He was playing with a model figure. It moved and made faces and pretended to be who its face showed when left alone, but when Scorpius picked it up, it would be whoever Scorpius asked, whether it was the damsel in distress or the dragon. It was flying a miniature broom right now, and unlike the real Hermione Weasley, she didn't look even a bit airsick. She flew circles around Scorpius's head, then landed on the carpet, awaiting orders from a child's mouth.

It was one of those days when Astrid wasn't visiting, and a year ago the eight-year-old Scorpius would have been upset, asking his dad over and over why Astrid couldn't visit, why he couldn't go over. But now Scorpius didn't mind so much. Things were colder between the once best friends, and he was getting used to being alone.

She'd laughed at the scars.

Of course, by now, Scorpius had realized that it had been a nervous laugh, hysterical even, but he wasn't going to be the one to apologize.

Scorpius touched his throat, feeling those scars, the dents in his throat. They ached. The model shuffled closer.

"Go fly round the chandelier." Then, because it didn't feel right ordering around even a toy version of the brightest witch of the age, "Please?"

She nodded, pushing off the thick carpet with a little help from Scorpius, and began to fly circles, up, up, up into the air, over the furniture of the large sitting room. Scorpius smiled wide.

A window broke with a great crash that echoed through the air. Scorpius stared as a man, a lanky unkempt man, his long and filthy hair spilling past his waist, crawled over the windowsill and into the room. Scorpius stared at him, the prisoners garb loose on his frame. He screamed.

"And here he is... Man of the hour... The first to die as I deal with that traitorous blood!" Even his voice was dirty, rough around the edges like it had only just been found after being missing for years. Scorpius took a shuddering breath, screaming again, his throat aching. The man pointed his wand at him.

"Oh, shut up, you stupid little-"

Scorpius' father threw himself through the doorway, slamming into the man's shoulder. The man, unbalanced, fell, rolled, head slamming against a heavy wooden cabinet while Draco crouched in front of his son, wand out. His eyes focused on the man with a deadly calm. "Scorpius. Are you alright?"

Scorpius clung to the back of his black silk shirt, tears slipping down his face. "Y-Yeah..."

"Then I won't kill him right off," Draco muttered to himself. "Score, go. Find Grandfather."

"But Da-"

"I know... I know you don't like him, I know, I know. But it isn't safe. Go, Scorpius."

But the man sat up now, rage twisting his features. Scorpius let out a small sound of terror. The Hermione model landed on his shoulder and he clapped his hands over his mouth so he wouldn't scream again, wouldn't hurt his throat more. Draco slowly stood up, face blank and body relaxed but eyes full of cold contempt and Scorpius, for a moment, didn't recognize his own father, like when he'd turned on Grandfather, last month.

"Malfoy."

"Lestrange."

The man grinned. "You recognize me after all, traitor. Traitor, traitor, traitor..." He repeated that word like it was water, something he depended on for survival, bobbing his head back and forth for each repeat.

"Don't be like that, Lestrange. It was for the best. Why don't you sit down, put your feet up and just get this duel over with, you twisted half-witted freak?"

Lestrange bowed from the waist. "Observe the protocols, Draco. Follow the traditions, traitor."

His father smirked, bowing, but his eyes never left the man's, this, Le Strange, and he pushed Scorpius behind an armchair.

Scorpius whimpered.

And it began with Lestrange shouting words and his father countering silent, quick movements of their wands and lights and fireworks, conjured creatures and spells that seemed to be nothing at all, but his shield deflected something, all the same.

They were moving, now, enjoying the fight, cruel smiles and dark eyes. Scorpius slid under the armchair and cowered as furniture began to break, the misfired spells acting on it. There were tears in his eyes and terror on his face, locking his limbs. The Hermione doll petted his hair.

There was nothing special about the moment. Tales like to dress it up as having a perfect clarity, a moment where you can see all the details, but it went as fast as the others for Scorpius, just a moment he replayed so many times with magic he knew those details the stories claimed.

His dad, a wound dripping blood from his arm, onto the carpet, a pitter-patter of red rain. Cuts and scrapes and a shard of something in his hair. Le Strange, spears of glass shards imbedded all up one arm. Wiping the dirt on his forehead with a filthy hand. Four eyes alight with darkness, with the joy of the hunt, the kill.

Where was someone? Why were there no elves, no Gran, no Grandfather, not even Mother? Why did no one come?

Lestrange grinning wide, raising his arm, wand steady and mouth open for another spell.

"Advelivi!"

A second, trying to think, Draco struggling to remember, a shield up before noticing.

Scorpius. Shield dropped, three quick steps and a leap, landing on all four limbs, wand dropped and forgotten.

The spell collided with his chest, little tendrils of mist wrapping around him gentle. He collapsed, backwards to right, head catching on a low coffee table, limbs limp.

