TW: Lucius Malfoy's disregard for house-elf life
Astoria drifts in a haze of winter wedding planning, letting the tide take her as it wishes. Everything is glorious and beautiful and perfect; her sister Daphne happier than she's ever been – bright-eyed in excited anticipation for her approaching future. Astoria remembers those feelings well – all the glittering, dizzying moments spiriting towards her new life as a Malfoy.
It is hard not to be cynical.
She keeps her thoughts sealed and tries to lose herself in her sister's fairy-tale.
Everything is glorious and beautiful and perfect, and there is no reason Daphne's marriage shouldn't stay that way too. Steven isn't like Draco. No-one, she thinks bitterly, is like Draco. She could visit him in the London jail if she wanted to. Could go there and demand answers, and hold him accountable for all the damage he has wreaked on her life – the son who despises her, all but isolated in the Manor which had once seemed such a palace, closer to her parents-in-law who treat her like a little girl to be watched over, the name she had once idolized now just a relic of a relationship that should never have happened in the first place.
Astoria breathes out a tight, slow breath and forces a calm as she weaves tiny sparkling stones into the hem of her sister's wedding gown.
She has been so focused on returning to normal, she had forgotten how hellish normal was.
It will be better, both Lucius and Narcissa kept telling her, once Scorpius has been retrieved and Draco can be forgotten.
Better for whom, Astoria would dearly like to know.
Not her. Certainly not Scorpius who has fought them tooth and nail from the moment he regained consciousness. Literally, at times. It had startled her in a way she had never thought to anticipate, his frantic, frenetic energy; a trapped butterfly, battering at his confines in single-minded desperation. He didn't want to be there, with them, with her. Wordless though he was, he made his desires perfectly known. He wanted Draco. No-one and nothing but Draco. She knew that sign anywhere: Daddy. And every time his fingers moved in that motion, she heard it clear in her mind – her son's screams as he clung to Draco, the hoarse voice that she'd almost forgotten as Lucius pulled him away.
The sound haunted her, in dreams and waking.
The word an accusation on his lips and on his fingertips.
Hating her.
It was never exactly easy between them, Scorpius always making his preference for his father quite plain, but it had never been like this.
She had sat by his bed whilst he slept, that first afternoon when the effects of Stupefy were still wearing off, just taking him in, enjoying the peace, enjoying her son being home where he belonged after so long missing and wishing for him. Her heart was a nervous flutter in her chest, nervous in the way of finally getting something long longed for, though she thought nothing of it at the time. It was more excited anyway – she looked forward to reforging their broken relationship, to teaching Scorpius that she could love him and be there for him just as strongly as Draco ever was. She looked forward to the opportunity Draco's presence had never permitted. The start of something new, something better. For both of them.
The child shifted in his sleep, limbs twisting beneath the covers, arms stretching out, then his eyes flickered and opened and saw her.
Astoria smiled down at her son, lips parted to say the first words of their new life together.
Scorpius's whole expression darkened and twisted into unmistakable dislike.
And he turned away from her.
Every attempt she made at communication was met with staunch silence, and the knowledge he could speak made it all the worse.
There was no denying now that his mutism was deliberate, his defiance personal.
Astoria left the room before she could do or say anything rash, suppressing her tears until the nursery door closed safe between them.
Alone in her sitting room, her grief tore through her in a furious flood, rattling her whole body until she felt like she was drowning. Even now, having got what she wanted and won, it still wasn't enough.
"It will take time," Narcissa said when she found her. "These things always do. Scorpius is young enough to get through this, but it will take time." One hand resting on Astoria's shoulder, Narcissa sat down and gently drew her hands from her face. "I know what it is like, to believe your son hates you, and I cannot tell you with any certainty how long it will take for Scorpius to come around, but I do believe he will. He is young enough that all this will soon be forgotten, and he will learn that you are not the cause of his pain. But it will take time." She squeezed Astoria's hand, their wedding rings clinking together. "Patience, Astoria. Do not let Draco hurt you through the boy. It is as little Scorpius's fault as it is yours. Do not punish each other."
Astoria had wiped her eyes and nodded as though she believed her mother-in-law. She did, really. There was no-one else to believe. It didn't make it easier though. Every time her son looked at her – which was as little as the boy could manage – Astoria felt it right in the heart. She didn't know how to speak to him, had no idea how to pretend it was all alright, just as Narcissa said, and she was full aware that she was as stiff and uncomfortable around Scorpius as he was with her.
