A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed an favorited! It was such a pleasant suprise, and was a fantastic motivator for writing this chapter. :D

VIII.

"It's your turn."

"Nonsense," Draco Malfoy snapped. "If you think this is necessary, hire a nanny. Or ask the house elf to tell him a story. You can't expect me to go and—"

"And tuck your own son in?" his wife finished, arching an eyebrow.

They stood in the manor's atrium. The evening was wearing on and they had just returned from a dinner party when Astoria sprung this request on him.

Draco sneered. "Malfoys don't need to be tucked in."

Astoria bit her lip to keep from laughing. She was still in her evening gown, a dress of deep russet, and her hair was swept up into an elegant bun at the nape of her neck.

"What?" Draco demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Go tuck him in. He's four and he wants a bed time story and I promised you'd tell him one before we left."

"Are you listening to me, woman? I said I'm not going to—"

"If you're too proud to do it, don't worry about that. Your dignity was already compromised when you said the words 'tucked in'."

Shit. She certainly had a point there. He took two steps forward, towering over his wife as he glared down at her. "You," he said, "are a very lucky woman."

"Oh?" Astoria said, quirking a brow. "And why is that?"

"Because I'm in love with you. And if I weren't, the consequences for your impudence would be dire."

"Dire?" Astoria gasped in mock horror.

"Dire," he affirmed, nodding gravely, and then he bent down to place a swift kiss on her lips. His wife turned away before he could, and Draco nearly hissed with impatience.

"There's time for that later. Put your son to bed, and then come find me and I'll tuck you in," Astoria said, with a faint smile lingering about her mouth. She took a quick step back and hurried out of the room.

Draco frowned after her. So Astoria could say "tuck in" without compromising her dignity? It was entirely unfair. He trudged down the hall to his son's room, and pushed the door open. He didn't exactly spend quality time with Scorpius, but he wasn't averse to conversing with him either.

They often had dinner together, and once in a while, Draco would present Scorpius to relations that visited. Draco figured that meant he was a good father. Asking him to tell his son a bed time story, though? That was preposterous. He could hardly be expected to go so far in the name of fatherhood.

He glanced around the room, but Scorpius was nowhere to be seen. The sound of muffled giggling came from beneath the sheets, and Draco realized, with a sense of chagrin, that the boy was hiding. The giggling grew louder as Draco yanked the sheets back, but stopped suddenly as the boy was exposed and blinked up at him in surprise.

"You're not my Mummy," he said petulantly. "You're my father."

Draco glanced heavenwards. "That is correct."

Scorpius sniffed. He was a good natured child, albeit a bit shy in public, and he'd inherited his father's blonde hair and his mother's curls. The boy grinned cheekily at Draco.

"Are you here to tell me my story?"

Draco nodded stiffly and pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed and sat. He didn't know any bed time stories. He did, however, know his family genealogy and history by heart.

He cleared his throat. "In 1066, Armand Malfoy came to England with William the Conqueror—then William of Normandy. It wasn't until he vanquished—"

"Father…"

"It's rude to interrupt. It wasn't until William vanquished his enemies that he was able to—"

"What's a van-squish?"

"It's vanquish," Draco said, trying his utmost to sound stern as he looked down at his wide-eyed son. "It means to defeat. William of Normandy defeated Harold II at the Battle of Hastings, and the Norman invasion of England—"

"Were there dragons?"

Draco looked sharply at Scorpius. "What?"

"Did they get to van-squish the bad guys because they had dragons helping out?"

What sort of a question was that? "…No."

"Oh," the little boy said, his brow furrowing as he processed this disappointing piece of information. To Draco's amusement, his son's expression brightened a second later. "Unicorns! Did they have unicorns?"

"No," Draco said again, and Scorpius' hopeful look crumpled. Something caught in Draco's chest and he rushed to clarify. "Or maybe they did. Yes, actually, you're right. They definitely did have unicorns."

The boy beamed delightedly.

Draco cringed. If Astoria were here she'd most certainly have been laughing at him.

