I figure I've lost some part of my gathering fanbase since last chapter. Eh. Whatever.
And now we breeze through year two, so we can get right to Lily next chapter!
This chapter's a little sadder than the rest, somehow...
The summer passed in a gentle blur. Athena had grown up, but confined to small walks with Narcissa or his mother, once apparently his father. Now Scorpius was back, he took her running twice a day, helping her get the energy out. Helping him get his energy out. He followed routes through neighborhoods and parks and woods and found new places, little hiding spots and places where you could see a sight for miles, and Athena was right there with him. Sometimes, so was Shatter, wrapped gently around his neck. They found every place they could run to around them, and his summer was full of one person adventures, like they had always been, but this time he had a dog to play a second part. So Athena, Lady Autumn's hunting dog, returned.
And if he wasn't out running, he was with Chione, who was fascinated with sign language, as much as she was with speech itself. She kept asking Scorpius, "Where snow? Where snow?"
He would respond, signing, With winter.
"Wanna be wif winter, Scorpion!" And she would stretch her arms up to him.
Winter's girl became his nickname for her. She was just so much in love with that season.
So his day settled fast into a regular schedule. Wake at six, get Athena, go over the tricks she was taught at Lucius's limp-again side, run, come back, change clothes, Winter's girl, bedroom, and wait for the evening run. Somewhere in there, there was few differences, but it stayed generally the same. He got no messages, sent no messages, waiting only for his Hogwarts list.
"Scorpius," his father entered his room, late July. "You left your wand on the entrance hall table again." His father held out the willow wand. "You should stop doing that."
He nodded to the book he was reading. The muggle studies teacher kept it on her bookshelves, saying they borrow them over the summer as long as they were returned in good condition, and so far it was amazing. So much adventure! He couldn't imagine even doing half those things, even if he could use magic.
"Scorpius."
He looked up at his father, waiting patiently. No conversations with him ever lasted long.
"Do you ever use this?"
He looked down at the elegantly carved wood, then his father, and shook his head.
"No, of course not. Well." He sat down. "Want to learn something interesting? Just... Don't show off."
Scorpius sat up, not sure what he was supposed to learn.
"It's called nonverbal magic. I only learned it in my sixth year." His eyes narrowed at some distant memory. "Don't know if they still teach it."
Scorpius shook his head. He would have heard someone taking about it if they were.
His dad handed over the willow wand. "Never really used it, but I can teach you what I did learn. It's a lot of concentration, and willpower." His father drew his own wand, closing his eyes. Several seconds later, the tip glowed gently. "See?"
Scorpius nodded, eyes focused on that light. If he could do that...
If he could...
He closed his eyes, thinking of that light spell, lumos. If this was like flying lessons, then all he had to do was visualize. He printed it in blue ink in his mind. Then imagine it running together, down his arm and into the length of wood.
Light burst against his eyelid. He peeked. A bright light flared from his wand.
He'd done it.
His father smiled, but he caught the small hint of relief as he said, "Well done."
He swept from the room. Scorpius admired the light for a while, finally letting it die when what could be described as mental exhaustion crashed into him. Shatter crawled up his neck, glass tongue flicking over his temple in a fond way. Scorpius relaxed against the headboard. He couldn't just show up at Hogwarts and do this, but it was nice to know that he could use magic after all, maybe secretly get back at his tormentors. He could practice in private, and he could teach McCoy. She'd love this.
And tiny practiced spells became part of runs, ones he wrote on at the beginning of last year. He found that directing the magic out was easy, but getting it to do the task at hand was the hard part. It made him glad no one was there to witness these mistakes, if only because they might come away missing something.
In the midst of this, the list arrived just as he was about to go for the morning run. He left it on the table and off he went.
The air was warm already, and he let it slide past his shoulders as they followed the sidewalk down to where they cut through to a hidden clearing, and they ran in circles around the patches of wildflowers with arms spread wide. There is nothing quite like a childhood in August.
Dizzy, he eventually flopped down on the ground, looking at the fairy blue sky.
He'd be thirteen when he came back for Christmas. Thirteen! He was barely feeling twelve and now he had to be thirteen! How did a thirteen year old act?
Trying to imagine this strange new number, he whistled for Athena, currently digging something up, and started running back home. Scorpius was pretty sure thirteen had something to do with not thinking girls were terrifying and starting to think they were pretty, and that was terrifying all on its own.
