XIII
In the remaining weeks of third year, Professor McGonagall secretly allows Scorpius to attempt some more transformations on himself.
He asks her about the need to register, noting she has not mentioned it.
"The whole registration process is about making sure you're safe while you're learning. And I don't see that we need to bother with that when I'm teaching you," she confides.
"Doesn't the Ministry want to keep a tab on Animagi?"
She sniffs, and then remembers how young he is. "The Ministry has genuine concerns, but to be honest, the people it needs to be worried about aren't going to register anyway. So it ends up being another level of control over the lives of ordinary people. Those are the same controls that were so badly abused during the War.
"Which isn't to say that you should keep such things secret - many is the young wizard or witch who's nearly come to a nasty end when they decided to transform into poultry."
Scorpius laughs at the idea of anyone willingly transforming themselves into a chicken. "Does everyone have just one form?" he asks.
"Transfiguring yourself into an animal is not an easy task," she reminds him. "The shape dictates how we see the world. Remembering to keep your mind human while your shape is not takes more energy and effort than you think. And you must be able to at least transfigure back without a wand. Remembering how to do that for more than one form takes too much energy and effort, better you remember to do it perfectly for the one."
Scorpius nods. "So how do you choose?" He has been thinking on the topic since she first raised it, and is no closer to a decision.
McGonagall leans back in her seat and waves her hand discursively. "Well, there are many factors," she begins. "I prefer a cat because they are intelligent and independent, and can move through a variety of situations with ease. But you might have a specific reason for wishing to become an Animagus. For example, if you want to be an Auror when you're an adult, something stealthy would be an advantage, such as a sparrow. Or perhaps you wish to experience the sensation of fast movement, in which case a racing animal, a hound or horse. Maybe there are certain animals that just appeal to you …"
Scorpius manages to stop his eyebrow from moving more than the slightest twitch, but it's too late. "And, Mr Malfoy, I warn you now that one goat joke will see an end to this class today."
He allows the smile that's threatening to tug his lips up ever so slightly. "Professor, the fact that I know George Weasley should not be held against me in this manner."
She lets out a bark of laughter at that. "Oh, there was a student with genius … if he and his brother had ever shown one iota of application to schoolwork …" Her voice trails off in tones of fondness with a trace of sorrow, but she soon refocuses. "The one rule I have is that you will not practice this alone until I tell you that you may. Any breaking of that rule will see an end to our classes, forever. Am I understood?"
Scorpius nods. But he has a question, "What about Sirius and Mr Potter's father?"
She is smiling again, though she tries to hide it with a stern look. "They were students of unusual talent and ability, but they were also very foolish and only safe by virtue of their good luck. And you'll note that they both chose larger mammals for their forms, which are somewhat easier. When they taught the trick to Mr Pettigrew, he had the advantage of their study, and then there also are some say that the transformation is best achieved choosing an animal that shares some characteristics of the wizard or witch. Do you have any ideas of where you'd like to start?"
"I do like cats, too, although dogs are good, maybe something like a wolfhound. I like ferrets, the way they're all slinky …"
McGonagall shakes her head slightly, "I'm not sure your father would approve."
"What about a bird? I like owls, a Snowy Owl would be good!"
"You spend a lot of time with the Potters, don't you?"
"A week or two every hols."
She purses her lips. "Maybe not a Snowy Owl, then, but a raptor is a good idea. How do you feel about eagles, or hobbies, kites or falcons?"
His face lights up. "Do you really think I could do a falcon?"
"Oh yes," her eyes look over him calculatingly. "It's a good fit, they're lean and hungry, but smart enough to know when not to pounce. They are good evaluators, they see very clearly, and they are much, much less mad than you'd expect." She clears her throat. "Compared to other raptors, that is. I think a peregrine would fit well with your passion for speed on the Quidditch pitch, Mr Malfoy. Shall we work to that?"
His eyes are shining with glee as he nods.
On his third lesson, he makes the transformation perfectly. He has never felt such a perfect fit with magic as he does in this; without a spell or a wand, he simply shifts between the states. And she is right, the falcon's mind is so very clear and precise. So much so that it hears things that Scorpius has missed.
For three years she has been dropping hints: "I was wrong to send them all away, they were right to come back"; "You have your father's humility"; "If only I could change things"; "I was wrong about your father".
