He had no idea what to say. He had no idea what to think. He had no idea what to do.
The news had taken him by surprise. He had known that the day would inevitably come one day, but he had never expected it to be this day, to for it to happen so soon.
In any event, even if he had been expecting it, that didn't mean the news it had happened wouldn't take him by surprise. The fact it had come so soon after Astoria's death meant it hit him even harder.
So he did the only thing he could do. He slumped into a chair, brought his hand to his mouth, and let it out. The tears flowed down his cheeks, dripping onto his robes and dampening them.
Breathing in deeply, he tried to stop it further, but to little avail: as soon as he almost had it under control, it would start again.
It took him no less than six or seven attempts, after half an hour, to finally stop (helped by the fact his tear ducts were now empty). Now, he gripped the chair's armrests and breathed through his teeth.
The last time he had had any contact with her was months ago. It hadn't gone the way he would've liked; he'd hoped for reconciliation, but that did not happen. Things were said, words were exchanged.
Words about how he was actually trying to change the family's legacy, to free his son from the shadows they had created to bind him. Words he now realized were the last things he ever said to her, and that now he would never get the chance to speak to her again.
His mind then turned away from this darkness - from these painful final memories - to happier, more innocent ones. Of her taking him to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Shop (chocolate was his favourite, while she favoured sea-salt). Of sitting next to him as he read his Hogwarts letter for the first time.
No matter where she went in public, she had held her head up high and her back straight. She generated an aura of confidence and vision: she knew what she wanted, and she was going to get it no matter what.
But those days were gone, and had been for many years. She had rarely went out after the war ended, preferring to stay at the Manor with Father. The family's reputation lied in tatters, their secrets out in the open, ordinary people less willing to bow to their whims.
It meant that her high head and confident aura no longer had the desired effect of getting people to do what she wanted them to do. It meant dirty looks in the street from passers-by.
It meant he had to work hard to correct course, and save Scorpius from being lumped in with the rest of them before it was too late.
She disagreed, as did Father; oh, they had approved of his choice in wife, but that had changed when they learned firsthand her views were more progressive than their own, and that her ideas on how to raise her son differed greatly from their own wishes.
They hadn't really changed. Perhaps he should have expected this.
He still loved her, despite this. He always would.
And she had loved him. She had always loved him.
She had risked her life by asking Severus Snape to perform the Unbreakable Vow, so as to ensure her son's soul would not be tainted by murder.
She had turned against the Dark Lord - again, at great risk to her own life - by lying to him that Harry Potter was dead, after he had confirmed to her that her son was alive and safe. In doing so, she had probably saved everyone.
He sighed. He looked down at his feet. He exhaled.
His mother was a complex woman. A flawed woman. A difficult woman.
She was still his mother, and he still loved her throughout his life as she had loved and looked out for him.
And now he grieved for her.
Written for, and dedicated to, Helen McCrory (17 August 1968 - 16 April 2021).
I own nothing.