Chapter 2. Scorpius Malfoy.
Every breath was torture, as though the glass shards were cutting not into his palm, but into his lungs. He never knew such pain.
Everything around him seemed to be made of glass – reach out and hear the tinkling. Icy waves advanced one after another, forcing him momentarily hold his breath. He felt that, should he inhale just then, cold vapor would come out. He felt as though trapped in a frosty web , and it was easier to give in to it than to fight it.
Still, when did he ever choose the path of least resistance?! Could hatred in the eyes of just one girl mean the end of the world for him?
It could. And this scared him. And also gave him hope. Not strength. Potter had given him that, when he grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, like a kitten, and smacked him well and good against the wall.
He didn't want to be a kitten, the very thought made him shudder. He felt nauseated, because his stomach hadn't seen anything nutritious for awhile, and the dubious potions only exacerbated the problem. However, the icy vice inside him gave him the strength to stay on his feet and to act. And the throbbing pain – physical pain, for a change – distracted from the suffering of the exhausted body. Rest? You couldn't rest in ice-bound hell, only freeze to death in it.
His head was an unprecedented mess, but now was not the time to tidy up. There was one brain which was too tidy, and that sterility caused pain.
Coming out of the fireplace, he noted with satisfaction that the stupor was completely gone now. For the first time in several days, he felt completely clear and lucid. And for the first time since he pointed his wand at Flint, he was able to reason and control his thoughts. They stopped slipping and sliding through, leaving nary a trace behind.
With every step that got him closer to her hospital room, it became clearer to him that he'd wasted too much time dwelling on his emotions. It was all the Potters' bad influence. It was a good thing that James occasionally turned on his brain – making sure that at least one of the pair of them was thinking at any given time. Although the distribution of brain matter was usually not in Potter's favor…
He stood still two paces away from the door, behind which beat most precious to him – although hating him now – heart. He was ready to hate himself – for the pain he'd already caused her and for the pain he was about to cause her. Because there was no backing down now, when action was the only thing that kept him from freezing up in the ice of guilt and hithertofore unknown pain.
"I'll look in on her," Potter walked around him, holding back a tormented smile. They didn't say much to one another on the way, because theer was nothing to say. Both knew that they would have to step over themselves – and possibly fail in the end. Although… now was not the time for self-doubt.
Cold air was suddenly painful – at the instance when the door to Lily's room opened. Scorpius exhaled, nearly wincing. Helene Devereaux appeared in the doorway. What was she doing there? Or had she decided to pick up her late husband's mantle?
"She is asleep," the mesmerizing eyes looked dry and dull, normally pale cheeks looked unnaturally flushed.
If only he had not followed her, there would not have been that dark chamber, their coupling, and he wouldn't be standing on the threshold of this hospital room like a man on the steps of the guillotine. And how many such small vignettes of his life could lead to something like this? Even Merlin may not know…
Malfoy, remorse doesn't become you.
"What are you doing here?" James peered at Helene with suspicion. The girl did not take her eyes off Malfoy, making him smirk crookedly.
"Your memory has been fixed up," he said in a low voice. It sounded like razor on glass, making Helene shudder and wrap her arms around her. "Welcome to the real world."
"I wanted to apologize to Lily," she did not look away, while addressing her words to James. "Forgive me."
Potter shrugged. Oh, this forgiving mercy of theirs…
"Did you speak to her?" Malfoy was hoping for a denial, but Helene nodded. "And she didn't even leave a scratch on you?"
The girl smiled weakly.
"She was a little indignant, but Xenia calmed her. And she was hurting…" her eyes turned back on Malfoy, knowingly. "It is far more complicated for her, isn't it? I only had a pleasant memory taken away, while she – a portion of her life."
"Taken away", is it? Is it easier to speak thus of what your scum of a husband did?!
"Pleasant?" Potter hemmed. Scorpius was about to deck him, but the icy shards once again pierced somewhere under is rib cage, and the ache in the wounded hand intensified.
"I am very sorry, Scorpius," Helene looked down. "I am sorry that this cannot be somehow rectified…"
"Well, that depends on what you mean exactly," Malfoy retorted harshly. Because he was about to rectify the part that was his fault. "Next time, think twice before hinting to someone that you'd slept with me. And do a better job picking a husband."
Her face contorted in pain, but he felt no remorse – the cup of his emotions was so full that there was no adding to it. If he were to allow himself to feel this, then something far stronger would overtake him like a wave – and bury him under. And he would not survive this again. Better ice and glass shards than the overwhelming wave of despair, then finding himself in the world where Liana McLaggen's words "you cannot be loved" were real…
"Potter, distract your wife," the words scratched his throat. He turned away from Helene, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her retreating down the hall, fighting back sobs. Everyone paid their price for love. "Stay with her. And get some sleep."
James probably wanted to argue, but stayed quiet. Did he understand that he had no part in the coming battle? That this duel was only his, Scorpius Malfoy's… And that should he lose it, no one must be there to witness it. No one was to stop him from leaving, carrying the permafrost inside him. But he would not surrender before knowing for certain that he'd lost.
"Albus will help you."
Malfoy would snort, had he any strength left for extra emotions. They entered the room almost in tandem.
Xenia did not seem surprised to see them. She rose from the chair where she was sat, reading a book, and walked over to James, reaching at once for his hand. Scorpius looked away from them and dared to cast a glance at her, who alone could decide his fate.
"She was angry," Xenia whispered, smiling at something. "Helene spoke of Scorpius too long and well."
