Disclaimer: I haven't done one for a while, but sadly nothing has changed. JK Rowling still owns all these characters!

What Comes Up, Must Come Down

Draco woke up with a start, his heart pounding a ferocious rhythm against his skull. He groaned and brought his hands up to clutch his throbbing head and attempted to gather his wits. Gradually, like the first few fat drops of rain that precede a storm, jarring pangs of anxiety and flashes of memories of the last twelve hours came back to him. Oh God. Oh fuck. Oh fuck fuck fuck. He brought his hands back to his face and pressed his palms into his closed eyes, as if trying to dam the rising flood of memories.

But it didn't work and with horrendous clarity Draco relived it all. Scorpius' heartbroken face in the underground station, the things that he said to him... And to Potter. Harry fucking Potter! Draco pressed his hands even harder into his eyes, causing vivid patterns to erupt across his vision, jarring horribly with the immense vicious pain in his head. What did I say to him? Did I really say all that stuff? Please, please tell me that was a dream. Draco opened his eyes and peered through the darkness. No, this definitely was not his home, which must mean that it really wasn't a dream, and all those terrible, horrendously honest things that he had said to Potter and Granger yesterday were things that had really come out of his mouth.

Draco lay there, too stunned to move, too horrified by himself to know how to proceed. What have I done? He flinched as a flash of memory came to him: 'Sometimes I just freeze. Scorp literally has to drag me out of the dark and back into the world.' Potter's obvious, painful sincerity, gazing at him from across the kitchen. With earnest understanding and terrible sympathy shining in his eyes. Draco cringed as he recalled Harry's constant care and attention, as if Draco were a fragile, unhinged baby bird. Kind of how he had treated his mother a few days before. Oh fucking saint Potter, and his sidekick Granger... What had he said to her? I've ruined everything. She'll tell everyone, they'll take him away from me. Now they know what a fucking shit father I am... And would they know about the pills? His mind leapt to his son and suddenly, through the paranoid jangle of thoughts, Draco knew with a terribly clarity that he had to find him and get out of there before he lost him forever.

He slammed shut the barriers in his mind, attempting to crush the clamouring memories that were vying for his attention like starved rats around a carcass. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to bring his heart rate and mind under control. He needed rein it in, get his head in order. He had got them into this situation and now it was up to him to get them out. He pushed back the voices telling him it was too late, and they had probably already owled the Greengrasses, and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

He swore as the blood rushed painfully to his head, but shakily pushed up to his feet regardless. Thankfully he noticed he was still dressed, and he found his wand on the bedside table and his shoes by the wall. He cracked open the door and put his head out checking that the moonlit hall was clear; it was. His heart was pounding loudly as he surveyed the closed doors that ran down the length of the hall. What to do? He decided finding Scorpius was more important than potentially waking up Potter or his brats and so began to crack open each door in turn, scanning the empty room and moving to the next.

By the time he had gotten to the last door Draco's palms had begun to sweat and he was trying to quash the rising panic he felt in the absence of his son. It seemed he was the only one upstairs, where the fuck was everyone? They could be downstairs. Just because no one was up here, didn't mean Scorp had already been whisked away from him.

The house was ominously silent as Draco crept down the plush carpeted staircase, ignoring the suspicious gazes of the people in the photographs as he went past their frames. He walked down the hall and paused at the kitchen door. He couldn't hear a thing. Slowly, and with a mounting feeling of hysteria he put his hand on the knob, twisted and pushed it open.

Noise, light and smells hit him. He stood like a rabbit caught in the headlights as his eyes and ears adjusted to the scene before him. Potter, sitting by the wide open double doors strumming a guitar, Two men standing beside him, laughing raucously and gesticulating wildly. Three women, smiling and joking, glasses of wine waving above their heads as they twisted and moved to the music of the guitar.

Draco took an unsteady step into the room and Potter glanced up, meeting his gaze in surprise. He hastily put down the guitar as Draco took another step into the room. He tried not to notice in his periphery, the settings in which those painful conversations had taken place. The stool where he had sat talking to Potter. The space near the sink where he'd had it out with Granger... He blinked and focused back on Potter, who had stood up, alerting everyone else in the room to Draco's presence. The laughter died as they all turned to face him. He tried to ignore the worried glances and tense atmosphere that had immediately descended.

"Where's my son?" He said, voice deadly quiet.

"In the living room. But don't-" Potter said, but Draco had already strode to the door and wrenched it open. He blinked in the darkness of the room, eyes adjusting. He could make out small bodies, soft, sleepy breathing, a pile of duvets and pillows and a shock of platinum blonde hair half hidden by a blanket. Draco felt an enormous relief flood through him, and his clamouring heart began to slow. He was still here. They hadn't taken him.

