was because I charmed the Quill to not respond to any sources of magic, in case you, or Delphi tried to locate it. You see, the reason I have this copy of the Quill is because I need it. I need this...for...for closure. I want to destroy it. Once and for all. Along with the other dark artifacts I've got stored in the attic. Reminds me...got to get that Grandfather clock back from Longbottom. He gave me 10 galleons to use that thing for his Boggart lesson." Albus pulled his eyebrows together. Was that why the Boggarts seemed much darker? Draco exhaled softly. "The Quill, Albus, is not a Horcrux. I suspect your Dad wants to tell you all of this, but since you're here, I think you ought to hear it now. The connection you have with Delphi. The one she has with you...she created through the usage of the Black Quill. The more you used it, the more you could hear her voices...and...the more she could gain access to your web of thoughts."
"How come it's stopped?" Albus asked. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it has. But I'm just curious as to why? Wouldn't the connection between us grow stronger now that I have one of the Prophecy's lines on my skin?"
Draco scowled at him. "That's what we are unsure of. No one really knows why the voices have stopped. Unfortunately, there is no solid, concrete answer. We have many theories but the most probable one has to be the one your Dad proposed. Harry suspects it could be because you threw the Quill into the Fiendfyre. You see, Fiendfyre holds a sort of dark magic that destroys anything it touches. Even dark and dangerous artifacts. We managed to miraculously recover the Quill, yes. But the dangers of the Black Quill no longer exists. It's just a normal Quill now. Of course, it still allows the writer of the Quill to have their blood...cut...through...ahem...well...you know...ahem...it's just...it no longer has any connection between you and Delphi. Unfortunately, Albus, we cannot seem to find Delphi. Nor can we find Yann. But I assure you, once we do find them, they will be locked up for good."
"Was supposed to be locked up for good the last time," Albus said quietly.
"I know," Draco empathized. "I know. I'm bloody furious that she had managed to flee the first time. But it's different now because she's got Yann by her side. Once we find Yann, he could be the key in capturing her. All I need is for you and my son to identify Yann once we got him. His parents are heartbroken. They can't seem to understand why their Quidditch-loving, perfect Gryffindor golden-boy son is working with the daughter of Voldemort. We haven't got any idea what made him turn...bad, I guess. No one in Hogwarts can figure it out either. Hogwarts...well...the Professors seem to be keeping everyone in the dark until we can figure out how to address everything. The students...they all suspect Yann is ill...that he's at home with his parents recovering from Spattergroit." He wrinkled his nose. "Nasty, contagious illness. Suspect that would keep all of the questions at bay. Not sure how much longer we can keep that up. Not to mention the Ministry is in havoc with Delphi escaping. Loads of people want to interview you both, wanting to hear your unique side as to what really happened. Of course, Harry and I keep shooing them away. None of their business as to what happened. I won't let you or my son have to go through the torture of retelling your story. It's re-traumatizing."
Albus pulled his eyebrows together, thinking hard. "I-I don't mind," he said quickly. "I mean, I mind, yeah. Repeating your trauma from your own lips only intensifies that trauma. But perhaps there is another way around it. Perhaps, I won't have to say a single word. Can't the Ministry take my memory and see what happened? They can even test it out to see if it is an Authentic Memory or a Tampered Memory. That way, I won't have to speak about it. They can just see what happened, rather than hear about it. Scorpius could do the same, too, if he's alright with it. That way, no one could bombard us with questions. No one could bother us. Aunt Hermione wouldn't face as much heat about the whole Delphi and Yann scandal. I could even give the Ministry the memories of Yann bullying me, so they can see that Yann had always had it out for me. Had always hated me."
Draco casted Albus a large beam. "You truly are brave. Surely you know that by now, don't you?"
Albus grinned at him; thinking of what his Dad had said after Albus had come out to him.
"Yeah, I've been told that," he smirked.
"This is a really big deal, Albus," Draco said thoughtfully. "You ought to speak to Harry about it. Think it's a great idea, really. Would make things easier for you."
"And...and Delphi?" Albus said, not realizing he was whispering now. "She won't ever...can't ever communicate with me through my cuts?"
"No," Draco said with a slow smile. "The connection between the two of you is broken now. There is no way she can contact you with her thoughts. You shouldn't have any more nightmares of her. Nightmares of her speaking directly to you, I mean. No more voices. It's...it's gone. She's gone."