And so when she looks at him fondly after his first flawless change, puts her head to one side, and says, "I am glad I had the chance to meet you," he takes a risk.
"When my father was here, did you like him?"
She is startled by the question, but she answers him honestly. "No, Malfoy, I did not. He was not a pleasant boy in his first years here, but I was hasty to judge and I never looked for reasons. I did not know what was happening in his home, how terribly misguided his parents were. They only realised at the end, and I am ashamed to say that I had written them, and him, off long before then."
Scorpius sits beside her, and presses gently for more information. "He used to tell me that things in the War did not happen exactly as the history books say, now he tells me that I should let the official versions stand, because it's still too raw to look at any other way."
McGonagall looks at him with interest. "I never said your father wasn't a smart man. He's right on both counts, more's the pity. It's my fault, too. If I had spoken up at the time, the truth would have come out. But it was so very much easier to leave things black and white, to not have to accept that easy sides are impossible, even at a crisis."
When she does not appear to be going on, Scorpius prompts her again. "Mr Potter says my father was there at the end, and that he was brave."
He is not expecting her to gasp. "Harry said that?" A small smile follows. "Well, it's true. It took Draco enough time to find his courage, but once he did, he was unwavering. I did him a grave injustice on that issue."
Scorpius smiles encouragingly at her. "I don't think he minds," he says. "He told me that everything was worthwhile for what he has now."
"Then he is an even better man than I have given him credit for," she concludes.
Scorpius is shaken by the seriousness of her expression, and so transfigures once more, landing lightly on her wrist before soaring into the sky to dive and wheel and bring a smile to her face with his grace.
When the holidays arrive, Scorpius stays with the Potters for a full five weeks so that he can help in the work for Mr Potter's fortieth birthday. The guest list expands and contracts several times, with dignitaries inviting themselves and Mr Potter disinviting them in quick succession.
In the chaos, Scorpius and Al manage to tramp over half the local countryside in search of new markers for their mental maps of the area. Lily tags along some days, mostly to escape her mother's firm belief that she should learn some housework and her grandmother's commitment to keeping her neat.
Mr Potter makes time every day to fly with the children, and is impressed with Scorpius's speed and accuracy. " Don't ever tell your father I said this, but you're at least as good as I ever was," he confides one evening.
Scorpius glows with pride, and Al grins widely at him. James snorts with disgust. "At least I'm …"
"… Better looking!" they all conclude for him.
Mr Potter ruffles his hair affectionately. "You've as much natural talent, James, but I just can't see you practicing as many hours."
Scorpius looks down and mutters.
Al nudges him and says, "Tell them, no, show them!"
And McGonagall did give permission on the last day of term, so he changes then, and flies above them, climbing far into the air, then screaming into a dive that has the Potters breathless, Scorpius's kreeing call sends every small bird from the garden or deep into shrubs. He wheels about above the ground and lofts gently back onto Al's outstretched wrist, where he lands gently and chuckles, before hopping off and resuming his own shape.
James, Lily and Mr Potter are impressed. "And so it's no wonder you're outflying me these days," James seizes on the, to him, logical extension.
"Does your dad know?" Mr Potter asks.
Scorpius nods. "But he hasn't seen it yet. I only learned it at the end of term."
"Good work." His own children are now clamouring to learn the spells required, and both Mr Potter and Scorpius are laughing. "If you receive O's in transfiguration, you may ask Professor McGonagall yourself," he tells them. And, "if you are nearly killed and have to make your own gills, then yes, you may also have advanced classes," he adds.
The Potter children are undivided in their assertion their father is no fun.
When the Granger-Weasleys arrive, the Potter house is transformed into an all-out riot. Lily, Rose and Al fight over who sits next to Scorpius at dinner, until Mr Weasley declares that he and Mrs Granger-Weasley will, which leads to several evenings in which conversation is ambling along merrily until Mr Weasley turns to look at Scorpius and starts in horror each time.
"Different Malfoy," Scorpius deadpans, much to Mrs Granger-Weasley's amusement. By the third time she has joined the chorus, and by the fifth, Mr Weasley and the rest of the table are also delivering the punchline.
