A/N: This is not a story of giving up. In some ways, it is a story of acceptance. Sometimes acceptance is a challenging thing to do, especially when it goes against the wishes of others, and above all, self preservation.

Albus' choice is not for everyone. After all, there is a tremendous challenge in continuing the fight.

Letters: A prologue

there are ten letters between life and death

~.~

Scorpius H. Malfoy to Albus S. Potter – 29th July 2022

A,

Before you get started; yes I do realise we saw each other fourteen hours ago, and no I'm not diligently pining away for you. There's still over a month to do that, or just get used to the fact that my father dislikes you and hence, there isn't any time for more frivolity at the Potter household.

This isn't, believe it or not, another love letter (I know you file these away, don't deny it), but more of a pleading note. Pleading, because I left my Quidditch robes at your house and I kind of need them back. Quite desperately, actually, because Merlin knows my mother will go absolutely spare if she thinks I've lost them, and Merlin also knows she does not need any more stress or she will spontaneously combust.

If you have decided to act as my best mate should and find the sweaty, very lovely smelling items, I should remind you that they're at the bottom of your washing basket. At least, I think that's where I put them, unless your sister's mental friend has attempted to salvage a reminder of me. I know you hate it when I point out that in general, muggles are crazy berks however, she is the best casing point.

I realise you're going to make some sort of cruel dig about all of this, and yes, I do apologise for trying to con your dear mother (bless her soul), into washing my sweaty robes, but I really need them, Al. So stop whinging about how lazy I may be and please owl them over as soon as possible. I would floo back and collect them myself but you'll never guess who turned up at the Manor today, shutting off all the connections and restoring the wards to Azkaban standards.

Yes, it is Sir Peacock himself. The crazy berk has gone all security conscious, again. Sweet Merlin he gets on my nerves.

So in answer to your inevitable question, yes, father is back from France. Awfully sunburnt as well, mind you. He must have made a quick trip down to L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue to visit Zambini's father, because everyone knows that Sir P would never choose to live somewhere even mildly uplifting, and La Maison d'Avranches is fucking dull at the best of times.

Father is back, and as usual, he was exceedingly tardy. Mother is still giving him those 'so help me god I will skin you alive' looks at the moment, not only because Father has serious timing issues, but because of the company he has returned with. Merlin help us (mother and I, of course, Father brought this on himself so there's no sympathy for him), I wish they would never leave that godforsaken country. I equally wish Father would just lock Sir Peacock up with some nutty house elves and his psychotic birds.

As it turns out, however, Malfoys are supposed to revel in each other's company, so I've been locked down with them, and I'm beginning to lose my marbles. I think that's probably self-evident, because when else would I ever be bothered to write you a letter over twenty words? Not to mention that this was intended to simply ask for a brotherly favour.

Akin to my demise into insanity, I think Mother is on the verge of murder, and Father is equally as likely to have a nervous breakdown. Not because Mother is edging closer to seriously casting an AK, but because Sir Peacock won't stop pestering me, and Father is far too pessimistic (albeit, in this case realistic), to believe that anything good will come of his father's presence.

Sir Peacock has been eyeing me very closely, and has managed to pick out sixty-four different things to disapprove of already in the six hours he has been here. No fear, I have noted them all down for you, so you can constantly bruise my ego in his absence when we get back to Hogwarts. I knew you'd want to be informed of my failings.

If his general disenchantment with me is not enough, Sir Peacock is also in an absolutely foul mood, and is definitely not having one of his good days. He never seems to have good days here, actually. It's a fucking wonder why he continues to return to England. I hope it's not to visit me, because I think I've made it exceedingly plain that I do not wish to see him. The only person who actually seems to enjoy Sir P's little visits is Great-Grandfather Abraxas, and he's a bloody portrait.

Anyway, Sir P has just finished berating father, which is a nice change from his usual subject (yours truly, if it had escaped your notice). Apparently you're never too old for a good telling off, unless you're Sir Peacock, who is bloody ancient. I think I've only ever seen him told off once, and that was by Grandmother; someone equally as ancient. I believe it was for slurping his ox-tail soup at the dinner table, in the pretentious way that he does. Merlin knows nobody is ever going to be able to fix that.

The reason Father was being berated, and the reason the geriatric prick is in a right foul mood, is because of Father's recent purchase. In a weak moment whilst abroad, Father purchased, and brought home, two Irish wolfhound puppies. I think they were supposed to soften the blow of Sir Peacock and Grandmother's unexplained visit, but really, they've created a great deal of chaos in the day that they've been here.

