A/n: Alright, everyone. Here's an early chapter for one of my beloved followers who has been reading and reviewing this story since the beginning. Also I decided to update this because y'all are gonna need some time to get over it.

Chapter 18

The Beginning Of The End

"Sounds like you two had fun."

"Were you not listening to me?" Scorpius asked incredulously, gaping at Albus as the latter serenely sipped on some strong smelling potion. "What is it that you're drinking, anyway?"

"I did listen to you, which is why I made that observation. It's quite obvious that she's not going to begin ignoring or avoiding you at this point, don't you think?"

Scorpius regarded his best mate with a considering stare, wondering if he should bring up his second, ignored question. Finally deciding that Albus ignoring it on purpose may mean little to nothing, he sighed and leaned back in his seat, clutching the counter when the stool teetered back.

"I really don't see why you overthink everything so much," Albus commented idly, coughing a little after his latest sip and grimacing as he stroked his throat.

"Are you ill?" asked the blond curiously, wondering why Albus insisted on drinking whatever it was when he obviously didn't like it.

Albus waved off the question with a "Just a mild case of the flu," and fixed Scorpius with a dazzling smile that made the latter squint suspiciously. "Are you sure? That seems awfully strong a potion for a simple cold."

Albus rolled his eyes with an exaggerated roll of his head and looked pointedly at the blond. "I am fine," he said strongly and Scorpius nodded reluctantly.

"Now, if we could please move on from my unnecessarily over-scrutinised cold," he said pointedly, placing the empty mug down and pushing it away, "let's get back to the topic at hand – your wonderfully developing love life."

Scorpius scrunched his nose. "Don't make it sound like the bacteria you secretly culture in your hidden cabinet," he said disapprovingly, making Albus chuckle.

"I like it that you know my dirty little secrets," he replied with the kind of sly smile he always had when he wanted to accentuate his innuendos. Scorpius wasn't the least bit impressed by it.

"I see. Well, I just came to tell you, that's all."

"Thank you for your frequent updates on your progress, but I really would appreciate it if you even thought of calling me and asking me before you just waltz in here all glowing from your sexual escapades."

Scorpius turned a nice shade of red and Albus chuckled. He looked down at his hands with a mild smile and finally asked, "Renée's engagement is in a few hours, isn't it? Shouldn't you go get dressed?"

"I probably should," Scorpius said in a voice that clearly said he didn't want to as he eyed Albus with scrutiny. He hadn't brought up the topic because he hadn't wanted to force Renée's engagement onto Albus, considering their previous relationship.

"Well, I can always cover for you by exploding you in an experiment if you want," Albus offered helpfully, giving Scorpius his million-galleon smile. Scorpius played along, but the way Albus's emerald eyes had gone dark didn't go unseen by the blond.

"How kind of you to offer, but no," Scorpius replied, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. "Besides, aren't you invited as well?"

"Oh, you don't have to worry about dear old me, I shall come and go as I please, Renée already knows that," Albus said importantly, his eyes flashing, as he flicked his unruly hair over his shoulder. "Besides, I wouldn't want to—"

Scorpius looked up from rolling up his shoulders, curious as to why Albus had abruptly stopped mid-sentence, and froze from the sight before him.

Albus was sitting absolutely still, his face having gone slack and his eyes having glazed over, his mouth parted to form whatever word he was about to say before he stopped. He looked as though someone had Petrified him and Scorpius jumped to his feet, swiveling around in order to find the perpetrator. But there was nobody there and even as an unnerving confusion settled over the blond, Albus continued speaking as though he hadn't just gone completely rigid.

"—steal your spotlight, now would I?"

Scorpius stared down at the brown-haired male incredulously, noting the slightly confused expression on Albus's face before he smoothed it over with a genial smile directed at the blond.

"When did you stand up?" he asked curiously, sending a shiver down Scorpius's spine.

What the hell just happened?

"Was I so engrossed in my self-praise that I didn't notice you stand?" Albus mused, a thoughtful expression on his face, but Scorpius could see the hint of confusion in his eyes.