It didn't help that her parents-in-law found it so damn easy.
Scorpius rejected his grandparents just as thoroughly as he rejected her, but it was like they didn't even notice; carrying on as though everything was just as it should be. Furious signs went ignored, his silence deemed irrelevant, and they maneuvered the boy effectively into place regardless of the fight put up. Like they had been through all this before. She hated how unfazed they were, and how Scorpius – slowly slowly – started to react to thus; easing barely perceptibly in their favour whilst every effort made by Astoria was countered with spitting hatred, as potent in the second week of his homecoming as that first day.
She had never felt more of a failure.
Astoria avoids him now – avoids them all, really – and spends most days at her parents', busying herself with preparations for Daphne's wedding. It's only days away and there is so little left to do, but Astoria tackles it all with rigorous energy, only Apparating home when it's late enough that Scorpius will certainly be in bed and she's too tired to care.
She doesn't think about how she will manage once the distraction of the wedding is behind her.
Doesn't want to.
Astoria runs a light finger down the long length of the dress and watches it shimmer beneath her touch as though woven from starlight.
Glorious, beautiful, perfect.
"How's it coming, Tori?"
Astoria laughs and rises, turning towards the closed door and her sister's voice. Daphne has been increasingly desperate to see the dress, but Astoria has denied her even a glimpse until she can safely call it finished. She steps back to look at the gown in all its understated glory.
"Alright," she says. "You can come in now."
Astoria revels in Daphne's giddiness, letting it fill her up and push out all else. It might not last after the wedding, but for now she will make the most of it.
"Oh," Daphne breathes, hand extended without quite daring to touch. "It's…more than I ever imagined."
Astoria doesn't tell her that she's literally put everything she is into this dress. She doesn't need to. It shows in every careful stitch, every perfect inch. She had been quite the seamstress when they were children, conjuring up bright costumes for their games and creating wonderous outfits for all the parties their parents let them tag along to. The hobby had faded a little during their school years, though had flourished briefly when the question of the Yule Ball had arisen. But Malfoys didn't work. At least, not in that way. Astoria misses working with her hands, the satisfaction of a projection. Perhaps she will take it up again.
She helps Daphne carefully into the gown, wand between her teeth and ready to make the last alterations, though it fits her almost perfectly already. Daphne stands on the stool Astoria's been crouched on for the last fortnight, and Astoria stoops to lower the hem down to her feet before letting it fall; the material both flowing and weighty at once. It glitters with every breath.
"I used a little of the same stones in the bridal party's outfits too," she says, thinking of her own dress, their father's robes and their mother's hat. "For a consistent effect."
Daphne strains around to look at the train, flushed with unspeakable delight, and nods wordlessly.
Scorpius was supposed to be ring-bearer. Had been right from the beginning, when the engagement was announced two years ago, when Draco was supposed to be with her, and they would go together in a single unit. Astoria had got out his little set of dress-robes – identical in miniature to her father's – with the intention of altering them more than once to fit the theme. Each time she had stuffed them straight back into the wardrobe, unable to stand the sight of them. She had imagined him, before, done up handsomely with that toothy grin of his, half-running down the aisle in her wake. Now when she pictures it, he is sullen and moody, if there at all.
"Tori?"
She blinks up at her sister. "Hmm?"
Daphne frowns down, then gathers up her skirts and steps from the stool to on the ground;dress spread around her like a flower.
"Still not good?" she says.
Astoria's head dips. "I know it will take time," she says in an echo of Narcissa. "I just—" A shudder courses through her. "I don't know how to stop him from hating me."
"Scorpius?"
She nods.
"I'm sure he doesn't hate you, Tori."
Astoria gives a dry laugh. "You'll see him at the wedding. Try and tell me then."
"Have you taken him to see Draco since—"
"No. And I'm not going to. I know that would only make it worse. He mustn't—Scorpius mustn't have the option. It's me or nothing. And maybe he'd rather nothing now, but eventually—" The trajectory is impossible to maintain. "It's still very early," she mutters. "It will be okay. I'm not worried. It's just… a little harder than I'd anticipated."