He climbed up the stairs, the doors creaking open. His father was reading the list.
"Go change. We leave in five minutes."
Scorpius sighed, and he and Athena climbed the many stairs.
It took several minutes of digging around, but he finally located something his dad would approve and his classmates would minimally glare at. Then he went all the way back down. His father was waiting, list in one hand while the other supported Winter's girl.
"Don't. Complain."
Scorpius made a sound deep in his throat that sounded like a groan.
"I just said-"
Scorpius grabbed his father's arm and they Apparated to a side alley of Diagon Alley.
"-Don't complain," he finished quietly. Chione was whimpering quietly about feeling, "squeezy."
They slid from the alleyway, in that instant becoming a game of how much they could find before the crowd recognized them.
Today, Diagon Alley was packed with parents and children, including many confused muggles asking for help from others with children while trying to simultaneously keep an eye on their brood.
"Let's get books first, that's always quick."
The shop was quiet, as always, books stacked high on each surface and bookshelves packed, the air smelling of paper and dust and time. Things whispered to each other in the back aisles. The school section was all set up, the books lined up and on display, and his father began quickly scanning titles. To help out a little, since he wasn't very keen on being here long himself, Scorpius took his sister and they went to explore the other aisles.
There wasn't much to see, but the letterings and the different cover textures held her attention pretty well.
"Wolfie!" she said quietly, jerking one from the shelf. He jumped, quickly taking it from her. There was a wolf painted onto the spine below the title, Claws and Talons: Becoming Animagus. Figuring it was some weird biography, he started to slide it back into place.
The wolf on the spine stared at him, then sat and howled silently.
Must be a spellbook then. But what was an animagus? The book was a touch elderly, probably written in the last century, but obviously wasn't some best seller to end up tucked in a back shelf corner of Flourish and Blotts. He let it fall open to the middle, sitting on the floor.
"...Protect the human aspect of the mind, you must-"
"Oops."
Winter's girl had torn part of the next page. Scorpius winced, glancing around. He could just put it back on the shelf. But it could be spelled or something. But-
"Excuse me," the book seller leaned over him. "What happened?"
He ducked his head, holding out the book. Chione helped.
"You tore a book?"
"M tary," Chione said quietly.
"I'm sorry? That's a book! You don't just-How old are you?"
Chione held up her fingers. Scorpius held up two.
Now the book seller chuckled. "Oh. Well, one of you will have to pay for that. It's..." He looked at the cover page. "Two sickles and four knuts. The knuts are because of damage."
Scorpius immediately checked his pockets, digging out the amount. The book seller took the money and disappeared behind his counter a moment and then came back with the book and a receipt. "Now don't be so foolish again, either of you."
Scorpius nodded, Chione copying him, though she was probably distracted by the shop across the street. He clasped the book to himself while waiting on his father.
Back outside, it was on to the next place.
Somewhere along the route, Fred draped himself over Scorpius's shoulder.
"Hey Score, wanna see what I invented this summer?" He held up a black quill. "It's a quill that writes in the air, you see!" He adjusted his fingers, and wrote the word 'see?' in the air.
It was like a regular quill. The ink was black, but it had a dose of blue sparkles. Scorpius blinked and waved his hand through it. The writing dissipated.
"See, you hold it here and here to dispense the ink, and if you twirl it between your fingers the writing flips around for others to read it." He demonstrated as he talked. "You and McCoy each get a free one, since you guys were the inspiration." Fred pressed the quill into his hand. "Only comes in one color, but Da's helping me invent more. When the quill starts turning white, it's running out, but after that you can use it like a regular quill. Brilliant, right?"
Scorpius blinked, mind trying to catch up to all the information.
"I'm going to find McCoy! She has to be here, everyone is!"
Fred disappeared into the crowd. Scorpius took several deep breaths, then glanced at his father. He had a strange look on his face.
"Weasley, huh?"
Scorpius shrugged at the ground. He was going to die...
Instead, a flicker of unreadable expression, and they continued on their way.
They nearly finished shopping before someone realized that the Malfoys were among them, while Scorpius was getting robes fitted.
"Really, children just grow out of these things so quickly in the first two years, then they're fine, then they regrow about the fourth or fifth year!" She muttered things around a mouthful of pins. Madam Malkin insisted that each set of robes she sold fitted perfectly.
