Chapter Text
As Scorpius had expected Albus’ entire family seemed to be assembled at King’s Cross to welcome home their progeny. He had also expected Albus to sling an arm over his shoulders and loudly announce Slytherin’s win, but was still pleasantly surprised when this actually happened. The adults all seemed genuinely excited and happy for them, while Rose looked uncomfortable and James was halfway across the platform with a group of friends, obviously waiting for Scorpius to leave before he joined his family. Albus’ younger sister Lily had come along and Scorpius was caught off-guard by how much she looked like Albus, red hair and blue eyes notwithstanding. They had the same thin red lips and scattering of pale freckles across their noses; even her voice sounded like a girl version of his as she bounded up to them.
Astoria was wearing her spring pastels and looked as though she was on holiday in Provence, her hair swept up in a glossy chignon under a straw bergère. She held her hands together in front of her mouth, beaming when she heard about the House Cup, and when they Apparated at the Manor she knelt in front of Scorpius, held his face in her hands, and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Mon doux enfant,” she murmured, her eyes sparkling, “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mum,” he said, embarrassed and gratified by the uncharacteristic display.
Draco looked as drawn as he had at Christmas, and the poorly disguised happiness and hope on his face when he came to greet them made Scorpius recoil inside. He dutifully recounted the highlights of his second term and Slytherin’s victory for his father, all the while clutching the piece of parchment Albus had given him in his fist, desperate to escape to his rooms. When he finally made it up to his study he sat at his desk and unfolded the paper, rereading the other boy’s address. Looking at the lopsided points and loops he found that he could perfectly picture Albus writing it, from the way he held his quill to the way his head tilted to the side a little every time he paused.
Write to me? Albus had asked, holding out the paper just after they’d entered London. Scorpius sensed that he’d waited until the end of the journey to ask because he was nervous. He smiled, remembering the look of delight on his friend’s face when Scorpius had promptly written out his own address in return. Having a friend was nothing like what Scorpius had expected; he never would have imagined that he could make someone so happy with so little.
Whether he was flying his broom around the estate, playing the piano, reading, going on errands with his mother, eating, or cleaning his rooms, every activity of Scorpius’ summer was accompanied by his correspondence with Albus, like the central thread in a strand of beads. A corner of his mind was always waiting for a letter, thinking about the letter he had just received, or planning what he would write in response. Albus wrote about living in London, about his Muggle neighbors and the places he went, his family, his parents’ work, what he was reading, and his thoughts about their second year. In comparison Scorpius’ life felt unnaturally vacant, but he did what he could to make his letters interesting. Occasionally the Potter family owl Dobby would bring Albus’ letters, but most often they were brought by Pebble, who quickly made himself at home in Scorpius’ rooms, perching contentedly on his shoulder during long walks through the Manor to get treats from the pantries.
It was Dobby who brought Scorpius’ birthday present at the beginning of August, flying into his sitting room through the open balcony door while Scorpius was eating breakfast, his claws clutching the thick rough string binding the package. Scorpius gave the owl the rest of his toast in gratitude and opened the present. Beneath the plain brown paper was a second wrapping of birthday paper which was bright blue and covered in multi-colored balloons. Scorpius couldn’t stop smiling; Albus had given him another book, The Three Musketeers, complete with inscription (To Scorpius, Happy 12th Birthday! From Albus) and a card. Taking advantage of the fact that Dobby was still eating the rest of his breakfast Scorpius wrote a quick thank you note to send back with him.
“I think we should do something special this year,” Astoria announced at lunch that afternoon, “To celebrate your first year at school.”
The two of them were eating, as they often did during the summer, in the north garden at a table which sat beneath the oldest tree on the estate, a massive heavy-limbed oak whose leaves were so thick that the sunlight couldn’t break through. His mother was smiling but Scorpius could tell from the slight weariness in her eyes that she and his father had already had their yearly argument about whether or not Draco would be accompanying them on Scorpius’ birthday trip. Feeling guilty and uncomfortable, he tried to pull his mind away from hers the way Professor Robins had taught him.