Daphne falls back on her elbows like they're girls lying on the lawn. "I don't envy you," she says. Then, looking to Astoria, "You should bring him here for a bit. Let Mother and Father have a go at him. They'd soften him up in no time."
"You think so?" It's tempting. Her parents have always been pretty much strangers to Scorpius, but there's no reason for that really. She can imagine him here. Can imagine him flourishing. Away from the Manor. Even Lucius and Narcissa were different here. "Maybe," she says, wondering out loud. "I'll speak to them."
"Them?" Daphne's eyes roll in a derisive flick. "Why do you need to ask them?"
"It's not a matter of need, per se—"
"It's got nothing to do with them. He's your son."
"I know that." But the heat in her face betrays her. Astoria looks away and down. Though she'd never admit it aloud, least of all to Daphne, Scorpius is a Malfoy first and foremost and, as hard and as quickly as she's tried to learn, Astoria is all too aware that she is only a Malfoy by marriage. Inexperienced and underqualified, it's too easy to defer to her parents-in-law who have done it all before.
"How much time have you actually spent with Scorp since getting him back?"
Five hours and thirty-two minutes precisely. "I don't know."
"I thought you wanted him home?"
"I did! I do!"
But Daphne's wearing that look.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You're his mother."
"Thank you so much. I'd nearly forgotten."
"Don't joke."
"Then stop needling me."
"I'm just saying—"
"Don't," says Astoria, glaring at her. "Don't just say. Let me be. Let me work this out."
"Fine." Daphne holds up her hands in surrender. "Your life, your loss."
Her loss.
Astoria gives a thin smile and rises abruptly, brushing the fleck of thread from her skirt. "Come on," she says with a brusque motion. "Get that off before you crease it too much."
"Thank you for coming at such short notice," Scorpius hears his grandfather say all the way out in the hall.
Scorpius keeps his back pressed against the wall, a whole corner keeping him hidden and out of sight. He is supposed to be in the nursery, supposed to stay there until expressly told otherwise. That's what his grandmother says. But he feels like he's been stuck in there for actual ages, one person coming after another and he doesn't want anything to do with any of them. He's sick of people being lead in by Haddie the house-elf, come to poke him about and look in his mouth and ask him stupid questions they already know he's not going to answer. It was like this a bit before, after he lost his voice. Everyone was worried like he was dying or something, and everyone came to try and fix him and none of them could. He'd hated it then, all the attention that only ended in disappointment, but at least his dad had been there then, holding him close, chin on the top of his head as the doctors peered down his throat with the lights at the end of their wands. Scorpius hadn't bitten any fingers then, as uncomfortable as it was, because he was doing it for his dad. He wanted to be better and fixed for his dad.
He doesn't care about being better or fixed for anyone else.
It hurts, his throat, whenever he tries to test it when he's certain he's alone and can't be heard. It still doesn't really work, and it feels like something broke out at the Ministry and stayed broken, so even though he can talk if really really wanted to. But he doesn't. Not to any of them – his family or the stupid specialists with their stupid wands.
And here's another one.
Scorpius risks a peek around the corner, twisting the trailing sleeve of the orange jumper his house-elf keeps trying to steal.
His grandfather still somehow manages to look imposing even within the hugeness of the hall, whilst the new person looks like they're shrinking beneath the chandelier. It's a girl this time. A lady. She looks older than his grandmother, with grey hair twisted up and pinned beneath a big blue hat, wearing a dress-coat-cloak in the same colour. She has to look up to speak to Grandfather and her mouth's moving, but she's speaking too quietly to hear.
He could sneak closer, but the risk might be too much, and the real big thing is getting out and getting home much more than listening in, and it's the perfect time – with his mother and grandmother out, and his grandfather right there being distracted, and Haddie's really easy to escape from if you put the effort it, so it's now or never.
Floo is out of the question – the fireplace being right there, plus the powder being locked up from last time – but Scorpius is fairly certain he knows the way off the property, and if he can get to the end of the garden and onto the road and makes his magic come, then the Knight Bus will definitely come and pick him up and take him home, and he can promise his dad will pay the fare on the other end. He should practice saying so though, so his voice doesn't come out all weird and croaky. His grandfather ushers the lady into the room where guests always go to sit and drink tea on the uncomfiest settees in the house, and Scorpius estimates he has about twelve minutes before anyone realises he isn't where he's supposed to be. He'll have to move quickly and be at least past the lake to have the best chance. Haddie is sneakier than the others, but Scorpius is sneakier than the other house-elves and won't be underestimated.