Looking at him, then his father, she quickly adjusted something, muttering something else about "like his father, will grow to about..."
When they were almost done, someone entered. Two pairs of someone. Ron Weasley and co, and Harry Potter and James.
His father nearly dropped the book he was holding, fumbling to catch it.
"Malfoy," Ron Weasley hissed. His father said nothing, detangling Chione from the wizards dress robes she was caught in.
Madam Malkin, sensing the tension, finished her work and quickly folded the robes.
"Hey Score."
Scorpius, who had been trying to hide out of window sight when Rose snuck up on him, jumped.
"This is my brother Hugo. He's attending this year."
He looked down at a mob of brown curls, nodding. Hugo glared, opening his mouth.
"The bet, Hugo."
He shut up.
"I bet him a galleon he couldn't insult you without parroting Da. What do you think?"
He blinked, looked at Hugo, then Rose, and slammed his head against the wall.
Ron, meanwhile, was hissing insults. This was because Harry and Hermione were across the store.
"-Don't e-"
Chione burst into a wail, finally upset at the tension and the strange man talking in the mean tone. Draco Malfoy gave Ron a mighty glare, then tried to comfort his daughter, sobbing loudly onto his robes.
"Ronald!"
"Mr. Weasley!"
"Ron!"
"Uncle!"
"Da!"
"Stupid little bitch," Hugo muttered.
The room, which had burst into shouting, froze as Scorpius held his wand to Hugo's throat. Eyes narrowed, he was almost surprised to hear he had pulled a growl out of somewhere. Even Chione was quiet, eyes wide.
This was the scene when someone else entered.
Birch looked around, gave Scorpius a small, chilling smile, and left, screaming.
"Scorpius. Lower your arm," his father commanded. His eyes flicked to him, then back to Hugo. He stayed the way he was.
"That means now."
There was no mistaking the dangerous tone in his voice. Grudgingly, he lowered his arm, stepping past the terrified boy to stand next to his father. Winter's girl leaned over, trying to catch a lock of hair.
"Here's your robes." Malkin levitated the bag over. "I'll send you a bill."
They Apparated out.
§•§
What followed over the next several days was a series of conversations with just about every family member. There was Lucius: "You really should have just hexed him. A threat teaches little." (He gave him a list of unpleasant and subtle hexes); his grandmother Narcissa: "There were five other adults in that room who might have hurt you! What were you thinking? Chocolate frog?" (There was a list of of hexes and jinxes in the box. His grandmother remembered counters as well); his parents repeat-cycle terrified speeches: "You could have been hurt!" "Potter's Head Auror, what if he had arrested you?" "That was dangerous!" "You could have killed him by accident! Or been killed!" "What were you thinking?" (And they almost expected him to respond, they would get so worked up); and Zerel: "The little master rushed into that one, he did! Zerel is so disappointed! He should have thought first! He should have jinxed the boy's tongue! Little master will have to be careful this year!" Sigh. "Little master, if the boy causes trouble, little master will call Zerel to coat his tongue in tar and drag him backwards across a field of spikes by it?" (Zerel was the only one who knew that Hugo had insulted Chione. She had gifted him a tiny handcarved whistle, since he was incapable of calling her by voice) Shatter showed his disappointment by roughly nipping his wrist on occasion.
He spent almost no time in the manor, instead he was out running or exploring the woods. He found a stream, one that widened out into a river, he was sure, and he spent his remaining summer days by it, playing or sitting, reading over the curses gifted to him by his grandparents or a book. That is, till Athena would get bored of him not paying her attention, and start barking loudly.
September first rolled around, he stood at the station, Shatter curling soothing circles around his wrist, and he stepped onto the train. He'd probably be friendless this year. He had threatened James's, Fred's and Albus's cousin, Rose's little brother, and Birch had seen it. New injury record, here he came.
Lily was standing there. He hadn't noticed the last time, but she had amazing eyes. Blue on the outside, but the color surrounding the pupil was orange. It was beautiful.
She smiled brightly. "Remember me?"
He nodded slightly. Lily hugged him tightly and bolted.
"Scorpius! Come on!" James waved him over, and Rose, in her usual surprise way, already had his luggage.
Scorpius rolled his eyes and carried the owl cage.
§•§
The first month was okay.
He was terrified of Birch, but other than a tiny rumor about the robe shop, nothing.
