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Scorpius felt curiously numb inside as they made their way back home. The sun had set hours ago, and the sky outside was inky blue as their train pulled languidly through the English countryside, with the ever-present glow of light pollution in the distance. The carriage they were in was close to empty, with only a few pensioners and students with headphones dotted every few seats.
It was his fifteenth birthday and his day out to London with his dad hadn’t exactly gone to plan.
It wasn’t the first time his birthday had ended similarly, not by a long shot, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“I’m sorry,” his dad mumbled beside him, the words slurred and awkward sounding. If Scorpius hadn’t known better, hadn’t watched the episode play out himself, he would assume he was drunk.
Draco was slumped down in his seat, tremors still running through his arms sporadically. Scorpius had done his best to get the blood out of his dad’s pale hair, but shopping centre bathrooms weren’t the best place for post-episode clean up. They’d gotten enough funny looks as it was. Draco had slammed his head on the concrete when he had dropped. There was a bruise swelling on his forehead as a result, a matching lump on the back of his skull and both of his hands had seized up, fingers stretched taught and bent at unnatural angles. His already colourless complexion had gone a step further into near-translucent territory.
Just from looking at him, Scorpius could tell he wouldn’t be going anywhere for a few days.
“Don’t be,” Scorpius said softly. “You can’t help it.”
The thing was that he wasn’t even lying. Scorpius wasn’t upset with his dad for having an episode in some godforsaken back-alley he had dragged him to so they wouldn’t break the statute of secrecy. He wasn’t sad about the fact they’d missed going to the new book shop Scorpius had wanted to check out or any of the other things they had planned for his birthday.
He wasn’t even mad that they’d spent his birthday sitting on the ground in front of a shopping centre waiting for his dad’s dizziness to subside enough that they could walk back to the train station without further incidents. Or that he hadn’t eaten a thing since toast at breakfast except some cheap chocolate bar he’d found in his rucksack.
It wasn’t that he was overjoyed about it either, it just was.
As normal as jam on toast for breakfast, laundry or paying rent and sometimes he forgot that most people didn’t live the way he and his dad did, always waiting for the next thing. The next episode, the next set of health issues. The next hospital appointment, the next trigger.
“We can go tomorrow instead,” his dad insisted, leaning closer. He smelled like vomit and the cheap soap from the shopping centre, something unplaceable that could have been aiming for lavender but hadn’t succeeded. Scorpius could read the anxiety in his dad’s wide grey eyes.
There was still dried blood around his nose, Scorpius realised suddenly. In the back of his brain, he was already trying to work out how much pain potion it would take for his dad to sleep. Draco hadn’t said a thing, he never did, but Scorpius knew him too well. He could read the pain in the way he was holding himself, in the careful movements, the way he was avoiding looking at the too bright lights overhead.
Scorpius shook his head.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said.
He’d be surprised if his dad was able to walk to the kitchen without falling tomorrow, let alone traipse around London.
A woman in a smart velvet suit and heels walked past, giving them an odd look. Scorpius gave her a smile he hoped was reassuring. The fact she picked up her pace told him he’d achieved the opposite.
He suspected his dad’s bloody hair and bruises wasn’t doing anything to make them look trustworthy.
It was chilly in the carriage, the air conditioning turned up to high to be truly comfortable, filled with embarrassing optimism for English weather in late spring. Scorpius was just in his t-shirt, having sacrificed his hoody as a makeshift pillow during his dad’s episode, to stop him from giving himself a concussion as he’d slammed his head down over and over onto the ground as the wild magic made the air spark angry red around them, caused cracks to appear in the pavement.
It was shoved in his rucksack now, covered in blood and vomit.
“You need a cake,” Draco said suddenly, struggling to sit up. “A birthday cake.”
Scorpius gently pushed him back down into the seat.
“Not right now. We have one at home, remember?”
It was a chocolate cake, which was usually his favourite. His dad had ordered it from their favourite bakery even though it cost a fortune. There had been fifteen candles from the pound shop in it at breakfast but Scorpius hadn’t dared to make a wish.
Draco made a noise of agreement, before wincing as a violent twitch jerked his head back to slam against the seat.
It was only two more stops. Then the long walk home through the dark streets because the last bus would have already gone by the time they got to the train station. And getting a taxi would be too expensive.
“I’m sorry, Scorpius,” Draco repeated, voice straining. “I’m so sorry.”
To Scorpius’ horror he sounded suspiciously choked up. Like he might cry.
“It’s not your fault, dad, I’m not upset.”
Draco pulled his thin shoulders up and hunched forwards, like he wanted to crawl under the seat in front.
“You don’t deserve this, any of it,” he choked out roughly, a bit louder than was necessary, words still unclear and difficult to make out. “It’s your birthday.”
Scorpius reached over and gently squeezed one of his dad’s hands. The thin fingers were stiff, icy cold. It was like holding hands with a shop mannequin.
He’d heard it before and it hurt him every time, the pain settling uncomfortably in his chest. Like a wound that was never able to close.
“I’m sorry,” Draco repeated.
“Stop apologising, dad,” Scorpius told him as gently as he could. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
Draco made a strangled sound and wrenched his hand out of Scorpius’ before curling forwards again, head almost against the seat in front of them, claw-like hands coming down to scratch at his knees.
The train had pulled into the penultimate station and Scorpius watched a group of tourists drag large suitcases towards the exit, keeping an eye on his dad in the reflection. A group of teenagers were taking photos on the stairs leading up off the platform, undaunted by the darkness of the near-deserted platform.
Suddenly his phone buzzed, and Scorpius quickly pulled it out of his pocket.
It was a message from Albus, along with several missed calls. Scorpius hadn’t looked at his phone all day.
Hey, can’t seem to reach you. Hope you had a wonderful birthday and hopefully speak to you later so you can tell me all about the book shop. Love you! x
Scorpius stared down at the message, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach. It was rare that he didn’t want to talk to Albus. But the day had left him exhausted, down to his bones.
I’ll call tomorrow, didn’t go because dad wasn’t well. Love you too.
Then he put the phone back into his pocket.
Beside him, Draco had started mumbling to himself, his right hand twitching every few seconds. He was still hunched over, like he was going to be sick all over again. Like the pain was pushing him down. Scorpius reached over to take his hand again, trying to comfort him.
The train was quiet, rocking them gently as they sped through the night.