As soon as the grownups' backs are turned, Scorpius slips from his hiding place and darts across the long stretch of hall – the riskiest leg of the journey. He's shoeless which helps, more sliding than stepping, and as soon as he hits the carpet of the hallway leading towards the back of the house with the comfier living rooms and his grandmother's sun-room, he runs.
The doors outside are never locked unless there's a special reason so, even though it's stiff and heavy and takes all of Scorpius's strength, he manages to pull open the backest door without much problem. There are house-elves in the greenhouses – Scorpius can see them through the big, misted-up windows – but they aren't paying any attention to anything other than the vegetables they've been tasked with retrieving. That's the good thing about house-elves, Scorpius thinks – carefully edging his way by – they only really think about one thing at once. As long as he doesn't draw attention to himself, they're no threat at all. Mostly. His dad doesn't like house-elves, has always been weird about them, like they're the enemy or something. He's not mean, not like his grandmother can be – quick to hit if they don't follow her orders immediately enough – and not sharp like his mother, but weird. Like he doesn't trust them. Even though he was master when he was here and had the biggest power over them. Scorpius isn't fond of them either, but that's because everyone keeps sending them to watch him, and that's just another added element to avoid. They weren't spying on his dad.
Once he's through the walled garden and out the little gate leading to the grounds, Scorpius grins. The world feels big again – just grass forever and ever, as far as he can see, except for the forest down that way left and the lake down that way forward. The way out is to the front though, and that means following the long windy road all the way down to the huge curly gates. Scorpius has never walked the road before, but it doesn't take very long in a car. Maybe five minutes. If he runs, it should take maybe seven minutes and that's more than enough time.
Scorpius starts to trot.
Her name is Jillian, and Lucius isn't sure about her at all. She approached them of her own accord – apparently an acquaintance of one of the many failed professionals who have come and gone in the last week – without any credentials to speak of. No training, no recommendation. Just dogged self-belief that, for some reason, she will be able to succeed where all others have failed.
Grit has always impressed him. It is what made Lucius pause over her letter without discarding it out of hand. It is what invited her here for an interview. All against his better instincts, and Narcissa's too.
They have been in this position before – desperate; willing to try anything – and it did not end well.
Lucius scrutinizes her from the opposite chair as she sips tea on the settee, trying to see anything he might otherwise have missed. She is innocuous – grey-haired, round-faced, staunch without being abrasive; confident without arrogance. He can imagine her with Scorpius, coaxing out the voice they all know is there. Gentler than the boy necessarily deserves, but it's important to tread carefully in such instances.
And so it had been with Draco.
Lucius is terrified of making the same mistake twice. If there is one element of Draco's childhood he could go back and alter, it would be William Southard.
Southard had sat where the woman sits now, a lanky man of little appeal with auburn hair and eyes the glinted behind small, rectangle glasses. He had been as she is: Innocuous. A last, desperate hope. Something different when all the normal routes had failed.
Lucius isn't sure he wants 'different' again.
"I don't have credentials," says Jillian, "but I do have experience. Eight children and twenty grandchildren will do that. All of them different. I've seen it all. I'd've looked to use all I know at somewhere like Hogwarts, if I'd ever had a moment to myself in the last seventy-five years."
"And now you have your moment?"
Jillian puffs up. "I raised them up well, Mr Malfoy. They don't need me anymore."
"Congratulations."
"Not saying it's easy," she amends, catching the first hint of ice. "Takes practice. And skill. Not everyone's got it, no matter what they try and tell you." She inclines her head towards him. "You just had the one didn't you? Chappie in the paper."
At least she isn't trying to play him.
"That is correct."
"Well, that'll be the problem right there. Not your fault. But it's all about practice. And I've got that in spades. You name it, I've dealt with. And fixed it too, most likely."
"I trust your… friend informed you of my grandson's difficulties?"
Jillian grins. "Showed me his finger. That was enough."