"So William of Normandy marched into battle…with his many unicorns flanking him, and vanquished his dastardly foes and was proclaimed king. Armand assisted him, and was given a dukedom. That's how the Malfoy line was established in Britain. The end."

"Why?" Scorpius asked.

"Why what?"

"Why did they have to lose?"

"I don't know if they had to lose, Scorpius, but they did."

"Oh…so if they did something different they wouldn't of lost?"

"Wouldn't have, not wouldn't of," Draco said, frowning, and mentally decided to check in on whether the tutors he'd hired to teach his son had been doing their jobs.

"If they did something different, they wouldn't have lost?" Scorpius repeated.

Draco didn't know what to say to that. Harold II's reign had been short-lived because…well, because that was the way things had turned out. Why did there have to be a reason for it? Draco had pondered these questions once, when he was young, in the aftermath of a war he never spoke of. He'd looked at the sign of his loyalty, tattooed into his flesh, and wondered how his world had come crashing down around him, and how nearly a thousand years of Malfoys had been on the wrong side of history.

Perhaps it was that the Dark Lord had been too powerful. He was a man out of his time and depth, who didn't fit into the world that his contemporaries had crafted. Perhaps it simply was that he was too great, too much, and all at once.

Scorpius nudged Draco, waiting for an answer, but Draco didn't have one. He considered the question in his mind, but found no answers other than the bare facts. Harold II had lost because he had to. That was the way things had to be. There was no alternative.

"Every kingdom has to fall, Scorpius," he said at last. "No matter how great or powerful—and especially if it's great and powerful—the end comes for them all."

Scorpius considered this for a moment, and then wrinkled his nose. "Ew."

Draco surprised himself by smiling wryly at his son. "Yes," he said, nodding, "ew."

He pulled the covers up to Scorpius's chin and gave him a half-hearted pat on his curly-haired head. The boy stared up at Draco expectantly.

"Go to sleep," Draco urged.

Scorpius blinked.

Was there something else he was supposed to do? "Sleep," Draco commanded, feeling more stupid by the minute.

Scorpius pouted and kicked the covers off. "You're supposed to give me kisses," he whined. "Mummy always gives me kisses."

"Your mother spoils you," Draco snapped. "It's possible to fall asleep without kisses, so tonight you'll have to make do without them."

He regretted saying it as soon as the words left his mouth. What if Scorpius started crying? He had no bloody idea how to handle a crying child—certainly, he couldn't handle it the way his father would have, with a swift beating. But to Draco's relief, the boy didn't cry.

"Prove it," Scorpius said. Then, as if to show how skeptical he truly was of his father's words, he stuck his tongue out.

"I—what?" Draco spluttered. He was struck by the ridiculous urge to stick his tongue out in return, but managed to collect himself in time to prevent that from occurring. Thank Merlin for small mercies. "Fine," he huffed, "I'll show you how it's done."

Feeling extremely foolish, Draco climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up. Scorpius was still looking at him doubtfully, so Draco shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Time seemed to slow, and he could feel the seconds inching by. A few minutes later, feeling inordinately pleased with himself, Draco deemed the demonstration a success and was about to open his eyes and announce to Scorpius that that was how it was done—that it was certainly possible to fall asleep without kisses—but before he could, something curious happened.

There was a shift in the mattress beneath him as his son snuggled up beside him. Draco tensed. Suddenly, he was afraid to move. He wasn't entirely sure how children worked. If he made any sudden movements, would Scorpius get frightened and run away?

He tried to stay still—he really did—but then something terrifying happened to Draco Malfoy…

He sneezed.

The boy didn't run away, though. He didn't even move. Instead, he mumbled "Bless you," so softly that Draco could scarcely hear him, but loudly enough that it did him in. Something ached in his chest, and had he been a more forthright man, he might have admitted to himself that the ache was coming from the same general area as his heart.

He wrapped his arm around his son, pulling him against his chest. Scorpius wriggled mutinously in his grasp, but Draco held tight and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his son's blonde curls.

Scorpius stilled at that, and for a few blessed minutes, Draco thought Scorpius had finally exhausted himself and fallen asleep. Then, the boy rolled over and sat up in bed.

"Father?" Scorpius said tentatively.