October, however, things got back to normal.
"I've been planning this. I've got spells any everything." Birch grabbed the back of his robe in one hand and his backpack in the other. "Come on, Malfoy."
He was almost dragged along the empty halls he had been so stupidly wandering, down to the little hall.
"Now." Punch. "I hope we haven't," kick to the knee, "forgotten anything.
It blurred into flashes of pain and strangled whimpers, and he was sure that there was someone else there, but he couldn't tell because he was seeing stars and his ears rung.
He woke up.
"Hold still, I'm setting your arm."
Scorpius risked raising his head a little, feeling like dead weight and pain. James was running his wand over his arm, glancing at an open book as he did so. Muttering a series of spells, bruises faded, his arm knit into regular shape, and pain receded.
Deciding to trust his stand-in healer, Scorpius nearly passed out again.
"Don't go to sleep now. Come on. I think you have a concussion and I did my best, but I'm not a professional." James pulled him upright, picking up something silvery lying on the floor. "Invisibility cloak. Stole it from my da, first year. Come on." He threw it round himself and put an arm around Scorpius, and the two found their way upstairs.
"Found 'im!" James quietly told the painting. The Fat Lady peered at Scorpius and smiled. "I'm glad. We were worried, you know! You've been gone since yesterday!"
Yesterday? He'd been passed out in the war memorial that long?
James whispered the password and helped him ease into the common room. Scorpius glanced at the stairs and decided he would rather just sleep on the carpet.
"Come on, Score. I don't let my little brothers sleep on the floor."
§•§
They hadn't touched him since. Maybe James had threatened them, but again, Birch was playing dodge. Instead, Birch and Hugo had apparently teamed up to spread the news about how Hugo was unjustly attacked. It went from just the wand to mouthing a spell before Hugo attacked him back. What spell varied from day to day.
About December it hit the all time low; Scorpius, unbeknownst to himself, had apparently tried to cast an Unforgivable on Hugo, who had bravely defended himself against the Killing curse!
Fred was currently laughing himself blue about it, as Sean, who despite his friendly end last year was glad to switch his side back this year, told the story with great bravado. He really seemed to believe it.
Scorpius couldn't even laugh anymore, he was trying to choke down air, feeling it brush his raw throat. Leaning against the wall, he gasped, hearing the same reaction from Rose and James across the room. Everyone else bought in just fine, despite hearing about four other versions in the last two months.
It was impossible to believe, that this was the year of the Battle of Hogwarts. Impossible that here was the place where people had died to end prejudice, and here he was subjected to it.
Scorpius found it funny.
"He's laughing! Look at 'im! Compassionless bastard!"
The laughter froze in his lungs. And then something else was in his lungs. He looked up at two people retracting their wands, and closed his eyes, coughing into his sleeve, trying to breathe he something filling his lungs like water. There was no mistaking the metallic-salt taste. Blood. He was drowning in his own blood. He began coughing violently, trying to get in air, but he couldn't, and instead scarlet spattered on the ground, the room at first quiet with shock, then roaring with sound. It took a few seconds to realize that they weren't going to help, they were cheering, or screaming in fear. Blood coated the inside of his mouth as he struggled, dripped from his teeth and the sleeve.
Rose and Fred was shouting before he passed out, unable to breathe.
He was in the infirmary when he woke, his father clasping his hand and whispering something in a language he didn't know, but each second that went by it was easier to breathe.
Eventually he dropped the hand and looked at him. Scorpius was suddenly aware of the lines and scars and the grey in his father's hair, and how tired he looked, like he hadn't gotten enough sleep in years and was carrying weights strapped to his chest.
"-Really, you'd have to thank James over there for fast thinking. Could have died if he hadn't done that charm."
"Hugo, don't you get it? He's a living person! You do not celebrate someone nearly dying! I don't care what you think of his last name!"
"But Da-"
"Your father put up with a time when Scorpius's father-" Hermione glanced over. Scorpius watched his father put his head in his hands.
"I was a prideful git. A brat, a monster, whatever you were going to say. But Scorpius is not me, and more than enough people on the street try to teach him his proper place, I don't see why his own House should too."
The room was quiet, Ron by the door finally saying quietly, "You won't defend your own son?"
