Scorpius's third year at Hogwarts was anything but ordinary.
It began just before he actually even had a ticket to board the Hogwarts Express actually. His first visit to a Muggle doctor was confusing, extraordinary, and slightly painful. He went just before school began and was accompanied only by his father. He was under strict instructions to not speak about any magic or potions whatsoever—he was aware that this Muggle doctor was a witch as well, but Draco firmly stated that he was to remain quiet and follow orders and let him do all the talking. Scorpius liked the doctor he met. She seemed very kind and patient. He enjoyed looking at a sparkling blue bracelet that dangled off her wrist and swirled nebulas in one of the charms—it was obvious that it was a magical artifact, but it looked commonplace enough that a Muggle wouldn't notice. It felt like his appointments would never end. She spent copious amounts time listening to his lungs, looking at his charts, talking to his father. He had to get glowing "pictures" taken of his chest so many times. A machine scribbled zigzags on a paper while connected to his back and ribcage. He was quite afraid, though he kept quiet about it. However, his father seemed to notice. He spent a lot of time holding Scorpius's hand or letting him lean against him whenever they sat in waiting chairs. By the time they left the large, cold building, it was almost always dark outside.
Scorpius went off to school shortly after his first appointments—though he was under strict restrictions. He was given a reduced load of courses, though he was taking the same ones as Albus. He went to classes for three and a half days out of the school week. Any time he wasn't in class, he had to either rest in his dormitory or the infirmary. Though it seemed like he was under constant medical observation, he still didn't feel any healthier. And yet, the year went by faster than any other. Scorpius spent his holidays being evaluated by the Muggle doctor, he watched his father send constant correspondence to a vast number of recipients, he tried to rest as much as he could. Scorpius was aware that he was being prepared for the dangerous treatment Rose spent so much time talking about—but he wasn't sure exactly when he'd be whisked away to have it done. From what he could understand, it could be a matter of days, months, or even years for a transplantable set of lungs to become available. And once they did, no time was to be lost. Draco had given a lot, a lot of money to ensure that Scorpius would be first on the list to receive the soonest available organ donation. While he was grateful, Scorpius felt completely overwhelmed—how could he possibly ever repay or thank his father for sacrificing so much to allow him a longer life? The weight and pressure sunk in on him more and more every day.
And if that wasn't enough, Scorpius was facing more bullying than ever. He often did not discuss the difficulties he was presented with at school because those problems seemed so absolutely insignificant compared to the fact that his own body was trying to kill him on a daily basis. To top things off, Scorpius also was beginning to have different thoughts about Albus. His best friend. The only person who could really understand him. Something stirred oddly in his chest whenever Albus would sit beside him just to talk, when he'd offer kind reassurance, when he'd tuck the blankets closer to Scorpius while he rested, when he put his head onto his shoulder, when he'd hold his hand so gently. Scorpius was certain that the things he was feeling all related to the new fear he had of dying sooner than expected. Though whatever these thoughts actually were, they only added to the stress he was battling. It felt like every other day he was being sent by Headmistress McGonagall to go speak with Professor Longbottom—he often acted as a guide and counselor to students facing difficult times in life. Headmistress encouraged Scorpius to be seen as a precautionary measure. She'd always tell him that it was alright to be scared, to be afraid. But that he needed to talk about it before it built up and ruined him. Scorpius often wondered if she pushed this concept so intensely because she'd once seen how stress and anxiety ruined his father.
So the entire school year fled by. Scorpius soon found himself on summer holiday, sitting in the hallway of Malfoy Manor, staring at the closed door just a few steps down from his own room. It was the door to the room in which his mother passed away. The small boy liked sitting here sometimes because the room smelled like lilies faintly, and it reminded him of his mother. He'd just recently begun taking "Muggle medicine" to prepare his body for when there'd be a transplant. The multicolored pills were often difficult to swallow without choking. And his father was very very anxious about him beginning Muggle medicine. He must've sent at least thirty owls to Dr. Applewhite with questions and concerns; Scorpius counted. And if the fact that it was Muggle medicine didn't frighten the two Malfoys enough, they'd been told by Dr. Applewhite that the pills Scorpius was taking might begin to interfere with the magical medical devices being used for his hearing. She advised that the spells to strengthen the hearing aids must be stopped to maximize the effect of the medication. Over the past few days of being home on summer holiday, Scorpius noticed that the amount that he was hearing had decreased already. Because of this, it was comforting to rely on smells and touch instead just like when he was a child. So sitting in front of the door that smelled of lilies wasn't just comforting to Scorpius. It was therapeutic.