“Like what?” he asked.
She straightened up a little in her chair, brightening.
“We could go somewhere different, maybe Brussels or Calais? Your father and I also agreed that if you want you could get one large present instead of twelve small ones, like a new broom or a pet, a bird of your own maybe?”
Scorpius nodded, considering this. If they went to London there was no chance that his father would be persuaded to come with them, and the Potters were on holiday in Margate. In the end he chose Dublin but Draco still wouldn’t come, waiting until the morning they were to leave before making his apologies. The three of them were in the entrance hall, Scorpius and Astoria ready to depart in their traveling clothes. It was like watching a worm being slowly impaled on a fish hook; his mother stood by the door with her arms folded and her expression neutral while Draco forced himself to stand in front of Scorpius and wish them a safe trip. He never said much when making these withdrawals, as though he knew that there was as little point in lying as there was in telling the truth. Once he’d finished Scorpius gave his standard response, respectful and understanding, and Draco gave him a hollow smile before turning away.
The main entrance point in Dublin was a wizard-owned boarding house near the center of the city, the basement of which had been transformed into a miniature way station with a fireplace connected to the Floo Network and a large empty room for Apparition and Portkey arrivals. Unlike Diagon Alley in London or the Rue Miroir in Paris, the wizarding establishments in Dublin were scattered throughout the city, hidden behind a variety of spells and coded signs. Even when she was frustrated by Draco’s absence Astoria never failed to express her approval of this integration, and Scorpius listened happily as she commented on the new shops that had sprung up since their last visit.
They had lunch at a Muggle restaurant before going to a wizarding pet shop and owlery that was hidden on a rooftop by the river. Witches and wizards in an odd mixture of Muggle and magical clothing milled about under the hot sun peering into kennels and cages, the voices of young children ringing out in delight or protestation as they tried to touch the animals. Scorpius gravitated to the cages of birds and owls, most of which were either sleeping or haughtily ignoring their admirers, except for a sleek dark hawk at the end of the row that was watching him intently. From the size of the bird Scorpius guessed that he was still young, with brown feathers so dark they were almost black and brick-red gradations around his wing joints and legs. When Scorpius came to stand in front of the cage the hawk moved closer to him on its perch, tilting its head.
“He’s beautiful,” Astoria said, looking at the card attached to the cage, “And it says he’s already had some training,” she nudged Scorpius affectionately, “What do you think?”
Scorpius smiled, looking from her to the hawk.
“I already know what I want to name him.”
Scorpius regretted the fact that the Manor wasn’t connected to the Floo Network as they made their way back to the boarding house empty-handed. The hawk was to be shipped to the Manor separately, side-along Apparition being too much for small animals, but his mother gave him the receipt and talked enthusiastically about falconry and her pride in his decision to take on such a grown-up responsibility. In spite of Astoria’s best efforts however, Scorpius could feel her spirits dim the closer they got to home.
His birthday tea was the typical belabored affair in the formal dining room, with Mouse bustling about in an effort to serve the three of them by herself until Draco got up to help her, a gesture which Scorpius guessed was motivated primarily by his desire to avoid them. After dinner they went into the formal sitting room where Mouse brought them cake and brandy, a small measure for Scorpius and larger ones for his parents, and he was grateful for it as the tension built between them.
Astoria and Draco were standing on opposite sides of the room, the light of the setting sun casting an amber glow over the leather chairs and the gilded frames of the large oil paintings on the walls. It was a deeply familiar sight that came to his mind whenever he thought about his parents; a man and a woman standing in opposition. It was clear that his mother was reaching her limit on silence and the unhappiness etched into every line of Draco’s face made Scorpius’ chest ache. His father looked away from Astoria’s unyielding gaze and addressed him quietly.
“Scorpius, would you excuse us please?”