Draco groaned. "What?"

"You love me, right?" Scorpius asked.

"I…Of course, Scorpius."

"Okay. Good. I was just checking because one time my friend Ava Zabini who I met at Mum's party this one time and anyway she told me that she had a house elf that got her candies and they tasted good so I was just thinking if you loved me."

What? "Scorpius," Draco said slowly, "what the devil does Ava Zabini's house elf have to do with whether or not I love you?"

Scorpius seemed startled by this question. He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. "Well, you never get me any candies," he pointed out.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll buy you some candy tomorrow."

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome," Draco said, sighing, then added under his breath, "Now go the fuck to sleep."

IX.

It was damned good luck that his father had headed out with a muttered excuse about some SPEW event or the other. Scorpius had always thought it shameful that his father got involved in SPEW's nonsense, but when questioned as to why he always attended, Draco Malfoy would shake his head, avert his eyes, and mention something about some old house elf he'd once had—Dobby, was it? Or perhaps Fobby?

It didn't matter. House elves had strange names, and Scorpius didn't really care, anyway. What he did care about was that his father's absence gave him the perfect opportunity to sneak out. Yes, it was a bit odd that Scorpius would sneak out to meet up with two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw. Possibly the only thing odder than that was the reason they were meeting up.

Scorpius apparated to a discrete spot behind the hedges of Albus Potter's house and waited for his mate to meet him. He wasn't turning seventeen for another three days, to be precise, but what did it matter? Who was going to come after a Malfoy for something as trivial and routine as underage magic?

"Malfoy," Albus said, grinning as he scrambled over the hedge, landing lightly on his feet. Albus Potter was tall and lanky, with unruly black hair, green eyes and freckles, and being a Potter, was an unlikely friend for Scorpius. However, the two had met in first year and discovered that they had quite a bit in common—namely, their taste in music.

"Hey," Scorpius said, with a curt nod of his head. "Next stop, Aaron's house?"

Albus shook his head. "Aaron can't make it. He's got a thing."

"A thing? Whenever I have a thing I get bitched out," Scorpius pointed out.

"Yeah, but you always ditch us to spend time with your posh, pureblood acquaintances," Albus said, grinning.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Not in the mood today, Al," he warned.

Albus shrugged it off. "Whatever, mate. You're on lead guitar today, though, since Aaron can't make it."

Scorpius felt a twinge of apprehension, but didn't dare suggest cancelling the gig. Albus would think he was a coward. "Sure," he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could, but his friend saw right through him.

"Don't worry about it, Malfoy. You'll do fine." He glanced at his watch. "Rohan's meeting up with us at the hall. We better get going."

Scorpius nodded, and the two of them apparated to the hall they'd booked a gig at, and entered through the back. Rohan had driven there and was already on stage, setting up.

"Hey man, you ready?" Rohan asked as he fiddled with his guitar. The amps were set up at the sides of the stage, and Albus's drum set was towards the back.

Scorpius shrugged and adjusted his neck strap.

Scorpius wasn't great on guitar, but he was good enough. He'd been roped into joining their band when Aaron Gregor had broken his hand from a Quidditch injury. Despite the bone being set and magically healed, he'd been advised to avoid over-exerting his hand for a month. Albus had approached Scorpius about it within a week—he knew purebloods were taught music by tutors from an early age, and Scorpius was no exception.

Scorpius knew a decent amount about music, and had managed to pick up the guitar rather quickly. When Aaron had recovered from his injury, he'd stayed on as a guitarist but mostly played repetitive chords while Aaron stole the stage. Scorpius didn't really mind—in fact, he preferred it that way, which was why he was slightly nervous about going solo tonight.

Scorpius knew that a lot of his fellow Slytherins knew he fucked around on guitar with other students, but they'd never have guessed he actually played shows.

The attendees began filing in. They were muggles, seeing as it was a muggle joint, and looked nothing like Hogwarts students. They were a strange bunch—some were tattooed and it looked as if most of the crowd had invested in several bottles of hair dye.

The room was pretty spacious, but soon enough it was packed and reeked of alcohol and sweat the way it always did before a show. They were opening for a more popular band—The White Suns—and would only be playing two songs.