He leaned against the wood of the door, taking slow deep breaths as he read a book he'd taken from the Malfoy library—one of his favorites; about the time that Harry Potter and his friends battled off a ferocious werewolf as dementors were closing in. He must've read it at least seven times now. But he couldn't help it. He loved the adventures he got to read about. He loved the idea that people out there had full and exciting lives that garnered more and more priceless stories by the day. He was beginning to accept that his life wasn't going to be like that. It was comforting to know that books allowed for him to feel like part of the adventure anyway and that they offered him kindness and helped him share emotions with characters. Dreamily, he turned the page on his worn hardcover.
Draco stood farther down the hallway with anguish in his heart as he looked upon his small, sickly son so desperate for some kind of bonding from somewhere. He felt incredibly guilty that Scorpius felt he could find comfort in the smell of his mother's hospice room, and that he only received excitement and pleasure from books. "Scorpius," Draco repeated. The boy didn't even flinch. He hadn't heard him. It didn't ease his heartbreak since the first time he tried to get his attention either. It was hard to accept that he was needing to allow for Scorpius to get worse just to try to make him better. Was it all going to be worth it? Robbing his son of a chance to just have a good comfortable last few years to risk giving him a full life expectancy? Stealing away his boy's ability to hear just as a normal child could so that he could take Muggle pills without an end date in the future? Was this all going to turn out alright? Or was it going to end in more pain, more loss, and more grief?
Draco looked down at the letter in his hands, debating whether or not he should even tell Scorpius that their plans were going to change a bit. It would definitely increase the boy's anxiety. Draco had been corresponding with Harry Potter for a few days about how the preparations were going for this master plan their kids had come up with. Harry had then actually offered have Scorpius and Draco live with them in a spare room at his house to not be alone, should anything happen after the surgery. At first, Draco did not like the idea. He wanted his child home after something so traumatic, because he was the only caregiver Scorpius needed. But Harry presented stronger arguments than Draco's heart could take. This isn't something that's an everyday occurrence, Harry had written, and it's going to be hard on both of you. Draco knew he was right. He knew that if he brought Scorpius home to the Manor alone, he'd go insane fretting over him. We think it would be best for the two of you to have comfort, support, and help during a time that's so stressful. Ginny and I want to make sure you're both cared for—with meals, rest, and assistance. Draco realized it would probably be very nice if he didn't have to worry about taking care of Scorpius constantly and then cooking for himself or tidying the house. It's just as important for you to be healthy and strong for your son. And we know that you've really been through the ringer. Let someone finally help you, Draco. Don't be prideful when it comes to you and your son's overall health. Damn. He always knew just where to drive the guilt wedge. Draco had written back agreeing to go stay with the Potters once Scorpius had had his surgery and was released from the Muggle hospital.
The letter he held in his hand was another response from Harry, detailing where they'd stay and when everything would be ready for them to come. Draco intended to show the letter to Scorpius purely for the last line: Albus is bursting with excitement to have Scorpius come stay with us. He figured it might cheer his son up a bit. Quietly he approached his son and knelt down beside him on the floor. The movement caught Scorpius's eye. He looked up from his book and gave his father one of his sweet heartbreaking smiles. Draco handed the letter over. "Give this a read," he motioned in sign language, "and tell me what you think of the idea." It didn't take long for Scorpius's whole face to light up at reading the news. He flapped his hands eagerly and nodded. "Yes, dad!" he said aloud. He reread the letter in excitement. Draco felt a smile tug at his lips despite the raging storm of dark emotions he was feeling inside. His boy was so pure, so innocent, so perfect…
A piercing shriek shattered the tender moment, followed by a crash and raining glass shards. Though Scorpius only heard a muted form of the ruckus, he could tell it was frightening by the way his father leapt up and grabbed his wand, pointing it over the staircase railing and looking down, ready to fight. Another screech. Draco's heart pounded—he feared a vengeful home intruder more than anything since the war. Suddenly a large scruffy owl swooped in front of him, still screaming. It danced like crazy on the railing, shaking its foot desperately. A letter was attached. Draco reached out to untie the letter and was nipped at desperately by the squawking bird. "Alright, alright, I'm hurrying." Draco muttered, opening the envelope and trying to ignore that the bird was now staring him down with wide urgent eyes.
Then it all made sense.
The letter was from Dr. Applewhite. It simply stated in red ink:
Healthy 14-year-old male car crash victim, passed away an hour ago in hospital. An organ donor. Perfect biochemical match for Scorpius. Apparate here with him immediately. We're ready to operate.