For one, they actually ate a peacock. Well, by ate I mean definitely killed, and ruffled a fair few other feathers.

Sir Peacock is absolutely incensed with Father. The thought of one of his precious treasures being mauled by a natural predator is obviously very distressing. Possibly more distressing than Father's death (which is fast approaching given Mother's mood), and definitely more than mine.

Last year, when one of his bloody birds attacked me, he simply shrugged it off (as much as Sir P can shrug; I don't believe he has ever physically shrugged in his life), and told Mother to stop mollycoddling me. However, as soon as one of his pets gets the bite it truly deserves, he practically sheds tears over its metaphorical grave. (We couldn't give it a real grave, of course, because certain puppies would probably dig it up again, and wouldn't that just be lovely).

After that incident I got a berating from Father for upsetting Sir P even further, because I suggested that the house elves slow poach the dead bird for dinner. Sir P retorted with something that I can't exactly recall (awfully sorry but I find his waffling boring as shit) to which I replied: 'You sir, are an incredible moron.'

I know, not exactly original. A bit of cussing probably would have driven it home, but I think Grandmother would have dropped dead from a heart aneurism if I did something so outrageous. However it was enough to get the idiot really fired up, and he started off again about my disrespect and 'inability to appreciate the great heritage of Brutus Malfoy' etcetera, etcetera. He is fucking dull, I tell you.

Anyway, so then Father tracked me down, (when he finally managed to get away from Sir P), to tell me that I was 'far too audacious' and immature, and needed to attempt to stay out of Old P's way. To which I replied that Old P is far too melodramatic and disruptive to ever not be in my way. Which is a truism, actually. Sir P is always in someone's hair.

Unfortunately, during that speech I accidently called him 'Sir P' to Father, and Father launched into another maturity tirade. Sometimes he and Sir P are scarily alike. Although, I could clearly see that Father was having a hard time keeping a smirk of his face. After all, 'Sir Peacock' is a pretty ingenious nickname. I think he is simply scared that one day he'll call dear Lucius 'Sir Peacock' to his face, on accident. I know I will, only, it definitely will be on purpose.

And that, my friend, is the complete story of why I need you to owl me those robes, because the only way I envision staying out of the old berk's hair is to either disappear indefinitely, or stay off the ground. In return for your kindness, I promise to repay the favour by letting you floo in unexpectedly one day and annoy the shit out of Father. Also, you may see the puppies – they're bloody fantastic, and not just because they've slayed a peacock.

How's your old man hip going, by the way? I heard your mother saying she was going to cart you off to St. Mungo's soon, although it's probably going to be for hypochondria rather than a real problem.

Just joking. Please send me those robes.

Please.

I'll send you some lemon slice. Or one of Salazar's heirlooms. Or something filled with dark magic to piss off Auror Potter. Or would you like Sir P himself?

File this under eternal gratitude,

S.

~.~

Excerpt from Medical Report from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries – Filed under Albus Severus Potter – 01 August 2022.

'…

General Observations - History

(See report filed 25th May 2022). Patient was admitted to the clinic (on leave from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry) with symptoms of a spinal or muscular related injury in the lower back. Initial symptoms were some minor, localised swelling which was both unresponsive to simple anti-inflammatory charms and painful to touch.

Patient reported stiffness in the area, especially in the morning hours, which often obstructed normal, day to day activities. Patient also reported the swelling being sensitive to both heat and cold, although icing the area seemed to have little effect and often served to aggravate the pain.

Upon primary visit to St. Mungo's, regarding the same injury (see report filed 25th May 2022), patient was administered with moderate anti-inflammatory and muscle relaxant charms (grade 2), and advised to see a muscular trainer, to ease tension in the lower back.

(See report filed 22nd June 2022). Patient readmitted to the clinic with similar symptoms that seemed to have stayed consistent, or worsened slightly since previous visit. Initial symptoms were still present, and patient also complained of minor but persistent headaches and fatigue throughout the day.

Neurological symptoms were deemed more likely attributable to other mitigating factors, such as stress or a recently acquired Quidditch injury, and were soothed by a Calming Draught.

The initial injury was harder to appease, however. Anti-inflammatory and soothing spells and draughts seemed to be nullified by the discomfort the patient was experiencing. A wandless examination proved to be too painful for the patient to reasonably bear, and he was unable to describe the different levels of discomfort felt in different spinal regions. Swelling appears to have spread from the initial location, and is far less localised.

Further muscular and spinal testing was advised.

