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crazyparakiss
Title: My Name Is Albus Potter
Rating: PG-16?
Word Count: 600+
Pairing(s): Al/Scorp
Warnings: Drug use
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Albus Potter has a problem.
Author/Artist's Notes: Drabble, my first actually.
The roaring of the crowd doesn’t faze him nor do the rapidly blinking lights. He’s somewhere above this battlefield of sweat and sex, a place far away where nothing can hurt him. The deadened feeling of his soul is cast away, as he floats to a better reality than the one he knows.
Sitting with leaden arms against the cement wall he watches with vacant eyes the silent shadows that dance around the empty room. He smiles, but he doesn’t really know why, and feels nothing as numbness caresses his body. It’s easier to not feel than walk around with a hollowness radiating from the inside out. Glancing down at the dull needle beside him on the grimy floor he sighs, nothing can touch him here.
They corner him, Mum and Dad, tell him that Jamie really is a giant rat. With a mingling look of pity and disgust his way they tear apart his room. Old syringes, rolling papers, glass pipes, rubber hoses, and tools he’s long forgotten fall from under his mattress as they shake it out. Out of the drawers of his dresser, from under the loose floorboard they pry up, and from within the soles of his favourite trainers. They order him to strip and Dad searches him like the good Auror that he is, disgust bubbles within his chest.
“Why Al?” They ask when they are all in the sitting room conducting an intervention.
“I can’t stand myself.” He cries as the emptiness he feels claws its way to the surface, the incomplete heart with its many fissures is visible to them now. Al wants to hide it away, keep it curled close and nurture the wounds with vices.
“Scorpius must be disappointed.” Mum whispers as they take him to St. Mungo’s.
The hospital is bleak, smelling of death and birth and feeling. It claws at his skin and invades his senses; threatening to overwhelm him, and so he picks at his arms hoping to tear it off before it can enter his pores. Dad flinches at the sight he doesn’t realise he makes, and grabs his thin pale hands into his broad tan ones, “Don’t,” is all he whispers.
The first week is the worst, sweat drenches his body and vomit hollows out his stomach. The pills they bring stave off the need a little but not as much as he’d like. He wants a fix, needs the freedom. This reality is too much to bear.
The second week passes, and he doesn’t feel as sick as he was. Yet, the need is still racing through his veins.
So many days pass, he doesn’t remember how long he’s been at the centre. Mum and Dad visit, Jamie he refuses to see, and Lily’s sad expression is too much for him to bear. When Scorpius visits he doesn’t know what to feel.
“Al.” He says softly.
“Scorpius.” He replies, “I miss you.”
“I told you, if you get better I will be waiting with open arms.”
He smiles sadly, “I know, but I don’t know if I can.”
“All it takes is one step at a time.”
They don’t kiss, nor do they hug, nothing more is said and Scorpius leaves as quickly as he came. However, he feels a new sense of hope. For the first time in he doesn’t know how long, he can feel happy or excited without chemical help.
A few days later he attends a meeting, much to his councillors astonishment and joy. When they reach him in the sacred circle he stands. His nervous habit of picking has him pinching his arms but they don’t frown at him or send pitying glances, and he knows they understand.
“Hello my name is Albus Potter and I am an addict.”
“Hello Albus.” They chorus.
crazyparakissTitle: My Name Is Albus Potter
Rating: PG-16?
Word Count: 600+
Pairing(s): Al/Scorp
Warnings: Drug use
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Albus Potter has a problem.
Author/Artist's Notes: Drabble, my first actually.
One pill makes you larger
The roaring of the crowd doesn’t faze him nor do the rapidly blinking lights. He’s somewhere above this battlefield of sweat and sex, a place far away where nothing can hurt him. The deadened feeling of his soul is cast away, as he floats to a better reality than the one he knows.
And one pill makes you small
Sitting with leaden arms against the cement wall he watches with vacant eyes the silent shadows that dance around the empty room. He smiles, but he doesn’t really know why, and feels nothing as numbness caresses his body. It’s easier to not feel than walk around with a hollowness radiating from the inside out. Glancing down at the dull needle beside him on the grimy floor he sighs, nothing can touch him here.
And the pills that mother gives don’t do anything at all
They corner him, Mum and Dad, tell him that Jamie really is a giant rat. With a mingling look of pity and disgust his way they tear apart his room. Old syringes, rolling papers, glass pipes, rubber hoses, and tools he’s long forgotten fall from under his mattress as they shake it out. Out of the drawers of his dresser, from under the loose floorboard they pry up, and from within the soles of his favourite trainers. They order him to strip and Dad searches him like the good Auror that he is, disgust bubbles within his chest.
“Why Al?” They ask when they are all in the sitting room conducting an intervention.
“I can’t stand myself.” He cries as the emptiness he feels claws its way to the surface, the incomplete heart with its many fissures is visible to them now. Al wants to hide it away, keep it curled close and nurture the wounds with vices.
“Scorpius must be disappointed.” Mum whispers as they take him to St. Mungo’s.
The hospital is bleak, smelling of death and birth and feeling. It claws at his skin and invades his senses; threatening to overwhelm him, and so he picks at his arms hoping to tear it off before it can enter his pores. Dad flinches at the sight he doesn’t realise he makes, and grabs his thin pale hands into his broad tan ones, “Don’t,” is all he whispers.
The first week is the worst, sweat drenches his body and vomit hollows out his stomach. The pills they bring stave off the need a little but not as much as he’d like. He wants a fix, needs the freedom. This reality is too much to bear.
The second week passes, and he doesn’t feel as sick as he was. Yet, the need is still racing through his veins.
So many days pass, he doesn’t remember how long he’s been at the centre. Mum and Dad visit, Jamie he refuses to see, and Lily’s sad expression is too much for him to bear. When Scorpius visits he doesn’t know what to feel.
“Al.” He says softly.
“Scorpius.” He replies, “I miss you.”
“I told you, if you get better I will be waiting with open arms.”
He smiles sadly, “I know, but I don’t know if I can.”
“All it takes is one step at a time.”
They don’t kiss, nor do they hug, nothing more is said and Scorpius leaves as quickly as he came. However, he feels a new sense of hope. For the first time in he doesn’t know how long, he can feel happy or excited without chemical help.
A few days later he attends a meeting, much to his councillors astonishment and joy. When they reach him in the sacred circle he stands. His nervous habit of picking has him pinching his arms but they don’t frown at him or send pitying glances, and he knows they understand.
“Hello my name is Albus Potter and I am an addict.”
“Hello Albus.” They chorus.