George Weasley arrives the day before the celebrations and brings a selection of new party favours, which he promises are delightful, enjoyable and completely lacking in ghastly side-effects. When Lily tries one, she is adopted by a spectral rabbit that spends all day hopping after her, nibbling gently at her toes. Its soft fur can just be felt. Mrs Potter laughingly accepts that open-toed shoes will be an acceptable risk at the event, and looks forward to seeing the promised cats and birds of paradise.
The day of the party is a constant whirl of wizarding society. Mr Potter has given up on restricting guests and, after the night before's family and friends celebration, is cheerfully accepting that he is a hostage of publicity. Even the Daily Prophet's reporter is allowed in for twenty-five minutes. Which becomes eighteen minutes when she begins to complain that Luna Lovegood has unrestricted access.
Professor Longbottom is there, too, and takes time out to sit with the children for a while. "It's too mad over with Harry," he admits to them. He is astonished to learn that Scorpius hates Potions, which has the others clamouring to provide the most outrageous stories of the lengths that Scorp will go to to avoid doing his Potions homework.
"He had Mari chained to it for months, then he managed to convince Al to do it in return for covering Al's Charms papers," Rose dobs him in cheerfully.
"But you're so good in Herbology!" Professor Longbottom pretends that he has never heard of such misbehaviour, a performance that would be more convincing had they not heard his hilarious tales of skiving the night before.
"Everyone's good at Herbology," Lily tells him. "Because you make it interesting and fun!"
Professor Longbottom ignores the compliment, but they can tell that he is pleased.
The speeches go on for over an hour. But the presents are good, and Mr Potter is genuinely happy to announce two new scholarships as part of the Potter Foundation, one devoted to postgraduate studies in cryptozoology, and named for Miss Lovegood.
Al has filled Scorpius in on the long childhood hunts for various members of the Snorkack family, so he is not surprised by Miss Lovegood's speech. He is surprised that Mr Potter wanders some little distance away from the party during it. When he looks up and sees Scorpius watching him, he waves him over.
"Escaping?" Scorpius asks.
"For a few minutes," he confesses. "Thanks for all your help this month, I think the kids would have killed each other if you hadn't been around."
"I think Mrs Weasley might have killed them first," Scorpius whispers, nodding at Al's scary grandmother.
Mr Potter laughs quietly. "I know Al calls her Deathgran," he shares.
Scorpius grins. "It's pretty cool," he says quietly.
They sit in companionable silence for a while, listening as Miss Lovegood details the huge expanses of Norwegian glacier as yet uninvestigated.
"Tell your dad happy birthday for last month," Mr Potter says quietly.
"Why don't you tell him when he picks me up tonight?"
Mr Potter looks at his shoes. "We're not very good at remembering the social niceties."
Scorpius makes his choice. "I know that he was horrible to you at school, but I also know that changed at some point. Everyone tells me that he just grew up to be different. He tells me that you trusted him once. You told me that he was with you at the Battle of Hogwarts, yet the history books say that he was a prisoner. No one tells me what really happened. Can you?"
Mr Potter shakes his head slightly. "I can't. I should have, I should have told everyone at the time, but I was angry over stupid things and I let everyone believe what they wanted to. And so I let old prejudices live and killed a new friendship. When your grandfather tried to set the record straight, I made no comment. I regret very little more than that."
Scorpius is trying to understand. "Is it too late to change?"
"I think so, yes." Mr Potter is silent for a while, then adds, "But I am very happy that you and Al are friends. All my children love you, and that's something that I never thought possible. So we'll see."
He ruffles Scorpius's hair, then wanders back to the party. Al reclaims his friend and demands assistance demolishing some of the hippogriff-shaped chocolate cake. By the time Scorpius's father arrives to claim him that evening, he is nearly asleep, stuffed with cake and worn-out with partying. There is just enough energy to wander down to the gate with Al, James and Mr Potter.
"Have you packed everything?" Mr Potter is asking Al.
"Yup, and I can borrow anything I forgot."
"Mr Malfoy."
"Mr Potter."
Scorpius's father reaches out and hugs him. "Did you have a good time?" he asks.
"Great! You should have seen the cake! I saved some for you and Mum."
Scorpius's father smiles broadly. "So long as the cake was good, then." He looks up at Mr Potter. "Forty, eh? Good grief."
Mr Potter grins. "At least we both still have our hair."