(See report filed 25th July 2022). Patient testing was administered. Wand-administered testing and picturing of the affected areas failed to display abnormalities in muscular function. General stiffness was noted; however the source of such stiffness appeared not to be attributable to muscular deformities.

A build-up of unknown bodily material was discovered in the final, bone testing. The swelling appears under these conditions, showing a clump of unidentified bodily fluid or other mass resting over the L2 and L3 vertebrae.

A stasis spell was performed and patient was anesthetised to remove parts of the lump, which was then sent away for testing.

Visual signs of the lump were a hard and firm knot. Appearance resembled bone or thick, scar tissue under the skin.

Patient was in relatively severe discomfort and was hospitalised for the night, in order to monitor physical symptoms. Calming Draughts were administered periodically during the night.

General Diagnosis

After further testing carried out by the potions lab staff and other pathology staff, the tissue was returned to the General Ward.

Initial pathological testing suggests that the unidentified lump is uncharacteristic to wizarding people and that the current medical technology used by the hospital is unable to identify the genus or characteristics of the foreign tissue. It is, however, deemed possible that the lump is malignant, as seen in a small sample of wizards who have then gone on to be treated by Muggle methods.

Unidentified lumps of tissue in humans are known to St. Mungo's to be unfortunately common in Muggle people. It occurs currently, often without warning, and is potentially fatal. It is known to the hospital that this diagnosis is often aligned with the growth of malignant cells in the body of the patient, which then go on to destroy and seriously maim other body parts and functions if not treated effectively.

Since this kind of medical phenomena has only been shown to affect a handful of wizards, St. Mungo's regretfully, does not have the resources to fund a department to adequately test and deal with wizards showing symptoms of this disease. It is thought that due to the slightly different cell structure carried by wizarding peoples, this disease is relatively uncommon.

It has been noted, however, that signs of malignant lumps in wizarding people are overwhelmingly serious. It is considered essential that symptoms be treated as soon as the lump is diagnosed, through a Muggle facility. For some reason, wizards who display signs of malignant tumours often find the disease progresses more aggressively and rapidly, compared with similar symptoms in Muggles. Again, it is unknown why this is so, at this time.

It is therefore essential, that given this particular patient's symptoms, he be admitted to biopsy testing at a Muggle facility immediately. The growth may be malignant or benign; however the effective diagnosis of the unknown tissue is essential to a more positive prognosis.

…'

~.~

Excerpt from Medical Report: Coleridge Hospital, Devon. Filed under Albus Severus Potter – 15th August 2022.

'…

Diagnosis

Biopsy and physical testing have displayed symptoms of a relatively advanced tumour, located over and between the L2 and L3 vertebrae in the patient's back.

Further Positron Emission Tomography scans indicated that although there are currently no other unidentified growths in other areas of the patient's body, the tumour is expanding at a rapid rate.

Given the results from the various testing methods, the tumour is currently being treated as a high grade form of Osteosarcoma, located on the spine. This is an extraordinarily rare location for an Osteosarcoma growth, especially in children, where growths this large are usually located in the legs or pelvis.

The grade of the tumour was assessed by staging. It was established that:

The tumour has grown beyond its compartment of origin, by disrupting and growing into the soft tissue surrounding the middle lumbar vertebrae, although metastasis has not yet occurred.

Malignant stromal cells appeared from the biopsy testing. The woven bone indicated the presence of Osteosarcoma.

Current prognosis rates for children with Osteosarcoma are relatively good. However, it must be noted that incidences of Osteosarcoma in the spine are rare, and are generally less positive than those in the legs or pelvis.

It is suggested that given the often aggressive nature of Spinal Osteosarcoma, the most aggressive therapies are both necessary and justified. These therapies must begin immediately with the patient's consent, to avoid a worsening prognosis.

Suggested Treatment

Primary surgery will be given as soon as the patient's consent is obtained. This surgery will attempt to remove all signs of the tumour, without disrupting the spine or the spinal cord. Some area of cell tissue around the affected lump will also be removed for more testing.

After surgery, the necessity for further treatment will be assessed. If cell testing of the surrounding cells is clear, and there are limited signs of spreading, the patient will be subjected to further non-invasive testing methods to determine any other spots where the disease may have spread.

Often, if surgery manages to remove all of the noticeable malignant growth, the patient has an overwhelmingly positive prognosis, and may not require any further treatment.

However, considering the high grade of the growth, further treatment may be necessary, and surgery may not remove all of the malignant cells present in the patient's body. To prevent the spread of these cells, a combination of therapies may be used to destroy them.