He began to make his way into the room, but was stopped by a firm hand on the top of his arm. He looked round to see Harry's resolute face.

"Don't wake him." He whispered. Draco bristled, jerking his shoulders to rid himself of his hand.

"We need to leave." Draco whispered back, barely controlling his voice.

"You can't. Please, come back into the kitchen and we'll talk." Potter's eyes were pleading with him. Draco let out a shaky breath and acquiesced. There was nothing to gain by causing a scene in a room full of sleeping children.

They re-entered the kitchen and Harry cast a silencing charm over the door. He gave a nervous look around the room and turned to Draco.

"Let's talk in the hall." He said. Draco quickly agreed, desperate to get away from the suspicious glares he was receiving from the ex-Gryffindors. They walked from the kitchen, the silence weighing heavily on his shoulders. Draco shut the door behind him.

"Please tell me why I cannot take my son now, and get out of this place."

Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair. Draco could smell the sickly scent of wine coming off him in a wave. His stomach rolled.

"It's half one in the morning. The tube is shut. No one can Apparate you home, we've had too much to drink. You can take him in the morning." Harry said, his face cast dramatically in shadows by the moonlight streaming through the window above the front door. Draco felt hot anger spike at his words.

"I'm perfectly capable of Disapparating myself and my son home without your help." He spat.

"No Malfoy, you're not." He sounded exasperated. Draco felt rage course through his body at Potter's condescension and how maddeningly right he was. Draco knew there was no way he would risk his son in a side along at that moment. He felt shaky and unstable, he couldn't risk a splinching. He swore loudly, almost punching the wall in frustration. He turned, catching the worried look on Potter's face.

"Stop looking like I'm about to fucking curse you, Potter." He spat out. Harry eyes widened in surprise.

"I don't think that! I'm just, worried about you -"

"I don't need your worry, or your sympathy. We don't need your charity. And I don't need you to fucking look at me like I'm having a breakdown." He said, eyes boring into Harry's, as if daring him to give him that earnest look of concern once again. Instead, Potter backed off and folded his arms. Draco shut his eyes, struggling with the intensity of the pain behind his forehead and tried to force his mind back into cohesive thought. He couldn't afford to lose his temper, he had to do it for Scorp. He breathed out slowly and opened them back up, glaring steadily into the green eyes.

"We will leave first thing in the morning. If you dare try to take my son away from me, I will kill you." He spoke slowly, and tried to inject every word with enough weight so that Potter would get it through his thick, drunk skull that he really meant it. The other man met his gaze levelly.

"No one is going to to do that. I swear." Draco gave him one last measured look and found for some strange reason he trusted him. With that Draco stalked back down the hall, and started up the stairs, leaving Harry standing alone and silent.

Draco had not quite reached the room he had been sleeping in however before he was alerted to the pounding of running footsteps coming up the stairs behind him. He span on his feet, thinking for a joyous second that it was Scorpius, but instead was confronted by the slightly panting Hermione Granger. A strap of her dress had slipped off one shoulder and her cheeks were flushed from dancing and wine. She had about her an aura that was absurdly full of vitality in the darkened hallway and she met his reluctant gaze with one of sincere enthusiasm.

Draco stepped back from her into the shadows, alarmed by her sudden lively proximity, still feeling shaken by the adrenaline he'd felt from threatening Potter. He was starting to feel a creeping numbness spread through him, filling his body in the absence of his blind panic from earlier. He was desperate to escape back into the darkness of the bedroom and try and force his mind to forget about it all. He could barely look at the witch, so at odds was she to how he was feeling. It was almost like looking at the sun.

"Malfoy!"

"Granger."

"Please, can I just - I need to talk to you." She said, breathlessly. Draco folded his arms defensively and backed further into the darkened room.

"What about?"

"About the interview. I meant to say earlier- but you wouldn't give me a chance." Draco ducked his head, fighting against the memory her words had stirred. He had threatened her by the sink, it had been about Scorpius... He had felt her hair... Oh fuck. He raised his face and forced himself to met her eyes again, nervous to see her expression. He could deal with Potter - he didn't have to see him again, but it was different with Granger. Scorpius was going to be her student.

"I'm sorry." She said. Draco couldn't hide the surprise. She was sorry?

"What for?" He said, bluntly. She smiled and shook her head.

