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fragment ii :
paper stars
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If there is anything that annoys Draco more than having his daytime routines interrupted, it’s having his evening rituals interrupted.
Sleep, that is.
So really, there’s precious little that Draco considers worth the effort to get up in the middle of the night for. More to the point, there are exactly three things in the world that Draco would get up in the middle of the night for.
Namely;
The threat of imminent death,
Theo bearing a perfectly-brewed cup of single-origin, Ethiopian Yirgacheffe coffee, demanding a conversation about whatever high-brow academic fancy he’s got going on at the moment, and,
Scorpius.
Tonight, Draco is pulled from slumber by gentle thumps at the foot of his bed, before the sleepy voice of his son wakes him all the way.
“Dada.”
He’d taken to keeping his door open, just a crack, for nights like these. The thunderstorm forecast earlier had the audacity to come into fruition.
Like Seers, those muggle weathermen.
They get things right about fifty percent of the time.
The mental image of Sybill Trelawny with her unique wardrobe in the morning weather segment makes Draco snort.
“Y’wake, Dada?”
“I am now, darling. Come up.”
Sock-clad feet pad softly to the side of the bed Draco is nearest to, before another round of thumping shakes the mattress, more insistent this time. He needs only one arm to reach over and pull his squirming bundle of honey-scented son up to cuddle at his side.
“It’s late, little star,” Draco says softly, glancing at the clock at his bedside table. “How was your adventure through the hallway?”
“Dark.”
“Oh? That’s quite the surprise. I thought it would’ve been nice and sunny.”
Scorpius giggles as Draco casts a wandless lumos.
The way Scorp presses himself closer makes Draco think his son still isn’t entirely convinced that they’re both separate people yet—that is… he’s read that, once, in one of those parenting books Theo insisted Draco study.
“And what prompted my star to brave the dark of the hallway tonight, hm?”
“Too loud. Scary.”
The admission is offered freely, no hesitation. Fears laid bare with no hint of embarrassment or shame. Draco reaches up to brush Scorp’s fringe from his scrunched up brows, thumbing them gently until the furrow smoothens out.
“Rather rude, isn’t it? Waking little boys from their dreams of giant apples and cotton candy.”
The smile that graces his son’s face makes his plump cheeks dimple. The boy is about to answer when the sky flashes brightly outside. Thunder shakes the windows not a second later.
Scorpius burrows deeper against his side.
“Make it quiet, Dada? Please?”
Three years ago, Draco would have done exactly that. A quick silencing spell in Scorpius’s room would have seen both of them back to sleep without much fuss. It’s what his parents would have done—with a quick telling off to sweeten the exchange.
Fears silenced, not comforted.
Because such things are only for immature children and fools.
Draco shakes his head, turning his attention back to his son.
“Have I told you about boggarts, little star?”
“Mhm. They make you ‘fraid.”
“Smart boy,” Draco says fondly, poking the boy’s belly and making him squeak. “Do you remember how we should fight them?”
“Make them funny!”
Draco sits up and hauls Scorp onto his lap, tickling his son until his giggles turn into full blown laughter. The sound of it makes the dim light from the lumos brighten, his magic responding to Scorpius’s joy. The glow reminds him of fireflies and candlelit canvas.
He wraps his arms around his son, dropping a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
“Come along, then. I think I know exactly how we can make tonight fun.”
***
Three blankets, seven pillows, and various stuffed animals later finds Draco and Scorpius ensconced in the most amazing castle to have ever existed—as per Scorpius’s declaration. The wonder in his son’s face reminds him of his first time seeing Hogwarts.
Draco tries to remember if he’d been just as awestruck at the sight of the castle.
Incomparable to their fort, but surely he hadn’t stared, mouth agape.
The overly fluffed pillow he’s on reminds him that it is nearly half past three in the morning, and the floor isn’t nearly as comfortable as his bed, even with the layered cushioning charms. The blankets ripple as Scorpius’s enthusiastic limbs flail about, eager to touch and feel.
Some of the pillows and plush toys have a slightly suspicious smell—like dried drool.
“Dada, we do every night!”
“Maybe not every night. We might turn into vampires, darling.”
“I’ssokay! I can do like this—“
Scorpius crawls forward and flops over his chest, gnawing on his shoulder. Draco rolls his eyes as he flips onto his stomach. His darling son takes it as an invitation to sit on his back, twisting fingers into Draco’s ears as he continues to pretend.
“Alright, Vladimir, you’ve had your fill of blood.”
The weight of his son grows heavier over his spine as Scorpius lays his head down, nuzzling close, his downy hair tickling the back of Draco’s neck.
“Okay.”
“Here. I’ll teach you how to make paper stars.”
“Don’t want paper, Dada.”
“This paper is special. Trust me.”
With a huff, Scorpius slides down his back and sits beside him sullenly, arms crossed and mouth jutting out in a most unimpressed look. The whole look is twice as precocious considering he’s in his snake onesie, blonde cowlick sticking up over the felt fabric tongue.
Merlin, had he been this adorable as a child?
“Tha’s a square.”
Draco smothers down a laugh and begins folding.
Once the first star is done, Scorpius begins to sneak glances at his project.
When the second one takes form, all pretense of disinterest is abandoned.
“See? Isn’t it brilliant?”
Flash. Rumble.
Pout.
“Thunder, Dada.”
“I know, star. But if you help me make more of these, it won’t be as loud anymore. I promise.”
“Okay. I do it?”
