Chapter 5. Scorpius Malfoy.
He had to muster all his strength now to remain himself.
He could have run away, eyes squeezed shut, pushing away what he'd seen, pushing away fright and terror that threatened to envelop his soul, the soul that ever more often now harbored the new, previously unfamiliar feelings.
He could have turned away, eyes squeezed shut, capturing what he'd glimpsed, without detail, without introspection. Turn and run away, which was, really, just a slight variation on the first option.
He could have run amok, letting loose all the feelings raging now in his heart; the feelings that can't and shouldn't be there.
He could have simply taken out his wand and solved all the problems with a single swipe. Except, as he well knew, this would be but an illusion of resolution. Nothing would really change.
And that was why he didn't even need to think about what to do. He knew it already.
While Potter stood in the doorway, eyes bulging, mouth opening and closing by turns, Scorpius stepped inside the flat, deliberately and meticulously inspecting what was left of it. So that he would remember, so that he would understand, so that he wouldn't miss anything. Everything else would have to wait.
Blackened, Fiend-Fire-scorched walls. Ashes. Furniture carcasses, also blackened. Air, filled with smoke and soot, hard to breathe. The ceiling, covered with black splotches, as though licked in passing by the flames. Broken and melted glass from picture frames crackling underfoot. Scorched wooden coffee table, powdered with ash. Candlesticks next to what was left of the chest of drawers.
He halted by the only whole item in the room. Left whole by design, Scorpius realized it, for the fire that melted glass could hardly have spared the old rocking chair. Her chair. Sitting in it was the old soft cat, which his wife had been refusing to discard, despite it being so tattered that it was painful to look at.
James, somewhat recovered from the shock, appeared behind him. He stood next to Scorpius, also staring at the chair and the cat that looked so out of place here. It seemed particularly creepy against the scorched room backdrop.
"Well, I take it that we can rule out the possibility of you forgetting to douse the fireplace," Potter said, scattering the heavy air and equally heavy thoughts that were now moving calmly through Scorpius' mind. "I'll go look at the rest…"
Malfoy nodded, his eyes still on the toy. He didn't feel like moving or going anywhere. Where? His home, this warm and inviting place where for several years he'd been so happy, had been taken from him.
Malfoy forced himself out of the inane sentimentality, which was definitely not appropriate now. He had to act, to think, to decide.
"Potter, what have you gotten there?" he didn't want to go into the kitchen or the bedroom without a pressing need, to see more of the same. Yet, something told him that the need would present itself. In a way, this was a cause for optimism – he was beginning to feel his opponent, to predict his moves.
"Of course, you probably shouldn't go in there," the pale James re-entered the room, if it could still be called that. His hands were covered with soot, which didn't surprise Scorpius for a second: his mate could get dirty without trying at all, his memorable journeys through fireplaces a testament to that. "But you must…"
Malfoy nodded and strode toward the door to his and Lily's bedroom. Something crunched and rustled beneath his soles, but the chap forced himself not to look at what he was walking on; because he knew that what he walked on were the remnants of the former, happy life. Those thoughts were not the right ones for him to have; not now.
The fire must have burnt hotter here, because even the ceiling was scorched. The chandelier that Lily and he had picked out together lay on the floor, a black lump of melted plastic and metal. The furniture had disintegrated. The room was very hot.
Scorpius stopped in the spot where his and Lily's bed had stood. In the midst of densely packed ash lay something blackened, but definitely body-shaped. A small body, almost like that of child. One could make out the arms, the legs. The big ears.
James touched Scorpius' shoulder and he smirked. He is not going to go into hysterics – he had been through worse in his life. For some reason he recalled his grandfather's empty room, as he saw it upon his return from school. Lucius Malfoy was gone, and the room was void, like a book cover with the pages ripped out. Now Scorpius Malfoy was feeling something similar, and it was a hard feeling to describe.
He stood, looking at the body of his house elf, who had been with him since early childhood. Malfoy was not going to indulge in sappy recollections – no time and no desire, really. He simply wanted to stay still, so that he could remember this feeling, to imprint it inside like a brand. So that he would pay it all back in full measure to whoever was responsible for taking from him the people he loved.
James' hand forced him to turn toward the opposite wall, where, atop the black soot stood out the white inscription: "Now what, Malfoy?"
Scorpius bent down suddenly, grabbed the destroyed chandelier and sent it flying into the wall with the white words that were now pounding out the challenge inside his head. The sharp crashing sound echoed through the black, almost empty room.
"Potter."
"Yeah?"
"Stay close."
James didn't ask any questions – simply nodded, staring in slight fright at the body of the house elf.
Yes, you understood correctly: you could be next. Even you, the naïve and guileless James Potter, could grasp the uncomplicated logic of what was happening. Someone had decided to take from him, Scorpius Malfoy, everything he held dear. Everyone.
"How did he get here?"
Malfoy walked out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, where he was met with the same picture as in the living room. Only now it occurred to Scorpius that he had not eaten in almost twenty-four hours, but he still did not feel like eating. He went to the blackened sink – the metal was still hot – opened the spigot and leaned towards the thin stream of water that was now slowly making a clean trail across the bottom of the sink. He drank, thinking.
"Lily," Scorpius finally answered his friend's question. They returned to the living room.
"Lily?"
"The three of us are the only ones with access to this flat. Even Xenia does not know the counter-spell," Scorpius reminded James, walking over to the wall and waving his wand to remove the soot.