Lucius suppresses a wince. "Scorpius has the potential to be the best of us," he says, "but his upbringing thus far has been—" He looks for the word least likely to over-dramatize. "—inconsistent, to say the least. He, like all children, is a sponge."
She nods like she knows. "Needs wringing out a bit."
"Reset, yes, and we think that an outside presence would have the best odds of success. Someone he doesn't have a predisposition against. Too much has happened in too short a space of time, and that is rendering him incapable of seeing things—" My way. "—objectively. The biggest obstacle is his speech, or lack thereof. It is pure obstinacy. He can talk, he simply refuses to. That needs to change. My son encouraged it, enjoying that it set Scorpius apart from the rest of us. Isolating him. Out of some sort of misplaced loyalty to his father, Scorpius continues his self-imposed mutism and refuses to communicate with us."
"Tricky," says Jillian, setting her cup down on the saucer with a light chink. "But not impossible."
"Of course it isn't impossible," says Lucius curtly. "Nothing is impossible. I just—" A forced pause and he hates it, being caught in such a manner. He clears his throat. "It needs to be achieved tactfully." He meets her eyes. "You understand."
Jillian raises her chin. "I do."
Lucius smiles. "Excellent. Then perhaps we can make introductions now?"
He leads the way through the Manor, acutely and satisfyingly aware of how the house presents itself to strangers, an introduction all of its own. No matter who – Narcissa, Severus, Auror, staff – they have all reacted similarly to the imposing grandeur of the Manor, unable to control their wide eyes and open mouths the first time they were permitted inside. No doubt Astoria was the same. Lucius regrets missing it. Jillian trails behind, as awe-struck as anyone; staring up at the portraits who stare straight back, weighing her worth and inevitably finding her lacking. To them, no-one is worth of treading these hallowed halls, least of all the most recent members of the family. Lucius despises them all, has considered – more than once – taking down every single one of them and making a very satisfying bonfire, his father's portrait crowning the pyre.
Malfoy Manor isn't haunted, but it certainly would be if he dared follow through. Portraits are bad enough; ghost would be a whole other headache.
"Just through here."
Lucius hasn't spent much time in this part of the house, not since his own nursery days – so far off now, they barely exist in memory. He can count the instances he visited Draco here on one hand, always preferring to send for the boy instead, always better that their meetings were held on Lucius's territory. Upper hand, and all that.
Scorpius is different.
There is no sound on the other side of the door, which in itself is not peculiar – after all, the boy is mute – but when Lucius pushes it open to admit them both it is immediately and conspicuously obvious that the nursery is empty.
He tries anyway. "Scorpius Hyperion?"
Nothing. Not even the presence of a hiding child.
"Haddie."
The elf assigned to Scorpius pops up instantly, already wringing its hands, already guilty, unable to look up from the ground.
"Where is my grandson?"
The elf mumbles something inaudible until a thwack to the side of the head makes it speak up. "Not sure, sir," it squeaks. "Haven't seen Master Scorpius since this morning."
"You were ordered to watch him."
"Master Scorpius is… Master Scorpius is…" It cringes when Lucius advances a step. "Slippery, sir."
"Slippery?"
It nods fervently backing up until Lucius grabs it by the collar of its filthy pillowcase.
"I'll leave my details with you, Mr Malfoy," he hears Jillian say behind him, audibly retreating.
Lucius drops the elf and turns to her. "You're not leaving?"
"I…think it best if you let me know a time that suits you and the child." Her eyes flick to the elf on the floor. "We'll arrange a time and perhaps you can bring him to my home. A… neutral space usually helps in difficult situations."
Lucius's nostrils flare. "Fine. Fine. I'll be in touch." She's obviously desperate to leave, and Lucius is suddenly desperate for her to be gone. This isn't the impression he wanted to give. He forces a clipped, "Thank you for your time." As soon as she's gone, he rounds on the elf. "You have lost him too many times! He is a child. How difficult is it to keep him in your sight?" They are all worthless. Every single one of them. Ill-trained and undisciplined in his absence. It was never like this before the war. Unfortunately most of the old staff perished during the Dark Lord's stay or were seized by the Ministry following his arrest. This new lot… Completely worthless.
"Come here."
The elf hesitates, which does nothing to help its case. It's the same hesitation that had them glancing to Draco for confirmation, rejecting Lucius as rightful Master. As though Draco could ever manage such a title himself. It's so absurd as to be almost laughable.