Rohan looked at Scorpius and Albus, who flashed him thumbs up.

"I'm ready when you are," Scorpius said, smiling weakly.

Rohan nodded and took his spot at the front.

Girls loved Rohan—his chocolate colored skin, curly dark hair and large eyes rimmed with long lashes drew them to him like flies to honey. Next to him, Scorpius, with his classical good looks, looked pale and plain. Scorpius half-suspected that it wasn't just girls that found Rohan appealing—he was fairly sure Albus did, too, though Scorpius would never voice his suspicion, and Albus would never admit his affection.

Scorpius opened their first song with a chord, and Rohan leaned in, breathing heavily, his lips practically pressed against the mic as he met the eyes of the women in the crowd and crooned in his low, smooth voice. It was a cover, one that most of the audience knew well—Nina Simone's Feeling Good.

Birds flyin' high, you know how I feel
Sun in the sky, you know how I feel

Shit. He was the slightest bit behind, and Rohan kept glancing at him through the corner of his eyes as if willing him to speed up. His fingers fumbled and he nearly dropped the guitar pick. It wasn't his fault, really. He wasn't feeling the song. He didn't feel good today.

It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life
For me…and I'm feelin' good

The song ended with a smattering of applause from the audience (and a few shrill cries of "Marry me!" from the back of the crowd, no doubt directed towards Rohan).

Their next song was an original that Scorpius had helped Albus write, and in this one, Albus had lead vocals. His voice was stronger, less trained, and almost uncomfortable to listen to in its haunting rawness. The song seemed to pulsate as Albus rocked back and forth, seated at the drum set and playing as he sang.

I wonder if the government should be poorer, honey
Don't write their own music, don't make their own money
Beating a broken people 'til we're black and blue
We don't need them, but I can promise they need you

The crowd liked this song; they were pushing up against the stage, reaching upwards, and Scorpius felt as if he was, too. There was something primal about the song's heavy backbeat, about the way the cymbals shuddered and the drum rolled and reverberated within him, echoing in the hollow recesses of his body.

I'm hungry, horny, and hysterical, making music
drug-addled geniuses workin' desk jobs 'til they lose it

Scorpius's throat was dry; he felt thirstier than he ever had, and as if he were exploding with adrenaline as his fingers rushed over the instrument in his hands. Rohan's eyes were shut and he played a steady rhythm on the bass, setting a pace for the song, and Scorpius wove around that.

He kept seeing flashes of her in his mind's eye—her red hair, her throaty laughter—and he felt something breaking within him. He wanted to laugh; he wanted to scream, to vomit, to cry, to play.

I'll tell you what's real and what's true
We can make love until morning finally breaks
or bend over backwards for the man 'til our backs do
Let me tell you what's real and what's true

Scorpius ripped into his solo, flying high. He was too into the moment to keep time numerically, and soon he was hopelessly lost, keeping up with the mind-numbing thrash of the crowd, feeling, rather than counting, the beats as they fell.

He jumped, he slid, he cut himself on his microphone stand and bled on the stage, crashed to his bruised knees and finished with a poignant chord progression, bent over the guitar, prying music from its cold, metallic strings.

Then there was a beat of silence as the last, keening note faded, and Scorpius felt like he was burning from the inside out—of embarrassment, for laying himself bare before dozens of eyes, but also of rage and excitement and a thousand other emotions stumbling over themselves at once and fighting to the surface.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and opened his mouth to speak, but was gripped by fear that nothing would come out even if he tried. He'd already shared everything he had to say when he'd played.

"Thank you everybody for coming out tonight," he croaked, and flashed a crooked grin. He cleared his throat and then continued, his throat still hoarse. "That was our last set. This is Every Kingdom wishing you all goodnight."

The fragile silence shattered.

The crowd was on their feet, applauding, laughing, and calling for more. Scorpius felt his grin broadening. He turned to his band mates to gauge their reactions. He'd never played like this before—not even close—but when he saw the look on Albus's face, he froze.

