Chapter Text
The first cry was heard just as the large clock in the entrance hall struck four. The clean metallic music of the ancient machine passed from wall to wall through the great house, heeded predominantly by the small army of house elves for whom the four sustained chimes were their call to rise and begin the day’s work. In the servants’ quarters they were well out of earshot of their sleeping masters, yet out of habit or perhaps sleepiness they kept their voices low and their words few as they made their small beds and began filing into the kitchen and various storehouses to start preparing breakfast. Within the vast corridors and empty rooms of Malfoy Manor Draco was the only one to hear the small distressed voice.
His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness when he opened them; his wife found it impossible to sleep with any kind of light in the room. The silence of the house seemed oppressive and thick as he strained to listen, unsure if he had heard the cry or dreamt it. A moment later it came again, louder this time, and he eased himself out of the large four-post bed, moving carefully so as not to disturb Astoria. Once he had put on his dressing gown and slippers he walked to the tapestry which concealed a passage to the nursery. Although it had never happened, he always worried that his sudden appearance from the passage would frighten his son, so he made a point of calling softly to him a few seconds before he stepped into the room.
“I’m coming, Scorpius!”
“Dad!”
Draco had emerged from behind another tapestry and taken a full two steps into the nursery before he realized that Scorpius had spoken and was brought up short. A handful of iron star-shaped lanterns hung from the ceiling, and by their dim flickering light he could see where Scorpius had pulled himself up, still crying, his tiny hands gripping the bars of his crib as his legs tried to support him on the unsteady feather mattress.
“It’s me,” Draco said as he crossed the room.
“Dad,” Scorpius repeated, turning his tear-streaked face up to Draco, his hair like moon-white wings folded to his head.
Draco blinked, his stomach performing another flip at the sound of the word.
“I’m here,” he said as he bent over the crib. Scorpius reached up for him and latched onto his clothes like a small climbing animal, his head falling wearily onto his father’s chest as Draco held him close. Draco closed his eyes and patted Scorpius’s back gently as the boy emitted a small chirping hiccup.
“It’s alright,” he murmured.
Scorpius sat up in his arms suddenly, swaying a little as his neck worked to support his head, his large eyes bright with tears that matted his eyelashes into golden points, his nose red and running. He hiccupped again, his whole body jerking, and rubbed his tiny balled fists into his eyes, his neck gradually losing its balance and tipping his forehead against Draco’s face. Draco dipped his chin to kiss him and unconsciously began to rock from one foot to the other. Scorpius lowered his hands and pulled his head back to look at Draco again.
“Daddy,” he said, his voice clear and strangely emphatic. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had heard anything so wonderful. Aside from nighttime crying Scorpius had always been a quiet baby, watchful and composed even in moments of joy, his smiles small and his laughter rare. As far as Draco knew no one had heard him make any other sound.
“Did you have a bad dream?”
“Yah!” the boy said at once, his eyes wide, and Draco had the baffling impression that Scorpius understood every word, that they were talking to each other although it didn’t seem possible.
“What was it about?” Draco asked.
His son’s invisible eyebrows shot up and his voice came forth in a rush of incomprehensible babble, painstakingly articulated and accompanied by a small array of exaggerated facial expressions, his arms lifting and his fingers spreading wide, making his hands look like small white stars. Draco walked over to the tall windows and pulled aside the curtains to let in the moonlight and then sat down in the rocking chair, which had been in the Manor nursery since time immemorial, all the while watching and listening to his little son in wonder. Whatever Scorpius had seen in his sleep must have been very frightening; he was starting to cry again, his cheeks becoming chafed from wiping away tears, and the love Draco felt was so overwhelming it almost gave him vertigo.
“Scorpius,” he said quietly, “listen to me.”
The child looked up at Draco expectantly, swaying a little as he sniffed and tried to sit up straight.
“I’m sorry you had a bad dream, but I want you to know that nothing terrible will ever happen to you,” he paused, watching his son’s face, “do you know why?”
“Why?”
Draco swallowed, working to keep his voice steady.
“Because I’m going to keep you safe.”