It takes a single well-aimed blow to do away with the useless creature, the motion delivered so quick it certainly had no time to realise what was happening. Blood soaks into the pale carpet.
A snap of the fingers summons another, and it freezes at the sight of its fallen comrade.
"Clean it up," Lucius snaps, turning on his heel. "Ensure there is no stain."
The gate is much much further than Scorpius had expected. It feels like he's been walking for a week (he gave up running after about five minutes when a particularly nasty stitch in the side had him almost turning back) but he keeps going, following the endless wall of bushes as high as trees. The Manor is still big and looming behind him, like it's following and never letting him get any further, but Scorpius grits his teeth against it and pushes on.
This is more important.
He has to get away and get home and find out what happened to his dad. Has to find Theo. Or even Mr Potter. And misses Albus so badly it's like a big bruise in his chest. He just wants everything to back to how it was, though he has no idea why everything changed or how to stop it from changing again. That doesn't matter. That can be worked out later. Once he's home.
Home has never felt so tangible since his mother kidnapped him. It was always weird before – not really here or there – and even when his dad took him to the new house and it definitely felt home-ish, it was still not quite certain, but now it is. Home is the house, with his dad and Theo, and Albus down the street. This isn't. And he doesn't want to be here and they can't make him stay so there.
And if no-one's going to come and rescue him like they're supposed to, he'll bloody well rescue himself.
So there.
Easy peasy.
His hands are bundled up in the hanging sleeves of his orange sweater, but his fingers are still tingly with cold. His nose too, and his ears. He sucks his lip to keep his teeth from chattering and wishes he's looked for a hat before he'd left. And shoes. That was a bit silly. It's difficult to think of everything when there's only one thing you really want.
The peacocks follow him in a long, curious train. Scorpius wonders if they'll follow him off the estate and onto the bus, and how much peacocks have to pay to travel, and it would probably be more sensible to fly, though he's never seen them fly, and maybe they can't, like penguins can't. He wonders if his dad will mind paying their fares too and where they'll stay at the house. There's no much room and there're a lot of peacocks. Scorpius hopes there're enough seats for them all. He'd hate to have to tell some of them to stay behind.
"Scorpius?"
He freezes. He'd been so distracted he hadn't noticed that he'd nearly reached the gate, or that his mother had just appeared through it.
The peacocks scatter.
Scorpius glares after them. Traitors.
"What on earth are you doing? Where are your shoes?"
Like she thinks he's actually going to reply to her.
Scorpius rolls his eyes and turns, ready to run after the peacocks and – he guesses – back to the Manor to try again and other day.
A grab to the collar snags him.
"I asked you a question, Scorpius."
He doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything concerning her.
"Who's supposed to be watching you?"
Scorpius turns his glare up at her, and finds it reflected straight back down with his own brown eyes.
"For goodness sake," Astoria mutters, and stoops to pick him up where he stands in soaked socks.
No! Scorpius squirms, sliding from her grasp, but she's still got a good grip on his jumper. He feels a thread tear.
"Come on, we'll sort this out back home."
No! He doesn't want to go back. He doesn't want her. He wants to be home – real home – with his dad and Theo. He wriggles harder, kicking, flailing, fighting her just as hard as he fought at the Ministry. Not going to lose this time. "No!"
His mother tenses at the word and, in her surprise, she drops him.
Scorpius skitters back in the wet grass; the frozen dampness soaking up into his clothes. His voice is getting stronger and feels less cracked, but it still feels raspy in his throat and weird on his tongue.
Astoria stares at him – her eyes big and round – and doesn't move, like maybe they're both under a spell and if she breathes it'll break. Scorpius feels it a bit too, though he's breathless and panting and doesn't know what to do now. He risks a glance behind her – the huge iron gate looming up out of the ground. There's no latch, no hinge. You've got to go straight through it, one way or the other. And it only lets you past if you're allowed. Cars too. It evaporates like smoke, though if you touch it, it feels just as real as anything.
"What did you say?" His mother's breathy voice brings his attention back to her.
Scorpius bites his tongue. He hadn't meant to speak – it's the only card he has to play and he doesn't want to waste it. Better to pretend he never did.
Astoria takes a step towards him, and Scorpius jumps up and hops back.