The green-eyed boy was gazing at him with a strange expression, and when he finally spoke, it wasn't to praise Scorpius's playing. Instead, he tilted his head to the side as if considering Scorpius in a new light, and asked, quite simply:

"What the fuck was that?"

X.

It began the day before when Scorpius went to the theater with his parents. This was nothing unusual, because the Malfoys often went out of their way to make public appearances. It was true that their social standing had decreased after the most recent wizarding war, and to offset that, Draco Malfoy had taken to dragging his family out to some respected public venue or the other so they could be seen in a positive light.

Their visit to the theater was no different. The play was insufferably boring, though, and so Scorpius rushed out during the intermission and seated himself at a bench in one of London's parks. He didn't remember much about the ensuing conversation with Rose Weasley. He didn't remember much except the question she'd asked him, and how fucking stupid he'd been.

He wished he didn't remember any of it.

"Don't you want to know how my visit to the clinic went?" Rose asked.

He didn't take her up on that.

When Scorpius returned to his father's box at the theater, neither of his parents commented on his absence, or on the lingering smell of smoke that clung to his clothing. When the play came to its conclusion, his parents went off to go and mingle with the other guests, and Scorpius remained seated, reveling in the eerie emptiness and silence of the theater, which had been packed and noisy only moments before.

He'd alone been alone for a few moments when the curtain behind him rustled and someone stepped in.

"Knew I'd find you here, Scor."

Scorpius grinned and turned around. "Ava."

Ava Zabini smiled back at him and took the seat next to him. She leaned in and gave him a peck on the lips.

Scorpius rolled his eyes and leaned back. "Why on earth do you always do that?"

"It amuses me," she said.

"If someone saw us, they would get the wrong idea."

Ava grinned. "I hope they do."

He turned to face her again and studied her. Ava was beautiful; there was no denying that. Her skin was a warm, gold-tinted bronze, her eyes turned up at the corners, and her lips were full and supple. He'd once asked her what exactly she was—Black? Asian?—and she'd told him she was everything. He hadn't bothered to deny the statement, because it sounded true enough to him.

He reached out and took her hand. "You know, a couple years ago I would've thought that we'd be like this," he commented lightly.

Ava eyed him. "Like what?"

"This," he said again. "Holding hands and kissing."

"I know," she said, laughing. "I've been waiting for you to admit that. I apologize for crushing that particular dream of yours."

He laughed. "It's bizarre. Everyone thinks I'm the odd one for having you as a best mate and—I quote—not getting in on that."

Ava fluttered her eyelashes. "Would you like to get in on this?"

Scorpius scowled. "That'd feel incestuous."

Ava laughed. "Moving on...the real reason I came here is because your parents are looking for you."

Scorpius glanced at his watch and groaned. "Shit. I completely forgot."

"Where is the Malfoy family heading off to next?" Ava asked from her seat, as Scorpius stood and brushed his clothes off.

"St. Mungo's—my father's considering financing a new wing or something."

Ava was quiet for a moment.

"Alright then, I'll see you," Scorpius said hurriedly.

"Wait," she called.

Scorpius glanced back. "What is it?"

"You know we should probably get married someday, right, Scor?"

Scorpius stumbled. "...What?"

"Think about it," Ava said. "It makes sense."

"I..." As absurd as it was, he considered it for a moment and realized she was right. "I suppose so," he conceded, and then left the box without another word.

Merlin, that'd been weird. As usual, though, Ava was right. Scorpius wasn't exactly fond of most other pureblood females around his age, and in Ava's case, it made sense to marry him, considering he was the only one that knew her secret. It was just strange that she'd spring it on him like that. In any case, they didn't have to worry about that for another few years, so he pushed the thought from his mind.

His parents were waiting for him outside, and they both seemed exasperated by the delay he'd caused.

"Took you long enough," his father muttered.

"Sorry," Scorpius said. The three of them hurried down a side-street, and as soon as they were out of view of the muggles on the main street, Scorpius's mother grasped his arm and apparated to Malfoy Manor.

"Go and change into your robes and come down here in a few minutes, Scorpius."

Scorpius nodded absentmindedly. His mother frowned. "Scorpius! Are you listening to me? We're late. Go and change!"