Why was he asleep? Why wasn't he breathing? Scorpius panicked, fluttering breath, as the man limped to him. "I've had my fun-for now. But one day I'll come for you..."

Footsteps now, loud, one running, one limping, one walking heavy, lightfooted elves.

The man looked panicked, he didn't know how sound echoed in the manor.

"Oblivate!"

§•§

Harry Potter, sitting in a muggle ice cream with his six-year-old daughter, found that he kept looking at his watch. There was that sense, that feeling that something was happening. He hated that sense.

Especially today. The one day he gets to take Lily somewhere and something feels fated to go wrong.

He wasn't surprised when the third hand on his watch pointed to "work." His watch was a specially-made one, telling time but also telling him when he was needed somewhere. Work, home, Hogwarts.

"Lily, I know we only got here a half an hour ago, but something's just come up with work. I'm sorry."

She gave her ice cream scoop another lick and nodded sadly, taking his hand as he led her outside and to the apparating point. She clung tightly as the feeling of being squeezed swooped over them.

He watched her start to drag open the door and immediately whirled on his heel.

§•§

Scorpius was lying under a chair. There were footsteps-loud, unfamiliar footsteps, ones that didn't know the creaks in the floor or the way sound echoed.

"Still think its a suicide, sir."

"Suicide, when his son is right there?"

"It's the Malfoys, bet he didn't even care."

The sound of a slap.

"Oi-How dare you hi-"

"I"m docking your pay."

"Oh, come on, Potter, it was just one-"

"Don't insult the dead. Narcissa, ma'am, are you sure you don't want to sit down? It's been a very difficult hour."

Scorpius opened his eyes, looking at a sitting room that was a wreck and his father in the middle of it, leaning against a table, not moving. He knew he should know why, but the memory, of how he'd ended up there, of everything, stopped suddenly at the memory of a model doll taking flight. Scorpius whimpered, crawling from under the chair, reaching for his father, the person who had helped him with everything, tucked him into bed, cleaned every scrape and cut and bruise.

He was cold. His skin was cold, so cold, and it held no pulse, no beat of life under his fingertips.

"Dad? Dad? Dad. Dad, wake up!" He didn't even notice the strangers, shaking his father's shoulder, not noticing the deep cuts down Draco's wrists. His head lolled back, loose.

"Daddy! It's not funny!" He was hysterical now, crying. Strange arms carefully loosened his grip on silk fabric, curling around him. Harry Potter picked him up and held him, stroking his hair.

"I'm so sorry, Scorpius. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Scorpius sobbed. Clinging to Auror Potter, he sobbed into his shirt and robes.

Time became a blur of emptiness. He stopped crying, at some point, staring at a locket around Auror Potter's neck, the rectangle open to show pictures of three children, each in their baby years and a pretty red-haired woman. Potter's fingers absently ran along a dent in the frame.

He was sitting on a chair, being questioned gently. He struggled to even remember his name.

Draco was taken away, an empty shell wearing the name for the soul that had left. He cried and tried to stop them, suddenly convinced he might wake up. An auror, a different one, held him back with a gentle grip.

Sitting on the floor, staring at a bloodstain on thick carpet as he claws at his memory, looking for what's after the flying doll.

Like a curtain being dropped, it was there. The shattered glass and the man, his father falling in a mist.

And the aurors didn't believe him.

"We know you're upset, but kid, it's not murder."

"Look, sometimes-sometimes when bad things happen, people invent a memory of how it happened. I know it's difficult-"

"It's suicide, little Malfoy."

"Not murder."

"Stop"

"Wasting"

"My"

"Our"

"Time."

Scorpius curled up next to the bloodstain and cried.

"I believe you," Auror Potter whispered. "I'll see what I can do." He turned on his heel, apparating away.

That bloodstain stayed on the carpet for a month.

To C O L L A P S E D readers, yes I will update as soon as I can. I'm having issues concerning the beast named writer's block. Motivation in the form of daily/weekly bugging PMs welcome.

Onto the story behind this. It's an ongoing roleplay in our forums section, by Yellowtail555, UnleashTheSnitch114, LunaAlyxandra, Violet Scarlet Lily, Couture Girl (Who spawned our Head!Canoning), and I. I, elected scribe, am now writing down, revising, and wrangling this into a readable plot. The plot's pretty far along, so I'm pretty sure there won't be any sudden plot-drops in it, and if there are, I'll keep them out of this for your (the reader's) sanity.

It's also got some differences with canon, as you may have guessed. Concerning the epilogue: all bets are off. At this point (Notes and RP-wise), canon has been screwed over and fucked sideways. For the more canon-inclined, you may wish to read a different story. Or you may not. If you feel interested, stay, and bathe in the non-epilogue compliance.

And on that cheery note, review! Criticism and anonymous accepted.