"You know what for. For what I said the other day. I was completely out of line to bring your past up in front of your son. And I want you to know, I need you to know, that I would never let my opinions of you or your family affect how I treat Scorpius." She said it quickly, as if nervous Draco would interrupt. He remained silent however, taking in the sincerity in her face and tone and wondering why on earth she was doing this now.

"Alright." He said, finally. She gave him a nervous smile and he backed further into the room, the desperate urge to get away from her taking over. To get away from the expression that she shared with Potter: that smile, that somehow, from what had happened yesterday, told him that she now considered he needed her friendship. Please let me get away from you and back into the dark where I can hide. He shut the door in her face and fell back into bed, that optimistic smile burnt into his mind. God he was fucked.

Draco lay on the bed, shoes on and staring unseeingly up at the ceiling for the next few hours. Eventually the cold grey light of morning filtered insidiously through the curtains bringing with it the new day and a whole new collection of problems. Draco hadn't slept, but had entered a sort of mediative state that he had learnt during his Occlumency training as a boy. In times of stress, such as those dreadfully lonely nights in Azkaban, it helped him order his thoughts and calm him mind. And this had been a night that desperately needed such measures. He needed to hold it together for Scorp. To get them out of this house, on the underground and into safety. Then and only then could he really allow himself to slip apart.

When the grey clouds that clung to the sky seemed bright enough he rose once again from the bed and slipped out of the room, down the stairs and into the hall. He opened the door that lead to the living room and took in the array of children on the floor. He picked through the tangled limbs to where his son lay sprawled in the middle, looking perfectly at ease sleeping there amongst the various Potters and Weasleys. It would have been a funny sight if Draco hadn't been on the brink of mental collapse. He crouched down next to him and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking it slightly and whispered his name. Scorpius' eyes fluttered open and he turned his head to frown up at his father.

"What are you doing?" the boy whispered, sitting up. Draco rose and nodded his head towards the door.

"Find your things. Meet me by the front door." Scorpius dropped his chin into his chest and he closed his eyes briefly before surrendering to his Father's wishes.

The journey back was a disturbing reminder of the worse aspects of human nature. It was 5am on a Saturday morning and as the train trundled south it slowly gathered up a motley collection of the leftover dribs and drabs of the London clubbing scene. Girls throwing up, wearing tiny dresses with smudged eyeliner, people sloppily getting off with each other and groups of boys and girls with wide, glossy eyed stares, furiously chewing gum and making inane comments. It was this particular breed of muggle that Draco found himself most adverse to. He closed his eyes every time one of their vacant gazes would latch on to his, unable to deal with being confronted with someone with who undoubtably mirrored his own appearance. He ignored the whispering voice in his head that told him that they had taken nothing worse than he had. That he was no better.

By the time they changed on to the Central Line to head east to Bethnal Green and home he was convinced that the entire carriage could tell somehow, could see it in his face, in his dead empty eyes. That he had been on drugs. The word flitted around his head like a great, fat, black fly trying to crawl it's way into his brain. His efforts at swatting it away were growing more and more useless and eventually it was all he could do but hug Scorpius close to him, burying his screwed up face in his hair, letting his innocent, childlike scent keep away the paranoia and caustic thoughts from developing too hard a grip.

Finally, finally they made it back to the flat and, resolutely ignoring the little brown bottle on his chest of drawers Draco crashed into bed, thankful to his very core that they were home and he could be alone. He heard Scorp hovering behind him in the door and looked up. The boy had brought him a glass of water and a couple of pieces of bread, smeared clumsily with butter.

"Father -" He began, trying to sound firm. "You need to eat and drink something. You haven't eaten since yesterday morning." But Draco didn't feel hungry. Yes, the gnawing in his stomach was dreadful, but it was beyond hunger. The thought of the thick, cloying bread sitting within him in a great chewed up lump was revolting. Instead, under the stern gaze of his eleven year old son he gulped down the water, nibbled slightly on a crust, and lay back down. "Please Father, you need to eat more. I'm going to leave this here for you." Draco's eyes flickered to the boy and took in his round, anxious face peering through the dark

"I'm fine, Scorp. Yes, leave the bread, I promise I'll eat it later." He croaked out as the boy placed the plate on the floor next to the bed. Scorpius stood, bit his lip and glanced at the pill bottle. Draco shut his eyes, unable to meet his reproachful gaze.

"Father. I - I need you to get rid of those." Draco opened his eyes, and stole a look at the bottle. All he wanted was to forget that they existed. Why was Scorp doing this? All he wanted to do was to crawl into the dark and forget who he was.

"I will. Please can you let me sleep now?" He pleaded.

"No. Please Father, this is very important. Get rid of them. Now." The boy's blue eyes were solemn and his voice was firm. Draco sat up and rubbed his stinging eyes.