A distant pang of conscience did not distract Malfoy; he could not take his eyes off the beloved face.
"Why did you let her?" James fumed. "Lily…"
"The more we invoke her blocked memories, the bigger the odds that they continue to fight for themselves," Xenia looked straight at Scorpius, and he smiled crookedly. The girl stood before him was the one who'd saved Harry Potter from himself.
"But hasn't her memory been wiped clean?" James frowned, and out of the corner of his eye Malfoy noticed Xenia's pleased expression – she'd expected the question.
"No. If it had been, we would have been able to restore it, at least partially. Like in Helene's case. However, Lily's memories have been tied in with her feelings, many of them," Xenia smiled. "And they could not be wiped away – it is difficult to destroy feelings with the Oblivion curse. Hence the pain: blocked links are fighting to overcome the curse. And should we stop trying to make her remember, the block will win. It is already winning slowly, destroying what's left…"
"Let's hurry then," Malfoy said laconically, glancing at the scroll lying next to Xenia's book. The familiar scribbles left little doubt that the little brother had struck again.
He closed the remaining pace between himself and Lily and stopped for a moment, fighting the urge to drop to his knees by her bed, grab her hand in his, close his eyes and be still, simply feeling her presence. There was no time for that.
It was time to cause pain. And although the thought of who he would be hurting was unbearable, he easily tossed it aside. If he must, he would do much worse. It was Hamlet, whose lot was to suffer ad infinitum, too indecisive for action. This is the problem with those Prince Charmings of yours, Albus Potter. They would never climb the tower holding onto the princess' hair – they would be too afraid to cause her pain.
I am not a fairy tale prince, I am a Malfoy, which I'd forgotten for a time. For a brief time. Why and how it happened, he'd analyze later.
"Scorpius, your hand…" Xenia sounded aghast, as he gently pulled back the blanket that covered Lily.
"A trifle. She is sound asleep?"
"I put her to sleep for about three hours," the Healer was still peering at his hand dressed in a bloody handkerchief. "Let me…"
"No," he leaned over, carefully thrust his arms under Lily's neck and knees, and straightened up, feeling the familiar warmth of her slender body. She muttered something, without waking up. Her eyebrows knitted together. Did his very presence hurt her? Cold shiver stole down his spine.
"Where are you off to?"
"How will you get into Hogwarts?"
Scorpius heard them as though through a glass pane.
"Dong," the house elf appeared at his side almost the same instant, black with soot. Malfoy, however, made no comment of that. "Hogwarts, sixth floor."
"Room of Requirement?" James grinned, before the hospital room vanished into squeezy blackness.
Lily sighed heavily in his arms as they appeared out of the gloom of Apparating. He would have been happy, were it not for the painful wince of her brow and the moan ripped from the half-opened lips.
"Why so long?" Albus Potter materialized from the darkness, apparently in the know of Malfoy's plans. He deserved his ears to be rolled into straws, what with having dug around the most intimate corners of Scorpius' mind – but this could wait.
Malfoy couldn't hold back a grin after all – next to the youngest Potter stood Butterball, wide-eyes with anxiety and excitement.
"How is she?" Al took a step toward his sister, stroked her arm, then looked into her face and smiled gladly: "The cat continues to struggle."
Malfoy didn't have time for solving the riddles of the eleven-year-old Thinker. Time was running out.
He caught Amanda's gaze on him and shivered. It felt as though this somewhat plain girl could see straight through him – like Xenia sometimes did.
"Frozen," the Hufflepuff whispered sadly.
"What?" Albus turned to look at her. The girl shook her head.
"Go," Amanda nodded towards the darkened hallway. Malfoy nodded and strode into the darkness, where he easily located the portrait of the hippogriff.
"Fire will melt ice," he heard a quiet voice say.
"Not before the key unlocks the cage," came the response.
Philosophers, hippogriff take you…!
He stopped before the angry gaze of the disturbed animal. Lily appeared to have calmed down in his arms. His wounded palmed throbbed, but he would rather die than let go of the girl.
How long has it been since they were here last… It was the end of her seventh year.
Yet, today something was different. He recognized the line of firs, like silver-trimmed green mist, the low gray sky, the uneven field of snow drifts. This belonged to them – their Silver Forest, her faily tale.
Scorpius took a step forward and realized what was different. The snow was icy cold! It did not melt from contact with warmth; it didn't change at all – its cold silver fettered like vice.
The forest had frozen over and threatened to freeze them, too.
This was not the time to back down. Malfoy confidently strode into the forest, thinking that today they would need a fire and some blankets, all of which he encountered shortly next to their fir tree, under whose green branches they'd so loved to sit.
He lowered his precious cargo onto the blankets and covered her up. Kneeling beside her, he gently swept ginger locks from the darling face. Then, he smoothed out the wrinkle on her forehead with trembling fingers.
The fire nearby warmed his back, but failed to conquer the tremors that racked his tense body. He sat down next to her, took her warm hand in his and sighed heavily.
He was willing to wait forever for her to wake up, and was almost afraid of what it could bring.
He dipped his aching hand in a snow drift and, although it failed to relieve the pain, it gave him hope: if this didn't work, the physical pain would distract him at least a little bit from the emotional torment.
Scorpius would not take his eyes off the face of his beloved and, when her eyelashes fluttered, he took his wand out of his pocket and tossed it aside. Then he stood up and walked a short distance away, giving her time.
Time without pain.