Albus wasn't expecting to, but before he knew it, he was hugging Draco once again. He wasn't in tears, either. He just felt...grateful. Grateful to be alive. Grateful that all of this had stopped. Grateful that the connection between Delphi and himself was finally severed. It seemed too good to be real. Delphi could no longer communicate with Albus. She could no longer appear in his dreams. She could no longer threaten to bring harm to Scorpius. He was free. Really, truly free.
Draco froze at once. The Potters hug far too much, he thought to himself. He never really knew how to respond to hugs, especially coming from Harry's son. As a boy, his parents never hugged him. They never showed him any affection, either. They were stone-cold, hauntingly vile and unapologetically vindictive. They were anything but loving. Growing up, Draco vowed he would never be like his parents. He would be better. Far better.
When beautiful Scorpius was born, loving him was easy. It came so naturally to Draco. But the act of hugging, no matter how hard Draco tried to pretend it wasn't anything ordinary, was still difficult for Draco to do. He hugged Scorpius whenever he was crying, sure. But just hugging because you...wanted to...that certainly was different. It was difficult, but Draco managed to put his own awkwardness aside, and hurriedly patted Albus' head as if he were an Appaloosa Puffskein. Perhaps this is why Scorpius enjoys hugs so much. He thought to himself. Because Albus is clearly a hugger as well.
Albus pulled away from Draco, grateful for their little chat, and glowered at the fireplace.
"So...it's...it really is over?"
Draco groomed his own beard, finding himself getting lost within the entrancing flames of the fire too.
"Yes. Seems it is."
Albus' emerald eyes travelled to the front door. "Suppose I should be on my way, then," he muttered, stumbling to his feet. "Reckon everyone's probably wondering where I've gone, anyway."
"Don't be foolish," Draco said straightening up. "I'll escort you back to Hogwarts."
Albus shook his head stubbornly. "Came all this way alone, didn't I?" he reminded him.
"Exactly," Draco said grimly. "Certainly not letting you leave alone, either. Besides, I need to see my son. Meaning to ask him how his sessions with the Healers went. Of course, I also would like to see him. Ask him how he's doing." He jumped up from the couch and pointed his wand at the saucers, teacups and biscuits, watching them all drift back to the empty kitchen. There was a great grin on his fine-looking face. He appeared quite excited at the prospect of seeing Scorpius again.
"Erm. Right about the Healers session..." Albus stopped walking and bobbed his head down, feeling rather abashed. "We didn't...d-d-didn't go..."
Draco wanted to scold his son, and Albus, too. How could they be so dimwitted? How could they skip their Healers session? After everything, why were they breaking more rules? Did they not understand the seriousness of it all? How helpful these sessions were, given everything they've gone through? It was important and necessary for them to go! Oh, how badly Draco wanted to yell at his son once he arrived at Hogwarts. He wanted to scream at Albus too, for influencing his son to skip their sessions, but, Draco knew, yelling would only shatter the rapport he was building with Albus, so instead, he stiffly nodded, doing a rather poor job of concealing his anger.
Albus, however, wasn't so easily fooled.
"You can yell. It's alright," he said flatly, staring Draco dead in the eye.
Draco snorted lightly. "I won't yell, Albus. If I've learned anything from being a child, it's this," he said quite calmly. "Yelling only shatters the relationship between parent and child, not strengthens it."
"I..." Albus was at a loss for words, determined Draco was playing some sort of trick. They did something wrong, didn't they? That meant they deserved to be yelled at. "But we—"
"You two must go tomorrow, then," Draco said simply, turning around and fetching his black umbrella. "Don't want to hear any excuses. You and my son are going to see the Healers. That, Albus, is an order."
"Do you think—?" Albus tore away from Draco's view. "It's doltish, but I thought...thought now that I have Scorpius, I wouldn't have that need to cut anymore. But I still have that urge. That desire to use the Quill." He closed his eyes, sighing loudly before meeting Draco's eyes. "Love can't erase a pain so deep, can it?"