Does he not have any recollection of what just happened?

"Al," Scorpius started carefully, walking over as the other stood up, and placing a palm against his forehead, said, "Maybe you should rest. I think you've been working too much."

"But mummy!" Albus whined in a high-pitched voice, making the corner of Scorpius's mouth twitch.

"Now, Albus. Go make use of that unnecessarily large sofa you've placed in the middle of your office," Scorpius said, motioning to said sofa.

"Mate, the day I let you mother me, is the day I keel over from an unknown disease and am on my death-bed," Albus replied seriously, placing a hand on Scorpius's shoulder. He then moved towards the stools they had been sitting on and motioned to one.

Does he not remember our previous conversation? Scorpius thought with a frown.

"I was just leaving," Scorpius said uncertainly, pointing at the door over his shoulder. "Renée's engagement, remember?"

"Ah, but of course," Albus replied, motioning towards the door as well. "Wouldn't want to make you late."

"Mate—"

"Don't worry, I'll be poking my very handsome face in shortly," Albus said, almost hurriedly ushering him out. Scorpius cast a final, uncertain look over his shoulder and closed the door behind him.

The second the click of the lock sounded, he doubled over and heaved, his body shuddering from the force of the coughs that wracked through him. He unsteadily straightened up, gulping lungfuls of air as he reached out blindly, trying to grab onto something for support. Finding nothing within arm's reach, he stumbled to the side, his vision suddenly blurring, causing him to trip against the stools and ram into the metal counter.

A pained gasp escaped his lips as he tried to get back on his shaking legs and failed to do so. A dry sob escaped his parted lips as he slid to the floor, leaning against the cool metal back and slamming his head repeatedly against it, letting the dull gonging sound echo through the large space. He gasped for breath as another fit of coughs wrenched from his lungs, making him pull his knees to his chest and wind his arms around them, rocking back and forth until they subsided.

After a long time – Merlin knew how long – he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet, shuffling and stumbling in the direction of the white panels that lined the far side of the room. His shoulder rammed painfully against them as he lost his balance and he took a moment to catch his breath, grimacing at the wheezing sounds of his breaths.

He reached out and pressed a hidden switch in the panel closest to him, causing it to undo itself from the rest with a hiss of air. He watched as it slowly eased back and opened out to the side, followed by a tall stand that held a smaller version of a Pensieve. He pushed himself off and staggered to it, leaning his palms heavily on the stand for support and staring at his reflection in the mirror that hung in the back of the hollow space the panel had uncovered.

The man who looked back at him was a ghost of the original; his wild brown hair stuck to his sweating skin—that was so pale, it looked translucent. His face was ashen and patchy, his lips were cracked and blue, his emerald eyes that always glittered with emotion were dull and lifeless. His shoulders trembled with the effort of breathing and he had to concentrate to keep his knees from crumpling under his weight.

He suddenly retched, bringing his hand to cover his mouth as he coughed into it, the force of the coughs making him shudder even more violently than before. He winced at the sharp pain that blossomed in his chest and throat, staring down through his blurred vision at the smatter of blood on his shaking palm.

"Shite," he choked, coughing again. Reaching into the pocket of his white lab coat, he pulled out his wand with a trembling hand and after several failed attempts, pressed the tip to his temple and withdrew a silvery fibre of memory. Dropping it into the Pensieve, he gently stirred the glimmering surface with his wand.

There was a familiar sound of a door sliding open and he snapped his head up, immediately pushing the Pensieve back into its hiding place, and only relaxing slightly when he heard the soft vacuum of the panel slipping back into place. He stared at the far door Scorpius had just left through and realised that nobody was coming in. In fact, it wasn't even open.

"Your state seems to have visibly worsened since the last we spoke," came a soft, ghostly voice from off to the side and he started, jumping around and staring wide-eyed at the woman who had just entered through the enchanted back entrance that led to his lab.

"You scared me," he snapped in a trembling voice, reluctantly allowing her to lead him to the couch and help him down onto it.