"What would you have me do, Weasley?" His eyes were lost and sad, staring at the bedspread. "If I tell them not to it goes in the Prophet as an unprovoked threat. I can't keep him locked up at home all the time either..."
Scorpius pulled himself into a sitting position, looking around the room. Mum leaning against the wall with Madam Pomfrey, his medical file in their hands. James standing nearby. Hugo sitting on a second bed with Hermione staring across at him. Ron Weasley near the doorway. His father next to him. McGonagall sitting in a chair, head in her hands at the mess her school was. And strangely, Lucius, sitting in a chair with his hands carefully wrapped around the head of his cane, Harry Potter sitting next to him wearing a parole Auror badge. Lucius didn't make any appearance of having heard the conversation, instead choosing to look outside the window. And now the entire room held its breath, waiting for his opinion. As always, he demanded his respect.
He said nothing, shaking his head slowly. "One should not expect to outlive their own grandchildren." He stood, leaning heavily on the cane. "And yet I do. And I have done so for years."
He limped out.
Harry was forced to follow, and the sound of the door shutting echoed undisturbed in the room. It took several minutes for them to stir, and even then they remained silent. Scorpius leaned back on his hands, watching the room interact.
"I had hoped," McGonagall said quietly, "That this wouldn't happen. But I'm afraid this coming year will be hard for him. It's a memorial year, and horrible things will be said."
Scorpius gave her a confused look.
"The year of the actual event, child, has been dubbed the reflection year. The actual memorial year is always the year after. Therefore, the twenty-first year after the Battle is the memorial year." McGonagall flipped through a file. "And... I'm planning something for Dumbledore as well. A year off, but it didn't seem right to have a memorial during a reflection. Besides, there was that quirk about threes..."
Scorpius nodded, with the room.
Speaking of Dumbledore, Albus entered the room, quietly, shutting the door. Scorpius listened to the sound of his father choking on a mouthful of water with a grin. The green and silver on Al's robes tended towards that reaction. He sat down in the other chair, waving a hand slightly to Hugo.
"Had any problems with the trees this year, Score?" he asked, looking at the room. He looked completely casual, chin in his hands and fingertips slowly tapping his temple.
"The trees, Mr. Potter?" Headmistress McGonagall raised her eyebrows. "As far as I'm informed, we only have one troublesome tree. The Whomping Willow."
"Oh, I don't know about that, Professor." He turned his strange, green stare to her. "I find the birches to be especially troublesome. They should probably be trimmed, don't you think?"
"Hogwarts doesn't have birches," Hermione Weasley said slowly, as if explaining to a young child.
McGonagall suddenly clapped her hands to her mouth. "No! But..." She left the room in a hurry.
A few minutes later, Albus wandered after her. The room watched him leave.
"Now that is a child who worries me," Madam Pomfrey said quietly.
§•§
Birch was suspended. The wizarding world glossed over it, because the offending actions was only mentioned in one tiny tucked away article where no one would ever read it. However, the lungs issue was never resolved, other than being discovered as an artfully misused vacuuming charm. It tugged at the blood vessels till they broke, and Scorpius decided that he was never going anywhere without Shatter ever again.
After the holidays, the curriculum changed. Visitors, giving guest lectures. Sometimes for a day, sometimes a week or two. Under their words, some soft, some harsh, Scorpius heard a tale unfold. It wasn't a pretty one. It barely seemed possible it could have a happy ending. But their words were strong and their memories long. It was not lectures. It was stories, stories within stories. As the month of May grew closer, the castle became restless with these stories, and no one would meet another's eyes. The history books made it all seem so... Detatched. Cold. All numbers and names in print. But here were people who had seen and known, been those numbers and sat by those names. Here was a generation so brave they had stood and lived while someone not quite living or dead tried to bring them down.
How could they ever live up to that?
May second was coming, so very close. You could almost touch it.
When the day came, there was no classes. Instead, they listened to words of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Weasley. They did tell tales, leaving out nothing no matter how much they might have hated to tell it, and it wasn't just of the war. It was a tale of growing up, and the entire school was held in thrall until long past the sunset. They were not yet finished as house-elfs passed around food and the Houses silently filed away upstairs.
They all probably stayed up late, but talking was restricted to quick and quiet whispers. For hours, Scorpius tossed and turned, unable to sleep as visions swam through his mind, three versions of one tale all clicking so well and he felt so wrong, an alien visitor. His father had been so cruel...