Draco smacked his lips together, pondering. "Love can do many things. Erasing pain is not one of them. That, Albus, is up to you. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yeah," Albus said quietly, slumping back down onto the leather couch, his fingers circling around the edges of the sofa. "I just want Scorpius to be happy," he tried to explain to Draco. "I want to make him happy the way he makes happy. But if he finds out that I wanted to...hurt myself today, it would destroy him. There's no denying, he'd be devastated."
"That's exactly why it is necessary that you see the Healers," Draco reasoned, he too, taking a seat. Although this time, he settled himself on the rocking chair once again.
As much as Albus wasn't particularly fond of the idea of going to see the Healers, he knew it was in the best interest of himself and of Scorpius for them to go.
"I...you're right...I have to go," Albus said. "It's...it is necessary." He was clouded with uncertainty...a thought he kept struggling with. He knew this was the time to let it escape. To let it out in the open. "I have to ask you something," he said suddenly, finding it difficult to meet the man's eyes. "As Scorpius' Father, I feel obligated to ask."
Albus Potter wants to ask me...a question. A question he feels obliged to ask seeing as I am Scorpius' Dad. Draco's eyes hardened at once. If this fifteen-year-old boy asks for my son's hand in marriage, I will throw him out of the house without question! Draco hurriedly nodded, wanting to get this over with already. He had his answer ready at his very lips. No. You may not wed my son. You are far too young. Ask me again in 10 years or so.
"Should I—? Should I break up with Scorpius?" Albus asked with tears in his eyes. As the words left his lips, Albus knew, it felt wrong. He knew the answer to his own question. He just needed to hear Draco's take on it.
Draco's eyes widened at once. He certainly wasn't expecting this. "Why would you say—?"
"Because I still want to use the Quill." Albus bowed his head down. "He should be with someone who doesn't cut himself."
"Cutting yourself doesn't make you unworthy of love, Albus," Draco said gently, now wishing Albus had asked for his son's hand in marriage. It would have been easier than this. He wasn't positive how to phrase this in a light manner, and hoped he was doing Albus justice. "Cutting yourself just means...you've got some Dementors to battle. We all have a dark side. Doesn't mean we can't love or be loved. Just means we have to come up with a strong Patronus charm. And that Patronus charm cannot be your significant other. You must be your own Patronus charm. Besides, you are trying to do that, aren't you? Trying to be your own Patronus. Trying to find other ways to cope. The Healers are there for that. But Albus, know that if you ever need a break from your relationship to focus on your healing, that is perfectly okay, too. Scorpius would understand. I would understand."
"Thank you." Albus exhaled. "You're right. It's only been a week. It's...it's okay to slip...to relapse. It'll be okay. I'll...I'll be okay..." he muttered, not realizing he was saying his thoughts aloud.
"That you will."
"We'll do as you say," Albus agreed. "We will go see the Healers. They'll be able to come up with solutions...alternatives...to cutting...reckon that would help loads."
"I cannot think of an alternative as of right now, Albus. But what I can think of is...a sort of...distraction." Draco dug within his pocket and showed him the Black Quill. "How about you destroy it?"
Albus stepped back. "M-me?"
Albus watched the Black Quill; his eyes were incomprehensible. His instinct was to hold the Quill and to run the tip through a piece of parchment. He longed to feel the cooling yet stabbing feeling strike through his very skin. He needed to forget about his troubles for a bit. But he couldn't do it. Somehow, Albus managed to restrain himself. He held his hands behind him, studying the Quill with his emerald eyes.
Draco was hardly oblivious. He could clearly see Albus struggling while wearing a calm mask that did not suit his demeanor. "If this is too much for you, just say the word, and I'll put it away immediately—"
"I can handle it!" Albus said a little too loudly. "S-sorry," he muttered, embarrassed of himself. "I-I could do it, but...don't you need to destroy it?" he questioned, trying to change the subject, as if nothing had happened. "What about your closure?"
"Closure is irrelevant at the moment," Draco stated. "What I need...is for you to be safe. Think you're the one who needs to destroy it."
Albus gathered the strength he needed to hold the Black Quill in his palm. There it was. Right in his hand. Right where he thought it would be. In the Manor. It would be too easy, too cruel, to just take the Quill and leave. He had to do it, didn't he? He had to defeat the very thing that brought him such bliss during times of trouble.
"Go on, Albus." Draco said urgently. "It's you who has to do this."
"Actually," Albus' lips curled into a smile. "I can think of another person who'd benefit from destroying it."