"You startle at the slightest of things lately, Albus. You cannot put the blame for your extremely cautious nature on me."

"Yeah, maybe, but you don't have to sneak up on me!"

"I assumed you heard me enter, seeing how you hurriedly hid whatever it was you were doing."

"Well, don't assume and announce yourself!" he snapped, leaning forwards as another bout of coughs wracked his body.

"Do not speak," she said gently, easing him back against the couch. "Have you been taking your medicine?"

"You know I drink that disgusting filth like my life depends on it," he rasped in irritation, closing his eyes and licking his lips.

"But your life does depend on that 'disgusting filth' as you so crudely like to put it."

He groaned, completely unwilling to listen to one of her never-ending lectures just then and throwing his head back, tried to breathe as deeply as he could without feeling like his lungs were being constantly stabbed by millions of tiny needles.

"Why must you insist on pushing your body to its limits? Can you not at least give it some respite, if only so you do not keel over and die?"

"I'm afraid if I close my eyes and let myself drift off, I'll never wake up," he confessed quietly. He listened to the way her breath caught and felt her hands stop in their soft, soothing caress of his hair. It was a long time before she finally spoke.

"Albus, please put an end to this madness. Every day I see you, I feel like it will be the last. Please stop this futile endeavour you persist in conquering and let yourself heal."

"Are you asking me to give up?" he asked quietly, hearing the ice in his own voice.

"Yes," came the soft reply and he sat up much faster than he should have, fixing accusing eyes on her.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to refuse," he said stonily, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

Her expression softened and she reached out hesitantly, making to touch him. He let her do so as he knew that was her only comfort. He knew that she wouldn't stop him and simply nod sadly in agreement. Something about this scene brought on a sense of déjâvù, but he couldn't put his finger to it.

His heart jolted when she smiled sadly at him and nodded, her cold, frail fingers catching his chin in the gentlest of caresses, like she expected him to shatter into thousands of fragments if she were to apply the slightest of pressure.

"I'm sorry," he said in a strained voice, choking at the end and she drew near, reaching her other hand up to stroke his hair like she had been doing. "I'm sorry, but I can't stop. Not now. Not after all these years. I can't give up when he's still fighting. I have to do this even if it means my imminent and irreversible death."

The way her eyes shone with unshed tears and the sound of her almost inaudible sniffling made his chest tighten and the lump in his throat grow ever prominent. He shouldn't have brought up a painful memory, but unless he had, she wouldn't have understood. Even if she agreed simply because she didn't like to have to fight with him, he wanted her to know why this was so important. He had to remind her why it was so important.

"You are slipping," she told him finally, her voice cracking as her face constricted into an expression of pain.

"I am not," he replied adamantly, leaning away from her touch and feeling the tinge of guilt as she whimpered at the rejection.

"You are, my love," the older woman insisted, her hands hanging in the air as though begging for him to come back to her.

"Why must you keep saying that," he snapped, exhaustion sweeping over him and leaving his anger as nothing more than a dull ache in his chest.

"Because it is the truth. You no longer seem to remember that you have lost your purpose," she said softly, her hands lowering slightly and back towards her.

"Lost my purpose?" he bit angrily, his throat burning from overusing his voice so close after such a severe coughing episode. "How dare you say such things to me! Have you really fallen so low?"

She brought her hands to her mouth and sobbed into them, streaks of tears flowing down her cheeks. He hated to see her cry. He hated more that he was the one to make her cry. But he was tired and angry and she was only rubbing salt on his wounds.

"You talk as though he is dead!" he shouted, convulsing as a fresh wave of coughs made him heave and gasp for air. She was instantly by his side, rubbing soothing circles on his back and whispering quiet words of consolation against his hair.

He sat back slowly and blinked back the tears from his eyes, sniffing and wiping the saliva that had spattered onto his chin. "I will not give up until I know for sure he is dead! I will not stop until I know for sure I can never bring him back! I will not give up until I know for sure that I have failed!"