"She wouldn't!"
"Potter," Malfoy snorted, - "if they threatened her with harming her family, she would. You know your sister…"
James nodded reluctantly. Scorpius knew what he was talking about: his wife always feared for those she loved. It was not difficult to manipulate her by exploiting that fear.
"Maybe she managed to leave behind a message of some sort, if she were here?"
"Not likely," Malfoy shrugged his shoulders as he exposed the concealed lock and opened the safe hidden within the wall. Everything was in place: documents, gold, their papers. Scorpius could hear James wandering around the flat, clearly still hopeful of finding something besides Dong's body. They should give the house elf a proper burial, but that was not the priority now.
Why didn't he leave? Why wouldn't he save himself? Because he did not have a direct order? That was stupid and Dong had never been that…
Malfoy collected money and the papers, put them neatly into the summoned bag, re-locked the safe, and looked around at what, mere hours ago, had been his home.
"Let't go, Potter."
"We…," his friend looked over the room. "You…"
"This was controlled Fiend Fire, so the place is no longer habitable," Scorpius said calmly, knowing what James meant. He wanted to add that he would not want to live here any longer, but didn't.
"Where to now?" Potter followed his friend into the corridor which bore no traces of the fire, except for the smoke that began seeping out of the open door. This alone was a clue to the magic nature of the fire; it stopped immediately upon having destroyed the Malfoys' flat. Someone put it out.
"To the Ministry," Scorpius went down the steps – he was busy thinking of who else was in danger, due to their connection with him. His parents. They were not easy to get to, however, although warning them might be a good idea.
That was all.
"It is good that Albus is at school," James said suddenly, when they were almost to the alley from which they usually Apparated.
Malfoy froze, staring at his mate in surprise:
"What does this have to do with your brother?"
"Only that, should you care to remember, the photo of you and him appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet", Potter reminded him saucily, wrapping his cloak around him. "And that he broadcast his love for you to the entire country…"
Damn! True, that had happened. The photo and a small article about the heir of the ever growing Malfoy fortune being spotted at the Diagon Alley with the youngest son of Harry Potter was published last summer and caused a brief stir in high society, and but a smirk on the face of the said heir.
In reality, there was a whole crowd of them there that day, including even the former prefect Weasley and a couple of Potter's daft cousins, but Albus Severus had chosen that very moment to drag him off to see the hippogriff exposé in the park. And Malfoy agreed – against his own better judgement. That was where they were photographed, and the four-eyed Potter happily informed the reporters of his fiery devotion to Scorpius. Yes, back then it seemed funny…
"Hopefully, your brother is not too much like you and does not run away from school," Scorpius muttered uneasily. Merlin, yes! He was worried about that strange human being with candy-sweetened palms and oh so sweet-looking physiognomy.
How could this happen on his watch?!
He pushed those feelings away. The four-eyed Potter was at Hogwarts now. That left only three targets: Potter and Scorpius' parents.
And Lily and Xenia whose fate was so far unclear.
"Do you think they are alright?" James was looking at Scorpius, their wives clearly on his mind as well.
"Brutal though it may sound, Potter, but as long as we do not have their dead bodies," Malfoy momentarily recalled Dong, lost to him forever now, "we can be sure that they are all right. So, let's get going…"
They Apparated to the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. This time they were not laughing and joking about the descent into the Atrium, what with all the loos and flushing. They weren't in the mood.
"We need the Department of Magical Transportation," Malfoy nodded curtly at the guard as their wands were being registered. They got their badges that, as usual, they stuffed in their pockets, and the two friends hurried towards the elevators.
"Hello, James."
They turned around – approaching them was a tall wizard wearing an Auror cloak.
"Mr. Tuba," Potter nodded, letting his father's former colleague through to the elevator, and following him inside.
"Why are you here?"
"An urgent matter," James glanced at Scorpius, who nodded discreetly: they could use all the help they could get now. The sooner they knew, the better, because so far they were always lagging behind.
The unknown enemy had won the first round: he'd known that they would go visit the Zabinis, giving him a perfect window of opportunity for burning down Malfoy's house.
What next? Has he thought about the possibility of Malfoy going to the Ministry?
"Oh, you would get buried in paperwork," Malfoy heard Tuba's voice. "A ton of permits and explanations as to why you need that information…"
"I know, but we really need it and ASAP," James replied.
"Really need it, eh?" the Auror had clearly discerned the stress in James' face. "All right, follow me."
Scorpius smirked at his mate behind the wizard's back. The three of them crossed the hall.
"Wait here," Tuba strode into the room with the plain sign "Magical Transportation Information".
"It is good to be a son of Harry Potter," Malfoy remarked, happy that at least this once it worked to their advantage. Although, were it possible for him to have a rational conversation with his father, the today's Draco Malfoy would not have had any problems in obtaining this information either.
Three silent minutes ticked by in tense anticipation. Finally Mr. Tuba came out into the hallway and handed the friends a piece of parchment with even rows of names and addresses.
"This is the list of persons who obtained a permit for creating a portkey on the day you wanted. Both obtained the permit and created a portkey," Tuba smiled.
The chaps thanked the Auror, who hurried off to work. Then they peered at the list. Scorpius was sure that they would not find anything, because the person who was taunting them was clearly no fool.
"Opa…," said James, pointing to the very end of the list. Malfoy looked, and his blonde eyebrows shot up.
Number twenty nine read "Greg Gregory".