"Say it again," she says, and there's a please unspoken in her voice. Nearly gentle. Nearly nice.
His eyes narrow.
He knows better than to trust her.
"Scorpius." Suddenly she's kneeling on the ground, skirts falling around her like leaves, and she's looking at him so desperately she almost reminds him of his dad. She reaches for him without touching. "Scorpius," she says again. "Please. Talk to me."
It's the same words he keeps hearing – from his grandmother and his grandfather, and all the people who've come and gone. Talk. Speak. Please. He's heard it most often from his mother, but this time's it's different. It's not snapped at him without expectation. It's not even asked. Please, she said. Meant.
Scorpius licks his lips, chapped from the cold.
He could. But he doesn't know what he'd say to her.
Back in the before time, when he talked a lot, he still didn't say much to her. He'd talk at her, but it wasn't like talking to his dad. She never listened so there was never much point in saying anything much. He had liked to talk – he remembers that – and he'd talk at her because otherwise it was like she forgot he was there at all. As long as she could hear him, she had to remember he was there. It was different with his dad. It's different now, too, with his mother. She's looking at him – right at him – and caring about his words.
And he doesn't know what to say to her.
So Scorpius doesn't say anything.
Hope gives way to disappointment, which in turn dwindles to frustration.
Astoria hisses through her teeth and rises sharply, going again for his arm and catching him this time, too startled to avoid her.
"Why do you think," she says, pulling Scorpius along as she starts briskly back towards the Manor, "that anyone is going to indulge you in the slightest if you do not cooperate? You want your father, then speak, Scorpius. It's perfectly simple."
She's forced to a halt when he digs his bare heels in and, when she looks down, his eyes are enormous with expression; fingers moving in a familiar desperate shape, lips working to copy them. It takes several goes before he manages, "Daddy?"
Something small and hard like a stone drops into Astoria's heart, rippling through her until her ears are ringing with the memory of the Ministry and Draco as he'd stared up at her and, Astoria, please.
She turns her face away and pulls him on, feeling him trip and trot to keep up.
"You need to try, Scorpius. You need to cooperate."
Draco Lucius Malfoy may not set wards around or within their dwelling. Draco Lucius Malfoy may not go within ten miles of the Malfoy residence, nor send anything or anyone in his stead, including but not limited to correspondence or acquaintance. Draco Lucius Malfoy may not approach any member of the Malfoy family, staff or representative. Draco Lucius Malfoy must submit immediately to further summons or questioning from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when required. Failure to comply will result in immediate and indefinite incarceration.
"Do you understand the conditions of your release?"
It feels like Draco's mouth is suckered shut. He stares down at the contract laid out before him, detailing in no uncertain terms all that he may and may not do.
"Draco," he hears Granger prompt, the quill sharp pushed between his fingers.
"Yes." Then, "I understand."
Across the table, Collette Luem smiles. She wears unadorned robes in a blue so dark it's almost black; braided hair is coiled and pinned up at the back of her head, and her fingernails are painted in a subtle, shimmering copper. The polish glints as she reaches with one finger to tap the empty line at the bottom of the document and says, "Sign here, Draco." Her voice is soft and familiar. They know each other well; she has represented the Malfoy family's interests long before Draco was born, was a consistent presence in the Manor, growing up, as all her working hours were spent trying to keep Lucius Malfoy out of trouble.
She is the best. Of that, Draco has no doubt.
Even when the evidence was insurmountable after Voldemort's return, she never gave up trying to twist the facts and the law. She might even have succeeded, if the Death Eaters hadn't been sprung out so quickly. After the war, she worked closely with Narcissa, clearing her name and Draco's, keeping them safe and blameless. No doubt she worked diligently behind the scenes too, another practiced hand in Lucius's acquittal. Her purpose in life is to defend the interests of the Malfoy family.
And now she sits opposite Draco, with the smile he remembers so well, and taps again at his name written in careful, official script.
Draco heart sits heavy in his chest.
This is his last chance, would've known it was so even if it hadn't been reiterated in both Granger's voice and Luem's. They will not come back here after today. Almost as though they're working on the same side, pushing him to a promise he cannot make. Granger had returned early this morning, before she was strictly allowed, and told him everything – Potter's plan, Theo's thoughts, and her own determined, You are useless just sitting here – before sitting back and adding, "I warned you I had no patience for time-wasters, Malfoy."
