SORTING HAT: "Albus Potter."

He puts his hat on Albus’s head — and this time he seems to take longer — almost as if he too is confused.

"SLYTHERIN!"

There’s a silence.
A perfect, profound silence.
One that sits low, twists a bit, and has damage within it.

SCORPIUS: "We send a memory — like a Pensieve — stand over him and send a message, hope he reaches for the memory at exactly the right moment. I mean, it’s unlikely, but . . . Stand over the baby — and just repeatedly shout HELP. HELP. HELP. I mean, it might traumatize the baby slightly."

ALBUS: "Only slightly.

Green is a soothing color, isn’t it? I mean Gryffindor rooms are all well and good but the trouble with red is — it is said to send you a little mad — not that I’m casting aspersions . . .

SCORPIUS: I can’t quite believe I did that.

ALBUS: I can’t quite believe you did that either.

SCORPIUS: Rose Granger-Weasley. I asked out Rose Granger-Weasley.

ALBUS: And she said no.

SCORPIUS: But I asked her. I planted the acorn. The acorn that will grow into our eventual marriage.

ALBUS: You are aware that you’re an utter fantasist.

You'll write to me, won't you?" Albus asked his parents immediately, capitalizing on the momentary absence of his brother.

"Every day, if you want us to," said Ginny.

"Not every day," said Albus quickly. "James says most people only get letters from home about once a month."

"We wrote to James three times a week last year," said Ginny.

"And you don't want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts," Harry put in. "He likes a laugh, your brother.

If I had to choose a companion to be at the return of eternal darkness with, I'd choose you.