Scorpius rose from his chair and left the room, making sure his footsteps sounded down the entire length of the central hallway towards the stairs which led to his wing before darting into the ballroom and from there into the narrow house-elf passages which ran through the house like veins. He moved quickly through the walls until he began to hear his parents’ voices again then slowed down, watching the darkness ahead of him as his fingertips followed the rough stone sides of the passage. A thin seam of flickering golden light appeared along the floor ahead of him, marking the opening into the sitting room which was hidden behind a large tapestry. He stood as far back from it as he dared while still being able to hear them.
“He doesn’t seem to mind my absence.”
Draco sounded close; Scorpius imagined him standing in front of the painting which was near the tapestry, a portrait of Scorpius’s grandfather as a child, dressed up like a prince in the Manor library with his white blonde hair in loose curls around his stoic face.
“Well I mind it Draco, does that ever occur to you?”
From the distance of her voice Scorpius guessed that his mother was still standing next to the fireplace with her arms folded across her chest, a challenge in her large dark eyes. When his father did not answer she continued.
“How are we supposed to find a community and our place in it if you won’t even attempt to make an effort?”
“I am making an effort, Astoria. Do you think I enjoy going to the Ministry every day? They call it a job and they act as though their graciousness and mercy should compel me to weep with gratitude, but it’s nothing but a daily humiliation, a reminder that I will never be more than what I am now.”
His father never yelled during these arguments, but the cold self-loathing in his voice was more than enough to make Scorpius flinch. Astoria must have felt it too because she sounded gentler when she replied.
“You’re the only thing holding you back and you know it. If you feel oppressed by these people find new people; where is it written that we must live and die in Wiltshire? How many times has my uncle offered to use his contacts to-?”
Draco chuckled mirthlessly.
“‘His contacts’, I can only imagine.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
There was a pause.
“Astoria, you know where he’s been going and with whom, you know what he believes.”
The only sound that could be heard was the quiet crackling of the fire, the occasional pop of wood collapsing in the heat. They were silent so long that for one panicked moment Scorpius thought perhaps they had realized he was there and were about to pull aside the tapestry. When his mother finally spoke her voice was strange, bold and vulnerable at the same time.
“I know. I believe it too.”
There was a creak of floorboards close by, as though Draco had shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“What?”
“I have for a long time, long before I met you.”
Another silence.
“You…you can’t be serious,” Draco sounded stunned, “After everything that happened in the war?”
“How dare you compare me to that? I am not a Death Eater, Draco, I never was. The war was a travesty, a perversion led by a genocidal tyrant who had no comprehension of true magic. If you would just listen to what we have to say you would understand.”
Scorpius frowned. He had no idea what they were talking about or why every word felt dangerous and weighted. His father remained silent and Astoria went on, her tone entreating.
“Draco, your family lines are legendary; ancient houses with centuries of magical history, an invaluable wealth of knowledge, tradition, and power. You’ve lost sight of the man you were meant to be, but it’s all still there,” her footsteps were coming closer, to where Draco had to be standing, “Please let me help you find it again.”
“Astoria...what are you saying?”
The restrained fear in his father’s voice was alarming. Scorpius pictured them standing face to face.
“That you don’t need to spend the rest of your life feeling trapped by this place, by the past. We can move on; you, me, and Scorpius.”
There was another long pause. Scorpius’ heartbeat reverberated like a church bell in his ears as he willed himself to be motionless.
“I can’t do that,” Draco said.
“Of course you can.”
“Maybe I could, but I’m not going to. And neither is Scorpius.”
His parents’ sadness, fear, and anger settled over him one by one like blankets until Scorpius began to feel suffocated, and although he knew he shouldn’t he felt himself reaching out with his mind for more.
“He’s my son,” Astoria said, her voice quiet and hard.
“And I’m his father. You’re going to leave him out of this.”
There was another pause.
“Is this what you really wanted all along, Astoria? Merlin knows I didn’t have much to recommend me when we first met.”
Scorpius could feel the pain in his father’s voice like a wound on his own body and fought back a sob.
“Nothing but my name and my blood.”