Al hugs his father goodbye, then walks through the gate to the Malfoys. "See you Monday," he tells his brother.
"What time does the party start?" James checks.
"One," Scorpius tells him. "And make sure Lily knows that I really don't want Puddlemere United pyjamas for my birthday."
"She knows, she's hoping you'll give them back to her."
"Oh, well in that case, sure."
Scorpius's father takes hold of his son's and Al's hands, and makes sure they have a tight grip on their bags before he Apparates. "Thank you for taking good care of him, Helene will meet you in Diagon Alley on Monday to pick up the others."
"Draco," Mr Potter's voice is slightly hesitant. "Happy birthday for last month."
"Happy birthday, Harry," Scorpius's father says evenly. And the slight tremor in his hand is easily explained by the side-along Apparition.
XIV
Scorpius is fourteen when the first revisionist history of the war is released. Irving Low's poorly written but hotly selling tome constructs Scorpius's grandfather as a hero of the wizarding cause who has been unfairly tarred by his association with Voldemort.
Lucius Malfoy, Low insists in his account, was nothing less than a pure-blooded hero who was prepared to make any sacrifice to protect the wizarding world from the intrusive brutality of Muggles.
Citing "reliable sources", Low repeats the hoary old tale of forty-thousand British witches and wizards killed by Muggles in the Burning Times and constructs an elegant, if absurd, scenario where most of the Death Eaters were in fact motivated by rising dangerous Fundamentalism in the Muggle population.
The first that Scorpius hears about this is when Lester Biggs drags him over to the Slytherin table at the end of breakfast. His seventh-year mates are all sitting at the one end, with a seat reserved for Scorpius.
"Is it true?" they ask him.
After a few minutes they accept that he has no idea what they are talking about, and so a brief explanation is offered. Scorpius is at first horrified, then astonished, and finally unable to speak due to howls of laughter.
"Well, he's your grandfather," Lester says, trying to calm him down. "We figured you'd know."
"The idea of my grandfather knowing anything about Muggles, oh you have no idea ..." Scorpius starts laughing again. "If he was alive, this would kill him."
"I told you it was bollocks," Lester tells the other Slytherins.
"But he did want to keep the wizarding world hidden, yeah?" a seventh-year who Scorpius does not know asks.
"Well, sort of. He wanted to keep us secret because he thought that Muggles were pathetic … little more than animals. It was all about his own ego, really. The minute Voldemort showed his true colours, he wanted out of there."
"But I heard that he said we weren't safe from the Muggles and that they weren't safe from us, and that until we could work out ways not to harm each other, we'd be better off apart," the boy continues.
Scorpius shakes his head. "No, that was my Dad. He said that after the War. It wasn't very popular, but he was right. And that's what we've done. Besides," he turns back to Lester. "Those numbers are crap. Wendelin the Weird isn't entirely a fairy story for kids, you know. Proper analyses of witch trials in the UK put the upper number of the dead at one thousand, and of that it's only ever been established that three were genuine witches, two of whom were suicides, and there were no real wizards at all. It's Muggles killing Muggles again. They do that all the time. But we do it, too. Voldemort killed more than a thousand Muggles in the last War alone. And he killed more than a thousand of us. If we were serious about safety, we'd be isolating ourselves from everyone and everything."
"But that won't happen," Lester is quick on the uptake for all that he looks as though he was hewn rather than grown. "When we kill each other, it's Dark Wizards, or an unfortunate accident. It's never the fact that we're rubbish at promoting social harmony."
Scorpius realises that he has always quite liked Lester.
"That's all very well, but how can we harmonise with a society that would be appalled at the very idea of us?" Scorpius thinks the girl speaking is named Veronica.
Lester shrugs. "I don't even know how we work with each other when we've still got pureblood prejudices running rife among us. For all that it's not fashionable, you know your parents would be thrilled if you took me or Malfoy home, and horrified if it was Charles Derwent, wouldn't they Vivianne?"
That's her name, Scorpius thinks. Vivianne shrugs. "Perhaps. Alas, Malfoy's a wee babe, so I'll never be able to put it to the test."
Scorpius joins in the general laughter. He's impressed, though. This is good critical thinking.
