Scorpius knew something was wrong the moment the men in suits came to his doorstep.
He opened the door, his knees went weak. They looked, so grim. "We have some unfortunate news," the first said carefully, with the air of one used to giving bad news.
The ground lurched under his feet. "Of course," he heard himself say. He felt disjointed, a spirit separate from his body. "Please, come in."
The men stood in his living room, looking uncomfortable. The second man cleared his throat. "You are Mr. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy-Potter?"
"Yes," he whispered, gripping the edge of the couch for support.
"Husband of Mr. Albus Severus Malfoy-Potter?"
He swallowed hard. He had a lump in his throat that made it close to impossible to speak. "Yes, that's me."
"You may wish to sit down," said the first, fiddling with his tie. "It's about your husband, Mr. Malfoy-Potter. He's…no longer with us."
"Oh, my Lord." He wasn't a spirit anymore. This pain was all too familiar, all too real. He put his head in his hands. He couldn't even bring himself to cry.
"Our deepest sympathies…" he cleared his throat again. "How long had you been married?"
Had. The use of past tense hit him like a blow. He had been married. Not anymore.
Not anymore.
"Five years next Tuesday," he answered hollowly. "How did it happen?"
"You are aware your husband was an Auror?"
"Of course I was."
"He was put on a case with several other Aurors, including Harry Potter, pursuing a group of former Death Eaters suspected of trying to restart He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's cause. When they raided their suspected headquarters, one of the Death Eaters set an Exploding Curse on the building. Several Aurors were injured. Your husband was killed. I'm so sorry."
"Thank you for telling me." His voice sounded strange even to his ears, low and choked. "Can you just…leave, please?"
They obeyed. Scorpius was left sitting alone in their—his—living room, feeling hollow.
This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.
"Oh, Al," he whispered to empty air, his voice quickly rising to an agonized, heartbroken wail.
"Albus!"
The coffin lid closed with a loud and resonating 'click!'. Scorpius could only watch as the shining ebony coffin—the exact color of his hair—was lowered into the cool, soft-looking ground.
Beside the white marble headstone stood a blown-up, grainy picture of Al, wreathed in a circle of vibrant wildflowers, waving ever-so-gently in a nonexistent breeze. At the foot of the headstone were more flowers, candles bewitched to burn everlasting, and more photos of Al—Al with James, Al with Lily, Al with his parents, with his friends, with his cousins and aunts and uncles, and with Scorpius, countless with Scorpius, Al smiling, Al laughing, Al frowning, trying to look serious, Al kissing Scorpius at their wedding, Al dancing alone in the rain.
It was hard for Scorpius to believe that the happy, vibrant boy in the photos was the same one laying still and silent beneath the earth.
For Scorpius, that had been the worst part. Al's expression as he lay in the coffin was solemn, serious. It wasn't the Al he knew. The Al he knew was always smiling, joyful, full of love and just so alive.
He looked around, hoping to distract himself. The entire family had attended the funeral—that had been held on his and Al's anniversary, no less. Ginny was sobbing hysterically into Harry's shoulder, and her husband was holding her tightly, his tears falling into her hair. Lily was standing a little ways away, staring into space as if lost in memories of her brother. James was standing close beside his wife Maddy, looking stoic and manly as always, but his shoulders were shaking. Maddy caressed her stomach, rounded with her pregnancy. "We're going to name him Albus," she told Scorpius quietly. "I think…I think Al would've liked that." Ron and Hermione were there; Hermione had her arms around Rose and Hugo as if terrified she would lose them, Ron was wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Draco and Astoria had shown up, too, much to Scorpius's surprise. His parents had never been what you would call comfortable with him being gay; Astoria had even gone so far as to refuse to go his wedding. But they had come today, and Scorpius was grateful for the small show of parental love.
He turned back to the grave. The freshly engraved words on the tombstone gleamed even through the slight drizzle. Albus's name and birthday, followed by the current year.
Scorpius pulled the small folded piece of paper from his pocket. On it was the letter he had written to Al, the good-byes he had never gotten to say. "Good-bye, Albus," he said aloud, dropping it into the open grave and watching it flutter to a stop atop the ebony, a single of spot of white on unbroken black. "I'll love you forever, I promise. Good-bye, Albus Severus Malfoy-Potter, my love."
Lily came over to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He hugged her, and she let him cry.
The funeral reception at the Burrow was silent and somber. Scorpius, who couldn't stand the too-quiet stillness of the house nor the sympathetic glances people kept sending him, chose to escape to the serenity of the garden.
Much to his surprise, he wasn't alone.
"Hello, Mr. Potter," he said, picking his way across the overgrown garden to sit beside his father-in-law.
The older man jumped, and Scorpius noticed the flask in his hand. "Scorpius, is that you? How many times have I told you to call me Harry?"
"Sorry, Harry." He sat down, watching the golden sun dip lower and lower beneath the trees.
"It was all my fault, you know."
"What was?"
"Al's death."
"Harry, that's not true—"
"It is," the older man half-scowled, half-sobbed. "It was just the two of us inside the building, Al and I. Everyone else was waiting outside. We were supposed to find out if the place was secure before we brought the rest in. It was an old factory, you know, near London, not very sound. Al told me to wait while he went ahead, I told him no, I would, and he told me he could, he wasn't a little kid anymore." Harry smiled bitterly. "He was so brave, Al. I was so proud of him. Anyway, he had gone maybe a few hundred feet before I realized something was wrong, they knew we were there. I yelled Al to move, to get out of there, and he looked back at me and someone screamed something and the whole place came crumbling down." He took a deep, pained breath. "When I came to, the air was filled with dust. I yelled for Al, and there he was, not moving, barely breathing. There was blood everywhere. I ran over to him. 'Is that you, Dad?' he asked. 'Yes, I'm here,' I answered. He laughed and said, 'Good.'. Then his eyes closed and he went limp, and I screamed for him but he didn't answer. It was too late, I was too late. He was…gone." Harry let out a choked little sob. "If only I had gone first. If only I had warned him sooner. It should've been me. It should've been me!"
"Mr. Potter." Scorpius put a hand on his father-in-law's shoulder. "Al knew what he was getting into."
"You must hate me."
"Hate you? How could I? You've been like my father since I was eleven years old. I could never hate you."
"Thank you, Scorpius," Harry said softly. "You have no clue how much that means to me."
Scorpius woke with a start. He sat bolt upright, nails digging into the sheets.
"Scorp? Scorp, baby, what's wrong?" came a soft voice from his right.
"Al!" Scorpius let out the low sob as his boyfriend's body molded against his own. "Oh, my God, you're alright!"
"Of course I am!" Al laughed. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I dreamed you died, and I was a widower…"
"A widower?" Al raised an eyebrow. "That's a bit much, darling, considered we aren't even engaged."
"Yeah, you're right." Scorpius chuckled weakly. "I love you."
"I love you, too, Scorp. But what—"
"Marry me?"
"Wait—what?"
Scorpius reached for his boyfriend's hand. "I said; marry me, Albus Severus Potter?"
"This is—" Al shook his head, smiling. "Whatever. Yes!"
Scorpius pulled his boyfriend—fiancée, now—closer for a kiss. "Never leave me," he begged. "Promise."
Albus chuckled softly. "I promise, my love. I promise."