Scorpius turned and ran silently, blindly back through the passages. He knew what was going to happen next. His mother was going to step away from his father, reduced to silence by the depths of her anger, and then she was going to turn and leave the room. She was going to say goodnight to her son, and he would have to run like hell if he was going to beat her there.
If it weren’t for the house-elf passages he would have had to cross the hall to get to the staircase and would most certainly have been spotted, but on the far side of the ballroom was a hidden spiral staircase, the most narrow and treacherous in the house, which led up to his rooms. Scorpius scrambled up the steps as though they were a ladder and pushed open the hidden door at the top, bursting into his study and grabbing the first book he spotted off of his desk. Taking out his wand as he ran he lit the lamps in his room and threw himself onto his bed, which was where his mother found him less than two minutes later lying quietly on his stomach, absorbed in his book.
She gave his door a small polite knock as she came in and it chilled Scorpius to think that if he hadn’t been spying on them he would never have guessed that something calamitous had happened between his parents. Astoria was smiling with her hands folded in front of her, a gesture which struck him as oddly deferential, and walked over to his bed.
“I just wanted to say goodnight before I turn in.”
He tried to look innocent and unconcerned.
“Goodnight.”
“I hope you had a lovely birthday.”
He smiled.
“I did, thanks Mum.”
There was a brief flicker of sadness in her eyes and he could tell that she wanted to reach out and touch him, but her hands remained folded and she nodded, smiling at him again before turning to go. As the door closed with a hush behind her Scorpius looked down at the book opened in front of him, registering it properly for the first time. The Auger’s Raven. Suddenly exhausted and close to tears he pushed the book away and it fell off of his bed with a thud. He buried his face in his arms and wished that Draco would come and find him, but it wasn’t until the next morning that someone knocked on his door.
“What?” he groaned, not bothering to open his eyes.
The door opened.
“Scorpius?”
Scorpius’ head shot up; his father hadn’t come up to his rooms all summer. Draco’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and Scorpius was struck by the terrible idea that his father had been crying. Scorpius sat up, realizing as he looked down at himself that he’d slept in the previous day’s clothes. From the looks of him Draco hadn’t slept at all. He was standing at the foot of the bed holding onto the post as though for support.
“Scorpius,” he began, looking at a spot on the bedspread near Scorpius’ left knee, “I just came to tell you that your mother’s gone to visit your grandmother. She says not to worry, no one’s ill.”
They were both quiet as Scorpius absorbed this.
“When will she be back?”
A frown line appeared between his father’s eyebrows.
“She’s not sure yet, but she’ll let us know as soon as she can.”
Scorpius looked down to where his hands lay curled together in his lap.
“Are you getting a divorce?”
There was a moment of silence in which he could feel his father watching him but couldn’t bring himself to look up.
“Yes,” Draco said quietly.
Scorpius nodded, bewildered and afraid. Before he could think of something to say his father sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Scorpius to him. When he returned the hug Draco’s arms tightened around him and Scorpius closed his eyes. They sat together for several moments before Draco released him and Scorpius let go reluctantly, trying not to cry. Draco remained sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands braced on his knees. The morning sunlight made the stubble along his jaw look white, glinting like the tiniest shards of broken glass, the ones you never saw until they snagged in your skin when you ran your fingertips over the counter-top. Scorpius glanced down to where The Augur’s Raven lay on the ancient Indian rug.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“My Divination teacher says that I have Second Sight.”
Draco blinked in surprise and turned to look at him with the hint of a smile.
“Do you?”
Scorpius hesitated, half-wishing that he hadn’t said anything. He shrugged.
“I did a bunch of extra credit work this year and met with her a few times for private lessons.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Scorpius swallowed.
“I do. I have it.”
Draco stared at him and suddenly looked as sad as Scorpius had ever seen him, his smile fading. He looked away, then, seeming to catch himself, reached back and put his hand on Scorpius’s knee.
“Promise me one thing?”
“Okay.”
“Promise you’ll never tell me the future.”
He squeezed Scorpius’s knee and stood up slowly, as though his body was heavy, as though it ached, and walked out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.
I promise, Scorpius thought.