There had been nothing to do, nothing to say apart from the smallest most reluctant, "Alright."
Granger disappeared immediately to send off the appropriate correspondence, to Luem and Theo and Andrew. He's agreed to sign. Personally, Draco thinks 'agree' is a bit strong. More like coerced into cooperation. He isn't ready, isn't prepared. Despite the hour wait for Luem, it has all happened too fast. And now he's faced with it, the carefully crafted contract he can never get out of. No way around. No way to Scorpius. And what's the point of being free if he cannot get to Scorpius.
"Harry needs you," Granger had said. "Though Merlin knows why. He says you have work to do and you need to get on with it."
Draco thinks about Suzie and Kate, and that night on the bench by the river, and all the good they had resolved to do. It was never going to be easy but they would try anyway. Against everything. Their mission had never been a whim, but it feels so small now. So pointless, which is far worse than impossible. And he's so angry at Potter, how is he supposed to face him, much less work with him? Draco would be perfectly content to let the Dementors have him if it meant never having to face Harry and Theo again.
But Draco knows that isn't true.
Not really. Not at the root of it all.
Even if it feels true.
"Play the long game," had been Granger's last murmured advice before Collette had rounded the corner to meet them. "You haven't lost yet."
Granger is the most honest person Draco knows, the only one with no cause to lie to him.
Draco takes a deep, juddering breath, and signs his name on the line.
Theo's heart hasn't stopped thuddering since the moment Potter had Floo'd into the living-room, brandishing Granger's note with a breathless, "He's getting out today. He's signed."
"Shit." Theo pushes a hand through his hair and looked around, seeing their home from Draco's perspective. It was so quick, so sudden, no time to tidy or get ready or prepare and the bed is a fucking mess and there's a pile of dishes in the sink—
Potter follows his gaze, taking in the clutter. "Don't worry. I've got this. I'll enlist the kids. James might take a bit of bribing, but Al's been antsy ever since—well, you know. He'll be glad to help. You just get down there." Then, "Do you have his wand?"
Theo's eyes land immediately on the coffee table with its useful drawer. "Yeah. Why?"
"They're gonna… keep it," he said, almost in an apology. "Hermione says it's one of the conditions."
"What the fuck? He's not a fucking criminal!"
Potter spreads his hands like that explains everything away.
"This isn't fair," Theo mutters, stalking to the table and snatching out Draco's wand. "This is all bullshit."
"I don't think anyone's pretending it isn't."
"And that's supposed to help is it?" He blows out a breath and shakes his head with a muttered, "Sorry. It's just—"
"Yeah," says Harry. "I get it."
"So I just, what? Hand over the wand and get Draco back?"
"More or less, I think. That's what happened when they released me. Though they already had my wand. There'll probably be someone round later or tomorrow to make sure you don't have any wards up or secret wand stashes or anything like that."
They share an eyeroll.
"I know," says Harry. "I know it's bullshit."
Theo gives a dry laugh and starts towards his coat hanging up by the door. "You know, I've spent pretty much every moment of the last few weeks wanting Draco back, wishing he'd pick himself up and get himself out of there, but I didn't think for a moment about what would happen once he came home."
"You worried?"
Theo takes his time with that answer. Worried was the wrong word. At least, not about Draco. Not really. It is bigger than that. "What do I do," he says, testing the question slowly, "if Draco tries to—"
"He can't," says Harry at once. "He mustn't."
"Yes, I know that, exactly. So what do I do?"
"You bloody stop him, Nott, that's what you do!"
Theo stares back at him. "It's on me, isn't it?" he breathes. "To keep Draco away from Scorp." And, when Harry gives the most reluctant, most apologetic now, "Fuck."
"He'll see sense. Eventually."
"Eventually. But how the hell am I supposed to get to that point?
"It'll be fine," says Potter in that spectacularly unconvincing way of his which no doubt worked wonder of the gullible Gryffindors but does nothing to sooth a Slytherin's soul. "You're not alone, we're literally just down the road. And—" He gives a brittle laugh. "—It's not like I have anything else to do at the moment, right? I can distract him, no problem. We'll tag-team it. No problem."
"No problem," Theo echoes.