"I've got a copy if you want to borrow it," Lester offers. "A Reassessment of the War, which is more accurately titled: Voldemort's dead, so let's blame it all on that fucker and get back to hating everyone."
"Nah," Scorpius laughs. "No, I've heard enough about the evils of Voldemort at home to last me the rest of my life."
He trots off to grab his books before class, promising to put in some practice down at the pitch with Lester on Thursday. He doesn't notice the younger set of Slytherins who have followed the conversation with interest.
Over the next two days, people are talking about Reassessment. Low has captured the imaginations of some, and the outrage of others. Scorpius refuses to touch the book, but Rose thinks it is only wise to know what's in it. She is halfway through one evening when she drops it to the floor and runs over to Scorpius on the other side of the common room.
"He talks about Uncle Harry!" she says, and that is all she needs to say. They run from Ravenclaw Tower together, and are soon at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Rose begins to knock, but Al keeps Scorpius up to date with the password for emergencies, and they bowl into the Gryffindor common room to find it in uproar.
James is ranting at the masses. "How dare he? Lucius Malfoy was an arse and to say that he was more honest than my father …" The crowd has parted enough for him to spot Scorpius's pale blond hair.
"It's OK," Scorpius tells him. "He was an arse."
James grins bashfully at him. "Sorry, mate. It's just …"
"Yeah, I know. Rose just got to that part, and we thought we ought to get over here and confiscate all your copies. Too late."
James is astonished. "I can't believe I beat Rose through a book."
"I only got my copy this afternoon!" She is affronted.
Scorpius can hear Al's laughter above the rest of the Gryffindors and quickly spots him towards the back of the common room, with Hugo and Lily. He turns back to James. "Just, don't do anything stupid, OK? It's an idiotic book written by someone who has no clue about anything, and anyone who believes it will be slowly and carefully argued out of their position by me or Rose. You banging their head against a wall will not help."
"I do not bang heads against walls!"
"No, you bang them against other heads, and that won't help either."
James is forced to admit that this is true, even if it's only happened the twice.
"So you're cool?"
"I am cool," James replies.
"Lily?" Rose knows better than to trust the redheaded Potter to stay calm, but for once she has been misjudged.
"Anyone who believes that tripe isn't worth my effort," she declares, glaring pointedly at her older brother.
"I don't believe it," he protests. "That's the whole point!"
"Yes, but you've been going on about it for twenty minutes and we were going to play Exploding Snap."
"Oh go snog somebody. No! That was a joke!" James leaves off talking to Scorpius and Rose as Lily leaps with glee from her chair and into the nearby lap of Piers Duke.
Scorpius and Rose wave goodbye to Al and Hugo, as Lily's loud arguments follow them to the hallway. "But I'm thirteen! His dad's a rock star! You were snogging everyone when you were thirteen!"
For two weeks they are so convinced that they have calmed the situation that they miss clues; the most obvious being Lester Biggs handing out detentions to four of the Slytherin third-year boys. Al tells him later that the boys in question had made Death Eater robes and worn them around the common room. Scorpius thinks it was meant as a joke, but Al is worried.
Al is right. That night as they leave a late dinner, James is accosted by two of the Slytherin third years. "Blood traitor!" they accuse him.
"Oh shut up you try-hard Voldeweenies," he laughs at them. He thinks he is letting them off.
Then there is a wand. Scorpius dives forward, reaching for his own. He hears Al and Lester both screaming his name. He hears something else, too, but isn't sure what it is, just a string of vowels and hard consonants. There is green light, and there is nothing.
A snap of consciousness. Someone is holding him and sobbing. Someone is nearby, snivelling. "I didn't mean it!" they are whimpering. They sound as though they are being shaken.
He is in a bed. Everything is so sore, so distant. His eyelids hurt to move, so he opens them just a slit. He can see his father, and Al is curled up asleep in his father's lap. He wants to smile at them, but it's too hard. His mother moves into view, her eyes are red from crying. She looks at him intently, then turns away. "I can't …" she sobs.
It must be another day, because Al is wearing different clothes, and Mr Potter is there with him now. His father is crying on Mr Potter's shoulder, while Al pats his pale hair. Scorpius wants to tell them it's all right, and he will, just after he sleeps a little longer.