“Of course.” Draco finishes his sixth one and pulls Scorpius close before taking his son’s hands in his own. Gently, he begins guiding clumsy fingers. “Here, fold it like this. Press down, all the way to the other side.”
A glance at his son makes Draco smile. Scorpius’s tongue is poking out, completely focused despite the fumbling of his fingers once Draco has him try on his own.
Another fold, another clap of thunder.
Scorpius jumps, but resolutely keeps folding.
It takes a while longer, but soon enough, Scorpius is done. The boy looks at the pile Draco had made, and then looks at his own. There’s uncertainty in his eyes when he looks up at Draco, but also… hope.
Origami.
Such a simple art.
The craft is the one mundane indulgence Draco had been allowed when he was younger. If Lucius had found out it was a purely muggle art, no doubt he would’ve caught a stinging hex.
“Well done, Scorpius.”
A smile—starlight peeking from gloomy clouds.
“A star!”
“Indeed, and it’s the best one yet.”
The seventh star looks rather lumpy.
The tips are not as pointy, the paper not as neat. But none of that matters. Not really.
Not when Scorpius jumps up and presents it to him like he’d plucked it from the night sky itself.
Not when Scorpius hurries out of the fort and toward his desk to show it to Astoria’s flower.
“Mummy, look! Star!”
The ache in his chest is all melancholy. Catching sharp right at his throat, making the next inhale just shy of ragged.
Draco wonders if it will ever be different.
Enough.
Back to the creases, back to the folds. The razor sharp precision he’d always appreciated.
Several duplicates are made.
It’s simple enough to cast a modified lumos over the stars, simple enough to make the charm everlasting. By the time Draco is levitating them out and over Scorpius, his own mood is all but buried and forgotten.
He waves his wand over the star Scorpius is holding too, gathering his son up in his arms as he arranges them into constellations he knows by heart. A sticking charm fixes them to walls, to the ceiling, to the frames of the window.
Scorpius tucks his thumb into his mouth as he watches, transfixed.
Always so attuned to displays of magic.
Only then does Draco cast the silencing spell, now that Scorpius has learned to sit with his fear.
“There, now. No more thunder.”
“Mmm. No more thunder.” Scorpius tilts his head, ever curious. “Why?”
“You know how we can see the stars up in the sky when the weather is nice?” Scorpius nods, eyes locked onto Draco’s own. “Well, now you have them right here. So the weather must be nice now. There’s Orion, with his hunting dogs Canis Major and Canis Minor. There’s Ursa, and Cassiopeia. Cygnus. Leo. Aquila.”
“So many, Dada.”
“That’s right. So the thunder isn’t so scary anymore, is it? Surely not anymore, now that you have plenty of friends to look after you,” Draco starts shifting his weight from one foot to another, twisting gently to lull Scorp to sleep. “Dada is up there too. That’s my constellation right there, see? Draco. And right there, that’s you. Scorpius.”
Scorpius shifts, sucking on his thumb in earnest.
Draco decides to let it slide, just for tonight.
“There’s the star you made, right in the middle. The heart of Scorpius. That star is called Antares. It’s a bright star that shares its light so the scorpion is easier to see. So it can let you know you aren’t alone.”
“Mm. Quiet now, Dada.”
Draco chuckles, pressing his lips to Scorpius’s temple. Once they’re both settled on the bed, Scorpius begins to drift. Stubborn child that he is, though, he still fights the call of slumber.
“Uncie Theo say fear goes quiet when you share.”
Trust Theodore to talk to his three-year-old godson like a proper philosopher.
Still, it’s a sentiment Draco appreciates.
“Is it?”
“Huh?”
“Is it quieter?”
“Mm.”
Scorpius yawns, tugging on the corner of his blanket and rubbing it against his lower lip. The other hand reaches up, opens and closes toward Antares. Draco covers it with his own, and they both make grabby hands for the heart of Scorpius.
“Ant—anrats-tis?”
“Antares.”
“Ant are?”
“—res. Antares.”
“Antares.”
Scorpius is quiet for the longest time. Long enough that Draco lifts his head to check if the boy has fallen asleep. His big grey eyes are locked onto the star above him, though.
“It’s mine?”
“Yours,” Draco guides Scorpius’s hand towards his mouth, whispering to squishy palms, like a secret. “For as long as Dada can keep them up for you.”
No.
Not a secret—a promise.
“That means forever.”
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two years later…
The sound of Scorpius looking for his shoes out in the hallway is distant. Either Draco is more exhausted than he realizes, or his son is trying to be as quiet as he can. The heavy feeling in his chest sinks even further down.
Therapy techniques kick in before he can lose himself completely, and Draco latches on to one grounding detail in his son’s room that doesn’t remind him of his failure.
Stars.
Paper stars.
The memory comes to him clear as day. A precious night of pealing laughter drowning out tumultuous, rolling thunder.
One star falls.
Then another.
Now that he’s honed in on them, he realizes quite a few are missing. No use wondering where they are now. Draco picks the newly fallen ones up and pockets them both, letting his feet carry him to the wall where the last remaining constellations hang stubborn.
Parts of Scorpius.
Antares, in particular.
The sticking charm he had cast—so strong it had held for two years—is simply gone. It doesn’t even whisper in his palm when he presses his hand against the paper.
Draco swallows his grief down.
He’ll buy tape, then.
And a pack of those ridiculously bright, muggle glow-in-the-dark stickers.
Plastic stars to replace magical ones.
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