The use of these therapies will be determined after the initial surgery and subsequent testing. Often, chemotherapy is used; however a combination of both radio and chemotherapies can be most effective in removing cancerous growths.

Often in patients with persistent Osteosarcomas which cannot be removed by multiple surgeries, complete amputation of the limb is performed to prevent the spreading of malignant cells to organs or other bones. In this case, amputation is not an option, considering the location of the tumour. It therefore, may be necessary for therapies to be aggressive in dealing with the growths, if they cannot be completely removed by primary surgery.

…'

~.~

Scorpius H. Malfoy to Albus S. Potter – 17th August 2022

A,

Talk to me. Or write to me. It's not quite the same, but it's something.

After your letter a few days ago, I've just bombarded you with owls. I know it could be considered slightly annoying, but you're slightly rude for ignoring them, and then you went and –

Forget it. It's probably justified anyway.

The thing is, I just don't know what to say, Al. Which is quite ironic because I haven't been able to shut up, have I? I just want to know what's going on, buddy. Not because I'm obsessed with your misfortunes, but because knowledge is power and all that other Ravenclaw crap that Rose would just love.

Truth be told mate, I'm scared as shit. Which probably has nothing on what you're thinking, I know.

I just wanted to let you know that I'm never going to stop bombarding you with owls, even at Hogwarts. I'll make the precarious trip up the owlery steps every, single, bloody day, even in winter to send you something, even though most people will begin to question my sexuality. I swear on Saint Peacock's grave.

(Although I only wish he was six feet under - horrible, I know.)

It's not going to be the same without you, Al. It's all wrong to think that I'm going back to see all our least favourite professors alone. Facing Professor Bloomberg on my own is nothing less than terrifying, you know how rubbish I am at Defence.

I know you'd say I'm a sap, but I'll really miss you, Al. You have to keep telling me how things are going, won't you? You know I'm hopeless with all that Muggle terminology, so you might have to include copious definitions every sentence, but I'll try my best.

I don't even care if you send me one line, just reply, will you? I'm bloody worried about you, and you're not helping my anxiety.

File this under reply, you idiot,

S.

~.~

Lily L. Potter to Katie L. Williamson – posted in the Muggle fashion, from Hogesmeade – December 01 2022

Katie,

I know you'll be royally pissed off by my lack of replies, but I promise, this school doesn't allow postage daily, so sometimes I can't help but be a bit sporadic with my letter writing. I know you'd say something about the school being archaic and abusive, but believe me; it's just a little strict.

Speaking of school, it's in the bloody Scottish Highlands, so don't go off about not being able to text message me; I don't even have a phone, remember? I'm sorry you despise letter writing so much, but just because you managed to break an acrylic on your pencil does not mean I'll be shouting you a new set next summer. I'm too poor for that, and you know it. Boarding school is an absolute bitch for getting a part-time job.

Anyway, tell me about your school term. Mine's absolutely rubbish, if you were wondering.

My brother's sick, so he's at home in Devon (where you have to stay next summer, else I'll go absolutely insane again), so I'm here by myself. I mean, James is here, but he's off in his own sport induced world, and Rose and Scorpius are too obsessed with their diploma programs.

By the way, Scorpius says you're nuts for stealing his cloak, and he would very much like it back next summer. I know you think he's somewhat of an oddity, due to the clothes he likes to wear, but he seems to think you're in love with him, hence, please stop stealing his clothes, so his ego doesn't get too big to fit inside the bloody school grounds.

Speaking of boys; Luke sounds…nice?

Stop laughing; you know I'm incompetent at adequately describing males! I'm not at all…worldly? No wait, I think I just made you sound like a slag, hahaha!

But seriously, James said something about sex the other day and I blushed. It wasn't even to me, which (god!) would have been weird if it was, but just hearing my older brother talk about it, made me get all disgusted, and then I realised – I'm a bloody prude.

I, Lily Luna, am a prude. Scorpius has been saying it all along, and James has been punching the shit out of him because apparently little sisters are supposed to be prudes, but oh my god, what is wrong with me? I realised last night that one hundred percent of the girls in my dorm (save me, the unplucked flower), have at least snogged someone. Apparently you were right about rampant teenage sex in boarding schools. Give me a break, I'm only fourteen!