Lester is there, now, and Al is dozing against him. "See, his eyes flickered again. Wake up, Al, see?" Lester leaves off trying to raise Albus and looks at Scorpius intently. "Come on, mate, time to wake up now. Enough slacking off."
Al is there alone, he is holding his hand. "Just get well. Just get well," he says, over and over again. Scorpius wishes he had the strength to squeeze back.
His father is wiping his face with a cool, damp cloth. He can smell herbs in the water, and thinks Professor Longbottom must have sent them; they have that fresh vibrancy that all his plants seem to possess. Some of the water runs down onto his neck. "Cold," he whispers, in a croaking voice.
His father gasps, and pulls him close against his chest and holds him as though he is a lifeline. He can feel his father shaking, and instead of words, there are sobs. In the background, he can hear Mr Potter calling for Madame Bones.
"Scoop," the nickname is whispered, but he hears it.
Madame Bones is there and his father is pushed away – Mr Potter takes hold of him and lets him cry against his shoulder again – and he is lowered back onto his pillow, his pulse taken, his eyes checked. When asked how he is feeling, he answers, "Thirsty," and is allowed a small sip of cool water. It is the best thing he has ever tasted.
He answers enough questions to assure Madame Bones that he is on the road to recovery. She pushes his hair back from his forehead and if her eyes are glistening, he's sure it's just a trick of the lamplight. "Good," she says. "You gave us all quite a fright. And I was worried that young Albus was going to starve to death if you didn't wake up soon."
At his name, Al steps forward, tentatively. "It's all right," Madame Bones assures him. "The danger is past, you can sit and chat for a little, then I want to see you sleep in a proper bed tonight."
Al takes Scorpius's hand gently. His lips are pressed together tightly.
"Sorry," Scorpius apologises.
"If you ever do anything that stupid again, I'll kill you," Al promises.
"Should have tackled the kid," Scorpius considers.
"And if you'd paid more attention to the minutiae of Muggle Studies, you'd have known about Rugby," Al starts to smile.
"Head in the clouds," Scorpius croaks.
"And full of air," Al concurs. He passes him a glass of water, and holds him up tenderly while he drinks it.
Scorpius's father is back. He smiles at Al, kisses Scorpius's forehead. "We were worried," he says. "Al wouldn't leave for anything but a shower and the lav. We couldn't even convince him to come for meals downstairs."
"I thought you might wake up while I was having dinner, and you'd fail to notice the extent of my devoted friendship," Al deadpans.
"Who are you, anyway?" Scorpius responds in kind. Then, serious, turns to his father. "Where's Mum?"
"She's coming, I just sent her a message. Harry's gone to meet her."
"You were here every day. I only saw her once."
His father's eyes ghost behind a film of water, which he blinks quickly away. "It was hard for her. You were so still. It was very hard …"
"I knew you could see us," Al is saying. "Lester thought so, too. You kept opening your eyes a little bit. He wanted to bring photos of the bruising he gave Terrance Byford before Goshawk expelled him, but I wasn't sure you'd want to see them."
"Expelled?" Scorpius is shocked. "It was an accident."
Al is quiet, and it's up to his father to speak. "He used an Unforgiveable on you, son. We're just lucky he was only a stupid, vicious little boy. Very, very lucky."
There are quick footsteps coming. "Over here, Mrs Malfoy," says Albus's dad.
And there is his Mum, and she is holding him and kissing him and crying and begging that he forgive her. "It's all right, I'm all right," he says many times.
"Thank you, Mr Potter," he hears in the distance. And he can't quite work out why that sentence sounds wrong.
"You are welcome, Mr Malfoy."
He reaches out to touch the wall at the head of his bed. He hears the sigh of happiness through all of his bones.
The next morning he's well enough for guests. Lily and Hugo come armed with sweets and are filled with gossip from the fortnight he has missed. Rose kisses him squarely on the mouth and tells him that she, too, will kill him if he ever does anything so stupid again. James hugs him and bursts into tears. Lester tells him that the fourth-year Slytherins have all made duplicate copies of their notes for the work he's missed, plus plan to take him out to dinner in Hogsmeade to make up for the idiocy of their housemates. He adds that the remaining three said idiots have been re-educated and would like to apologise in person.
Albus gets out of his proper bed, which is the next one along in the infirmary, and joins the impromptu party. After a while, Madam Bones joins in, too.