"Fine. Give them to me." Scorpius reached out and threw them on the bed in front of his father. He was right, of course. Of course he had to destroy them now.

Draco drew his wand from his back pocket slowly. He raised it to the pills, ready to cast a banishing spell and paused. Something wasn't right with his wand. It felt - dead somehow. The wood just felt like wood, it felt alien, like it belonged to someone else. But no, it was definitely his wand. He his hand fall to the bed and painfully met the gaze of his son.

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't!?" Scorp's eyes were wide with astonishment.

"My wand, it doesn't feel right. I'm not sure I can do it." He mumbled.

"Father! You have to! These drugs are dangerous! You can't take them again!" His voice was wavering out of control.

"I'm not going to! I know Scorp! For gods sake don't you think I know that?! Don't you think I'm not completely ashamed of my behaviour yesterday? How much danger I put you in?" He clutched his head in his hands as the pain behind his eyes pulsed with the exertion of raising his voice. He continued to speak, quietly, face still covered. "I could have lost you. I thought I had last night. I woke up, I couldn't find you. I thought... I thought Potter had found out and taken you away." Draco felt his voice choking up and his eyes prang with the first suggestion of tears. Oh god, am I crying now? In front of my son? As if he doesn't already think I'm the most tragic waste of time in the world. He breathed in and out slowly trying to gain a modicum of control. Where was the cool mask he'd spent years and years cultivating? It had slipped from his consciousness and was lost.

Suddenly Scorp's arms were wrapped around him and Draco leant into the embrace, finding it harder and harder to resist the instinct to cry. It was with a great deal of self loathing that Draco finally squeezed out the first few tears. He pulled away from Scorp and furiously tried to wipe them away but the boy held on to his wrists, pushed him back so he was leaning on the headboard and climbed into his lap. Draco wrapped his arms around the boy, leant into his shoulders, and wept freely.

"It's okay Dad." He mumbled into Draco's ear. "They wouldn't have been able to take me away. I'm not going to leave you." Draco couldn't speak, he was feeling too overcome with emotion and shame. He could only grip the boy even harder, as if he didn't believe what Scorp was saying was true. And a small voice in the back of his head was indeed whispering such things. Of course Scorp would leave him if we could. If it meant going to Hogwarts and being friends with the Potters, and having the opportunity to have that kind of perfect life. But he appreciated the lie none the less and he loved his son dearly for even trying.

After a while the tears seemed to come to an end and Draco pushed Scorpius back slightly. They gazed at each other in the dark, mere centimetres apart and Draco told him what he was desperate to hear, that of course, of course he would destroy the pills, as soon as he was feeling better and he was back to normal. As he lay in the dark alone, a couple of hours later Draco finally confronted that little niggling, traitorous thought that had refused to leave him alone. He had done his best to ignore it, but like the great, black, fat fly, desperate and unrelenting in its efforts to land, it had crawled its way through his defences. That in actual fact, he was ever so slightly relieved that he hadn't been able to banish the pills.

Despite everything, despite all the horrendously exposing, contemptible and shameful things he had said and how he had acted, things that screamed against his very identity, it had been - nice. More than nice. He thought of his Mother, and how happy she had seemed. It was the first time he had seen her laugh, smile or joke sincerely, since he was a child. He thought about how suddenly, with just those two little pills the world had seemed friendly, warm and exciting. How easily he had made Scorp laugh, how he had been able to say things that he had barely been able to admit to himself in the past. They had allowed him to be someone he wasn't. Someone who could tease without coming across as vindictive, who could accept people for who they were without a spiteful voice in the back of his head commenting on their blood status or wealth. Someone who found it easy to swallow his pride and apologise. He had been a better person. Even though he had been acting completely out of character, even Potter, the man who he had spent most of his school days hating, hadn't rejected him for it. But had in fact laughed and teased along with him.

Was that how it felt? To have friends? To live and laugh with people like that? Where they didn't judge and shun you for every bad choice and wrong decision? He couldn't lie to himself any longer and say that being with Harry, even with Hermione there, hadn't been one of the best afternoons he'd had in a long time. And Scorp had been happy. Truly happy to be outside on a broom, playing with his cousin and his friends. Draco had been mesmerised by the sight. His son, laughing with carefree abandon, acting like an eleven year old should. It was in painful contrast to the normal sight Draco saw from their window; the sullen boy hanging around the estate with boys that were too old and no good. Draco watched the bottle of pills on his chest of drawers with wary eyes and felt, not for the first time, that he was falling apart.