Around one, he couldn't take it. He had to run. Scorpius kicked the comforter away, pulling on jeans and a shirt. He was betting on the air being warm. Then he crept down the stairs, trainers in hand.
He wandered through the halls, making his way to the door and knowing his ears would pick up a person before they him.
Today the echoes were loud. He could hear it, the battle sounds around him, yet the whispers of gentler times, and it threaded into a strange and odd music that tugged at him. He found his way to the doors, slipping out into the warm night.
The stars shone tonight. Like they had been dipped in liquid silver, they were bright and strong and so strangely warm, when they had always seemed cold.
Scorpius found a starting position and took off.
He could see flickering visions as he ran. Scenes of the fight happening around him in one step and gone with the other, replaced with others, some later, some earlier, and he stretched his stride and pushed his speed, trying to see the images run together. He ran the familiar trail around the castle, eyes seeing both the landscape and the fight, and it was horrifying, but he had to see more.
He had to have done several laps. When he finally sat down on the grass, he ached, was coated in sweat, breath ragged. Scorpius wished Shatter was with him to curl around him, heal his pains, but he hadn't expected to try this.
Overhead, silver-dipped stars had moved, replaced by others, and some were fading. Dawn was coming, but he was so tired. He could just doze here, no one would miss him...
"Well would you look at that."
At the sound of a gruff, heavy voice, Scorpius shot up. He'd fallen asleep on a little patch of grass and dew was settling on his skin. The sun was rising. He blinked up at Hagrid and Harry Potter, walking side by side. Unable to see their expressions cloaked in shadow, he huddled apologetically, gazing up at them with sleepy eyes as he tried to persuade his leaden limbs to work.
"Shouldn't he be in his dorm?" Harry's tone was strangely almost concerned.
"Well 'e might ave been out running. Does that, 'e does, always waves when he passes my hut. Grins too, like it's the best day on earth..."
"But why would he be sleeping on the lawn?"
Ron Weasley's voice, a little suspicious, shocked him from where he'd been sitting up back into crouching, eyes straining to pick him up in the meager light.
"Why does he do that?"
"'E's a mute, an' shy too. Well, come on then!" Hagrid leaned down, and Scorpius found himself settled on a giant arm, gazing over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione. The rising sun peeked a ray across the horizon in time to catch Ron's scowl, which was quickly softening for reasons unknown, and Hermione's carefully expressionless features.
He tried to stay awake, telling himself that he might miss the rest of the story, but he couldn't. He dropped off close to the doors.
When he woke up, it was because James was shaking him. "Hey, come on, Score. Why are you still asleep?"
Scorpius blinked sleepily, glancing at the watch on James wrist. Eight. Assuming sunrise was about 4:30, he'd had only three and a half hours.
"You not sleep much?" James asked. He shook his head. "Well, come on. There's a story to finish. You can sleep after, but don't kill your sleep schedule now. Come. Up and at em." James shoved him into a sitting position and then released his shoulders. He blinked up at him and then fell back, hugging his pillow in self-defense.
"He up yet? If he doesn't hurry, I'm not helping him with his homework!"
Scorpius made a rude gesture before the voice caught up to the words. He opened the eye not blocked by the pillow.
Girls. Could enter. The dormitories. Right. That was in the story.
Rose stalked over, grabbed his arm and yanked him from the safety of his bed. He sat on the floor, yawning. She then dug through his trunk, coming up with a school robe. "Just throw it over the jeans and things. No one will really care." She tossed it and paused. "I'm not even going to ask."
Scorpius disentangled his head. Shatter was winding over her wrist, and she had a slightly panicked look. Shatter, for the most part, didn't notice, once again forgetting gravity and trying to wind his way straight up into the air. About the point he'd almost made it, he ended up spinning around her wrist by his tail, giving the ground a confused look as he dangled. He dropped the floor, Scorpius working up the energy for a wince, and then slithered up her leg, around her waist and on the joint between her arm and shoulder. Rose had a fearful look. "What's it going to do?"
Finally getting his arms through the robe sleeves, he reached up, taking the quill on his dresser, and wrote Sit there, really in black letters.
"Really?"
He nodded, tired.
"Well... Why?"