You have to teach me how to be normal, when you come back to Devon next summer. I'm not talking about bloody snogging you, (because I know that's exactly the insinuation you would have taken from that sentence) but I need some advice. What the hell am I doing? It's not like I'm a dedicated student or a professor, so I actually have no excuse not to be, I don't know, enjoying a snog in a broom closet every now and then, do I?

Lord, listen to me. I swear I don't usually sound this desperate. I probably shouldn't post this, for my pride's sake.

Reply please, so I don't feel like you hate me for being so weird.

Yours,

xxLily

~.~

A (Not So Secret) Secret Santa Card – Harriet V. Smith to James S. Potter – 19th December 2022

James,

I was your secret Santa. Put on your best surprised face, please. For Bloomberg's sake if nothing else, because we could all use a bit of Christmas cheer from the world's strictest professor, especially in our final, bloody year.

So, I have to admit that I never thought you were the academic type. Not that being academic is a bad thing, or that I ever thought you were thick, but you know, being Gryffindor's Quidditch hero and all I didn't think you'd ever have time to appreciate the smaller things in life. When I heard you expressing interest in Salinger, Le Carré and Stoker I thought perhaps you were simply trying to charm the socks off some poor girl, but then again, you've hardly been on your game this year at all.

In the case that I was wrong to believe you were sincere in your interest, simply dispose of the present, or alternatively memorise some Shakespeare to build your newfound sensitive-new-age-male image. If, however, you actually do enjoy some of the Muggle classics, I find Orwell is my favourite, and would love to hear what you think of it.

Forgive me, I feel like I should include some rabid fan-girl writing in here about your Quidditch prowess to retain your interest, but I find you too intriguing for that, James. Sort of strange, if it's okay to say so.

Merry Christmas, I hope you enjoy Orwell.

Harriet.

~.~

Albus S. Potter to Rose A. Weasley – 24th February 2023

Rosie,

I know you want to hear about surgery and treatment and the bloody, unstoppable C word, but I can't really be fucked with it right now. I just want to get other things out there, because there's really no one else who can bloody listen.

Apologies for ruining your day single-handedly in advance, because I know depressing tales from your incapacitated little cousin can be a real drain. Really, I do.

There's nothing left of me, Rosie. I swear. Not only physically am I skin and fucking bone, but there's nothing left in my brain either. I feel like this illness has tipped me upside down, opened up my brain and emptied all the thoughts and memories and emotions out of me. I can't feel, Rosie. I may as well be buried beneath the ground now. I'm just not me.

I'm a shell of a person, encased in a fragile bone structure which is eroding itself from inside out. I don't have a will anymore, or a life. I live inside, like an unwilling hermit, alone. I'm beginning to go mad with just my bloody owl, and my parchment and ink.

And you're going to go mad, as the only person I can write to. It's really a pity I was never an avid reader or a good drawer, or perhaps I could have made something from myself in these last, few months.

I think I'm losing my magic as well. Not losing it, but losing control of it, because I can't practise it here. The letters came back from the Ministry the other day – unsuccessful unfortunately. No exceptions for terminally ill children, apparently. I told you they have no heart; you're really too optimistic for your own good.

Mum and Dad are going at it again, by the way. I'm bad for them, lying here, hopeless. I used to think they were perfect, you know? Like, one of those couples that truly never stopped being sickeningly in love, which are forever embarrassing their children and really grow old together.

Dad wants Mum to quit managing the Harpies because I need more constant care, and I know she'll go mental if she's cooped in here all day with me.

Mum wants Dad to quit work at the Ministry because it's too dangerous and then perhaps, with a desk job, he could help her care for me. But everyone in this fucked-up world knows Dad has too much of a 'Save the Whole World' complex to ever sit down and file papers.

The main problem here, that they miss, is that I need caring for. If I wasn't diseased, neither of them would have to quit, or even compromise, and everyone would be happy. Do you know how that feels Rosie? Being the reason? Neither do I, because I'm always numb, all the time.

And what about Scorpius, Rosie? How is he? His girlfriend? Is he enjoying his goddamn time at school? I fucking hope so.

I'm yet to receive a single, bloody letter. Yes, it hurts. Am I really forgotten?

Onto what you really wrote for:

(I know you Rosie, 'knowledge is power' and all that.)

Secondary surgery was not entirely successful. I mean, it was, for a week, and then when I returned for scans, it showed more hot-spots up my C2 and 3's. So I've got rid of it from my lumber spine, and then it shows up further towards my brain. Fucking impossible.

So I'm doing another round of radiation and a bit of chemotherapy as well. Radiation is just as bad as it always was; tiring and tedious. More tattoos. I wish I could get a snake or a dragon or something instead of stupid dots.