He took the stairs two at a time to his room and stripped out of his muggle clothes, then pulled on his robes and headed down. "Happy, Mum?" he asked, sarcastically. His mother didn't bother to respond; she reached for a pinch of floo powder and crowded Scorpius and his father into the fireplace with her.

Scorpius had zero interest in whatever in the politicking and business that his parents would be conducting at St. Mungo's, and so he managed to ditch them as soon as he got a chance. As his parents headed into the elevator, talking to the head of the hospital's board, Scorpius left, unnoticed, in search of a vending machine.

His search was unsuccessful, and instead, he found himself wandering the hospital's wards, looking for a nice place to sit and wait for his parents to finish up whatever it was they were doing. He spotted an empty office and glanced around to check that no one was in the vicinity.

"Bugger it," he muttered under his breath as he entered. He sat in the office chair and spun in circles, vaguely aware of the fact that he was acting unforgivably childish, but not in the mood to give a damn.

Scorpius didn't like hospitals, or healers. They were always running about and giving orders and expecting them to be followed without providing any reason why. Hm. Actually, that sounded rather appealing. Perhaps Scorpius had found his calling.

"Young man, what are you doing?"

Scorpius spun around in the chair to face the person who'd spoken, and had to crane his neck to see the man's face. The healer who'd spoken was tall, with graying hair at his temples. He stood like an auror—back straight, head held high, hands clasped in front of him. He was holding a file tightly.

"I'm spinning," Scorpius said lazily. "In your chair, presumably."

The man grimaced. "How did you get in here?"

Scorpius shrugged. "My parents are like…you know. Scoping the place out. Thinking about donating money, or something."

The man's expression brightened slightly, though he was still viewing Scorpius with a look of distaste. Scorpius didn't mind. He thought the healer's arrogant stance and condescending were fairly distasteful as well.

"Well, why not capitalize on your time at St. Mungo's?" the man asked. "I can tell you about my work here if you'd like."

Scorpius groaned internally, but simply shrugged in response.

The man's lip's curled slightly. "I'm working as a consulting healer. Patients whose cases are too complex for the average healer to diagnose have their information forwarded to me, and I attempt to make sense of it."

The man seemed rather proud of this, and seemed to expect Scorpius to be impressed.

"Cool," Scorpius deadpanned.

"I specialize in the study of chronic inimicia, which is essentially the unfettered division of procuronoma cells, which chokes off the blood's magiaparva count. The blood ends up being thin and watery and anemic—deprived of the nutrients that the body needs to sustain itself."

"Right…" Scorpius said.

The man frowned. "Don't you see the significance of that? It's a disease that's occurring more frequently—and they're spontaneous cases. Patients with no prior health concerns or medical history of the disease are showing up with symptoms from stage three and later—"

"Look," Scorpius said, growing irritated. "My parents are probably looking for me."

"Ah-hem," a soft voice came from the doorway.

Both Scorpius and the healer turned to look, and spoke simultaneously to greet the visitor.

"Mum," Scorpius said.

"Mrs. Malfoy," the healer said, inclining his head slightly.

Astoria Malfoy stepped into the office. "Don't mind me," she said. "Please, continue talking about your work. I find that I'm intrigued."

The healer flushed with pleasure. "The malignant cells that characterize chronic inimicia…they multiply much faster than normal ones, exploding into the bloodstream and later burrowing their way into the bone marrow and colonizing the nervous system."

"I see," his mother said, looking concerned. "And what treatment options are open to patients?"

"There are treatments that could potentially slow down the division of procuric cells by switching on their inhibitors, but they're in the developmental stages at the moment. For now, we…" The man trailed off and glanced down, as if he were ashamed.

Scorpius, against his will, was beginning to grow interested in the conversation.

"For now, you…?" he prompted.

The healer adjusted his robes. "For now all we can do is target malignant cells by trying to kill them. Unfortunately, the medications we're forced to use are unable to distinguish between healthy cells and corrupted ones. We push the patient to the edge by upping their dosages and then stave off and reel them back in…There are several cycles of treatment, so the process occurs several times."