Scorpius shrugged, not in an explanation mood, then stumbled to his feet and leaned on the bedpost as he unwound Shatter. Shatter, despite his lack of pupils, eyebrows, and human facial muscles managed to convey an angry deadpan look, of the 'I was working!' type. Scorpius rolled his eyes, watching Shatter curl around his arm under the loose sleeves. His arm started to feel better already, the sore muscles being soothed under Shatter's healing magic.
"Come on." James, who didn't look as though he had seen this, (But then again, James' eyesight had been worsening all year) began to herd them downstairs. Rose and James had to keep Scorpius from falling over more than once on the way to the Great Hall.
Inside, they settled beneath a vaulted blue ceiling on carved names and cushions and turned their attention to the second part of the words unfolding.
In the seconds between the first words and the ending of the sentence, Scorpius was awake. The tale got darker as the way wound along, and yet nothing was censored, nothing was left out, all their words and deeds and misdoings all there for everyone to see, bared soul and all. At the battle, their detailed words and the images from last night made it come alive in his mind.
When the final echoes of the bittersweet faded from the air, the spell was not yet gone. Instead of speaking, they stood as one, following the starry skies outside to the lake. One could see the whole of the grounds, imagine the damage, the dead, and yet... The hope.
For reasons he couldn't fathom, Scorpius found he had a small candle, one of the ones meant only to burn a few hours, in a form-fit flimsy little tin. Lighting it with his wandtip, he set it on the water, giving it the gentlest of pushes. On the still Black Lake, it floated, a tiny pinprick of flame like a reflection of a star.
Slowly, over the hour, they trailed inside. The spell the story didn't break, but slowly faded. A broken spell was gone. A faded spell left something behind.
Weeks later, everything was getting back to normal, everyone gearing up for Dumbledore's memorial. The school was going to be open for visitors then, and it was a frenzy to clean, and find places in the old Houses of those guests. McGonagall called Albus and Scorpius to her office.
"I have a task for the two of you..."
§•§
It was odd, to have his father at his school and standing over his shoulder. It was like he was judging his every movement. Thankfully, he wasn't alone. Many students had their parents and guardians standing over their every movement.
The legendary George was helping the Marauders prank everyone, and the castle was chaos. Some adults were frowning, but McGonagall just called it celebration of life. Better than detention.
The nights fell gloomily, the castle echoes alive with the whispers of old battles. Scorpius barely slept, instead sitting up to listen. He couldn't sleep. By day, he took the habit of hiding in the Muggle Studies classroom, where his father was guaranteed not to look.
A week of this, of daily speeches and parents and preparations and the night came.
The procession started at the gate, a line of students and adults, all equipped with a candle.
It wound across the grounds into the halls,
These were the halls where he wandered
Taking a long route to the Transfiguration classroom, where a waiting McGonagall joined them.
This was the class that he taught
From there it slid by the Headmasters office, where his portrait had been brought out to be propped up. He had spent the day watching and commenting to students with a smile in brushstroke eyes.
This was the school that he cared for
And then they whispered by the door of the Astronomy Tower, joining into a clump outside, at the base.
This was where he was lost.
Scorpius and Al were ready, each holding a fiery feather as they stood at the top, and held them out. They drifted into the air as Al whispered the spell and the feathers became the wings of a phoenix made of fire, which soared over the crowd, the Forbidden Forest and away over the horizon. Scorpius never took his eyes from it once, only following Al down when he tugged on his sleeve. They joined the back of the line leading to the grave, each lighting their candle. A line of pinprick lights. On the metal tin of each candle was a name, one of the dead. They gathered around the grave in silence.
Most of the adults were joined in a line, hands on shoulders of their neighbors.
It was easy to guess who was left out. Draco Malfoy, still blamed for a death he didn't commit and didn't want to, watched the grave and stood alone, a crowd of green and silver at his back. He was one of four to come from that House. Maybe other alumni were ashamed or maybe they just didn't care to show their faces. But four stood alone.
Slowly, a hand reached across the gap and settled on his shoulder. He returned the favor.
Maybe that was a signal. Victoire Weasley began to sing softly in her perfect voice. Scorpius never remembered the words, but he remembered it was soft and sad and hopeful and her sister joined, and somehow everyone found words that fit and blended, and Scorpius was surrounded by sound. Silent.
The schoolyear did not end with a bang, it did not stop with air charged to the point of waiting for thunder to break. It ended softly, drifting away in a sea of remembrance, like a candle on the water.
As I said...
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