"He is dead, Albus," she cried softly, clinging to his arms like the pathetic and weak widow she was.

"He may be dead to you, but not to me," he hissed venomously, yanking away from her grip.

"Why do you not listen? He is dead! He has been dead for four years now!"

"Shut up!" he roared, rearing back and almost falling onto the couch. "How dare you! How dare you mock me! How dare you say such—"

"How dare you! How dare you mock me! How dare you say such—"

She watched as he froze, his face that was twisted in anger suddenly falling slack, his emerald eyes that were glittering with fury suddenly going dull, his shoulders that were trembling from repressed rage, going still. She watched as he sat absolutely rigid for a moment as she sobbed quietly into her hands. She watched as, after a long minute, the light slowly began to re-enter his eyes. She watched as they fixed on her crying form in confusion. She watched as the confusion turned into bewilderment and he immediately pulled her against his side.

"Why are you crying?" he asked her quietly, the startled shock clear in his voice. "Did I say something to hurt you? Did I fight with you again? Tell me, am I the one who caused you to weep like this?" he begged her, his voice sounding as vulnerable as it had on that fateful night five years ago.

"You do not know?" she asked him, somehow able to maintain the sternness of her voice even as she wept like the broken woman she was.

"I ask because I don't," he said gently and she shook her head as she wiped away her tears and pulled away from him. She fixed him with her strong gaze and willed herself not to cave under the swirling confusion and fear in his eyes.

"Do you really not know, Albus?" she asked him and he slowly shook his head. "Do you not know or do you not remember?"

"I don't—I don't remember," he admitted in a choked voice, swallowing thickly. She pressed her lips together to contain the sob that threatened to escape them.

"Do you know who you are?"

"Albus," he replied in confusion.

"Your full name?"

"Albus Severus Potter. Second son and middle child to Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Potter."

"Do you remember the name of my late husband? The man who you are still desperately trying to save?"

He frowned at her and shook his head slightly. "Late? He's not—"

"Answer the question," she snapped.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy. Father to Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy and husband to—" he paused, as though he couldn't remember.

"Yes?" she prompted and he looked at her in confusion. "Who is Draco's wife?"

"I don't—he's not dead! He isn't dead, I'm going to save him!"

"Albus, answer my question!" she shrieked. Her voice was shrill and trembled from the sheer force with which she spoke. He recoiled as though she had physically struck him. "What is my name?" she asked in a much softer voice. "Do you know?"

"Yes, I—"

"Do you remember?"

The way his eyes went round from fear made the shards of her already broken heart pierce her and rip her apart from the inside. He didn't remember her.

He didn't remember her.

He remembered her late husband who he had convinced himself to believe was alive, but he didn't remember her.

Her, who had cared for him after that tragic incident half a decade ago; her, who had helped him stand back on his own two feet; her, who had silently watched over him from the shadows as he wavered back and forth between the harsh reality and his twisted dream world; her, who had watched as he began to draw closer and closer to the precipice; her, who he had always trusted unconditionally and listened to without hesitation.

And now there he was, staring at her with wide, unrecognising eyes like she was a lie that he must run from.

She made her decision in that instant. It didn't matter to her that he didn't remember her. It didn't matter that he didn't recognise her. It didn't matter that he didn't trust her. She was not going to let him throw his life away for a future that would never come. She was going to save him as she could not save her husband and son.

She reached into her robes and pulled out a small vial made from dark glass, making it impossible to tell the colour of the liquid within. She reached towards him in his momentary confusion and prying open his mouth, tipped the contents of the vial down his throat. She watched the light in his eyes flicker out as he slumped against her, completely unconscious.

"Sleep, my child," she whispered softly, pulling his head onto her lap and stroking his hair. "Sleep until you can wake up and remember that your purpose no longer exists; that your goal is gone and your efforts, fruitless. Sleep until you can accept the terrible truth and not have to lapse back into a state of not knowing. Sleep now and this time, let me be the one to protect you."

A/n: -laughs nervously- What are your thoughts? Also, I did warn you about Albus.