Scorpius glanced at his mother. Her jaw was working up and down as if she was trying to say something, but couldn't find the right words.

Well, someone had to say what everyone was thinking.

"That's seriously fucked up," Scorpius stated plainly.

"Scorpius!" his mother hissed, gripping his arm tightly.

Scorpius shrugged. "What? It's true. If that's the best these healers can do, I don't see why we should be giving them money."

The healer scowled. "This is exactly why we need money! We need to develop more humane treatments, and we haven't managed to procure a grant from the Ministry—"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Astoria said. "I'll have my husband write you a check. I want you to get to work on developing less barbaric methods of treatment."

The healer was speechless for a moment. "…I don't know how to—Ma'am—thank you!"

Scorpius's mother nodded primly and stepped over the door's threshold, with the healer following hurriedly behind her as he thanked her profusely. Scorpius smirked and reseated himself in the chair; in a perverse way, he rather liked seeing the high-and-mighty healer cowed by his mother and groveling for money.

He spun in the chair again, and then glanced around the office. His eyes fell upon the file the healer had been clutching protectively. Apparently, in his haste, the man had left it behind.

Score.

Scorpius plucked the file off the cabinet top and opened it. "So," he said under his breath, "what poor bastard just got diagnosed with chronic inimicia?"

The first page of the file provided him with an answer. The patient's name was right there in bold print, and suddenly, Scorpius desperately wished he hadn't bothered to look at it at all. He heard footsteps approaching, and a shadow fell over him. Too late, he realized the healer had returned.

"What the hell are you doing?" the man barked.

Scorpius dropped the file as if it burned to touch, and the contents scattered across the floor. The man placed a hand on his shoulder and steered him out.

"Patient information is confidential," he said angrily.

Scorpius didn't respond. He was too busy thinking about how healers were going to be pushing a certain red-headed girl to the edge, and then reeling her back in, and then pushing her to the edge again.

The edge of what?

Dimly, Scorpius realized the man was still yelling at him. "Did you read the information in the file? Did you see the patient's name?"

"I…I…no," Scorpius said, shaking his head. "No."

And then he turned on his heel and tuned the man out, breaking out into a jog as he rushed down the hall to search for his parents, and hopefully to get the hell out of there.

All that had led him to where he was at this precise moment: standing in front of a cheering crowd with his guitar in his hands, having just played as he'd never played before. He should have been basking in the applause he was getting, or receiving praise from his band mates, but instead he was struggling to answer a five-word question, the weight of which seemed to be crushing him.

What the fuck was that?

It was a perfectly valid question, but Scorpius couldn't think of an adequate answer. It wasn't as if he could come right out and tell the truth and say, "I'm a thief and a liar and, incidentally, your cousin is dying," to Albus Potter, of all people.

But the fact of the matter was that Scorpius was a thief and a liar and Rose Augusta Weasley really was dying, and everything was screwed up and complicated because he wasn't supposed to know, but that didn't change the fact that he did.

What the fuck was that?

He wished that she weren't sick, but more than that, he wished he didn't fucking have to know. Fine, let her be sick—let her even die—at the moment, he didn't give him a damn. He just didn't want to know about it or hear about it or deal with it. He felt ill himself as he reached these callous realizations, but didn't want to pause and force himself to discover if they were true.

He was afraid of the answers.

He was turning seventeen in three days. He was supposed to be invincible. The generation before him had fought and died for his right to live and breathe and be free—and they'd won.

This wasn't his battle. He didn't want a concrete reminder that life was ephemeral and that he might lose it all at any given moment staring him in the face.

Scorpius couldn't say any of that, though. What Albus has asked was a simple enough query, so Scorpius decided the best way to handle it was to stare one of his best mates in the eye and lie through his teeth.

What the fuck was that?

He shrugged nonchalantly, not letting his grin falter.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "It's nothing."


A/N: Hi guys! Thank you for reading! :) Please leave a quick review.

If anyone could perhaps suggest a better summary than the one I have now (for example, one that actually pertains to this story's plot so far, LOL) that'd be fantastic! I'll give you a shoutout and everything even if I don't use your suggestion. I really am awful at summaries.