Chemotherapy gets me to feel. Shit, it hurts Rosie, no matter the amount of spells St. Mungo's has my aid administer. It burns you from the inside out, like your veins are on fire or something – like when that stupid character in your book got transformed into a vampire. Except unlike that stupid girl, when you finish the transfer of poison into your veins, you vomit up everything you've consumed in days, and then have to sleep it all off in time for your next session. It's hopeless. I walk in there for a round, and then Dad has to carry me out. Or my aid. Or whoever else is available to pick me up.

So far, the aggressive treatment plan is… less than adequate. It's not responded properly to the three different combinations they've administered, so far. It's not receding either. It's kind of like being stuck in a fiery, tiring, limbo.

You know what I thought the other day, Rosie. These drugs could kill me. Essentially, they are killing me. Chemotherapy can't really target the exact malignant cells, so it just kills every cell it can find to get rid of the disease. It's effective, only, it kills you in the process.

What if I die, Rosie? Would everyone be better off? I promise I'm not trying to be suicidal. I want to know, what would happen?

Would I be buried? Would you cry? Would Mum have another kid?

I wish I could see the future. Are you decent at divination?

I'm sort of scared of dying, truth be told. It's a great big unknown, where magic can't save you. And yet, I am dying. How do you ever be okay with that?

I need to see you again, so you can answer all my questions with your insane amount of research.

All my love,

Albus.

~.~

Personal Report to Albus S. Potter from Coleridge Medical Centre, Devon – 28th April 2023

Dear Mr. Potter,

Our records show that you have recently shown interest in ceasing chemotherapy and radiation treatments for your ongoing diagnosis of Spinal Osteosarcoma. The information following this introduction is meant as a guide only, and a consultation with your Oncologist and General Medical Practitioner is advised before any decisions pertaining to treatment are made.

…

The Decision to Cease Treatment

The decision to cease treatment for diseases which come under the vast umbrella of cancer is not an easy choice. It should be made with the upmost care and thought, preferably made with the advice of a general practitioner, oncologist and other relevant specialists. Given that the most effective, proven treatments are ones offered by hospitalisation and inpatient-outpatient schemes, ceasing one or all hospital treatments for cancer is highly likely to result in the spread of cancer and eventual fatality of the patient.

Thus, it is important for the patient to keep the likely outcomes of ceasing treatment in the forefront of their minds, given the potentially dire consequences. It might also be important to consult family and friends, and take into consideration their opinion, although this is not strictly necessary.

As the patient, you may feel that the efforts to decrease the cancerous cells in your body are futile or fruitless, or you are simply sick of the side effects which accompany both chemo and radio therapies. However, it is important to keep a clear head when weighing up the positives and negatives of ceasing or continuing cancer treatment.

There are a number of different drug combinations and treatment plans available, which you may want to discuss with your oncologist and other specialist practitioner, should you feel your current treatment plan is not working. Doctors and specialists will also be able to confer with you the actual physical affectivity of the drugs in your body, and make use of the current medical technology to assess your individual prognosis.

At Coleridge, you should feel confident that your doctor will give you their honest and informed opinion on your individual prognosis, and the ways in which they are able to treat your specific malady. It is heavily advised that patients take the expert advice of a specialist into consideration when deciding to cease treatment.

…'

~.~

James S. Potter to Harry J. Potter – 02 June 2023

Dad,

Albus wrote to me, saying he's going to cease treatment. This is a huge, fucking joke isn't it?

He's a kid, Dad. Bloody hell, he's only sixteen years old. Not even legal to make those sorts of decisions in the Muggle world. You can't seriously be letting him do this to himself, its suicide.

You aren't telling me that you're going to let your own child kill himself? Just because it's wrapped up a little nicer than jumping from the Astronomy Tower, doesn't make it okay in the slightest. Have you forgotten he's my brother? Lily's brother? You might have given up hope, but you have to realise that this is about more than just you.

Can't you see that he's depressed? He had some hope in his prognosis – wasn't it fifteen percent? That's fifteen times out of a hundred he might have lived, Dad. You can't give up now, he's come so far, and the only way he's going to keep going is if we make him. We have to make him, because otherwise he'll die, Dad. You can't let him die. He doesn't even understand death yet.

Am I seriously the only one who sees the consequences of this? He's barely even lived.

I wish to return home immediately.

James.

~.~

Scorpius H. Malfoy to Albus S. Potter – 21st June 2023

A,

I'll see you in three days.

S.