Chapter 5: Pounding Hearts, Pounding Heads, and Pounding Feet
Warning: this chapter depicts a medical emergency, nothing gratuitous or violent. I've done my best to write this chapter carefully as it is important to the story.
Chapter Text
~oOo~
...
Dear Mum and Dad,
Please explain this chocolate frog card.
Rose is in Slytherin. I'm in Gryffindor. You were right dad, the hat did take my wishes into consideration. Only I know now that I should've been in Slytherin with Rose. I'm making a new friend and my classmates seem decent and good. I feel like I don't deserve any of it. I shouldn't be in Gryffindor.
Love,
Albus
...
He glanced at the ornate clock in the Gryffindor common room as it struck 5 low chimes. He ruffled the dusty-brown feathers on his new owl, listening to Whitherpuddle "hoo" with delight. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks as he gulped down his guilt for not being with his best friend in Slytherin, and for the hurt coursing throughout his body at his parents' obvious secret. Gods, why did he always have to cry! He sealed his letter and gave it to his loving owl.
His dad had been killed and survived. Killed? He was used to his father leaving for stretches of time, Auror business and all. He'd never been told the details, just general stories months if not years after his missions. He knew it was imperative for no one to know much about what his father did, to protect him and their family. He also knew every time his father left that there was a chance he wouldn't return.
Albus took a breath as the memories flooded through his mind.
He'd tiptoed downstairs for a glass of milk one moonless night to find his father barely conscious and sprawled across their kitchen farm table. His mother must've placed a silencing charm over the room, as he couldn't hear a word as she cast spell after spell upon his dad. He'd watched from the shadows in stunned fascination, realizing his father's legs were poking out at odd angles and he'd had gashes up and down his arms. There had been something reflecting off the floor. He wanted to run into the room and hug his mum and cry to his dad, but the frantic and determined look on his mother's face had him staying put. His dad's face looked like the gargoyles on muggle cathedrals, twisted and contorted, eyes wide and mouth gaping. He'd focused on his mum's face… and her eyes had grown wide too. She looked scared.
His dad had taught him how to use a broom for his seventh birthday, which they had celebrated a month early since his father had been called away on a mission. Albus had run to the little cupboard under the stairs and pulled out his gift, smooth dark wood set against golden straw.
He'd been terrified of his gift when his dad had given it to him. It could only go so high, about one story at the most, but he'd never been able to get the broom to slow down, let alone break. The one and only time he'd used it, his father mounted on a broom next to him, he'd leaned forward just a smidge and his broom had rocketed off like a snitch. His father had called out to him to slow down, but too late. His broom had ricocheted him straight into the lake. His father had laughed so hard he'd cried, scooping him up out of the lake and hugging him tightly. To Albus, it had been the best birthday present ever to see his dad so carefree and happy. The broom, on the other hand, could rot in the cupboard for as long as he lived. There was no way he was getting back on that dangerous thing.
He'd grimaced, grabbing the broom and running out the back door before he could back down. Much as before, he had no control over the broom. The speed at which it whipped across the lake to the Weasley's house had his teeth chattering. The broom had corkscrewed, slapping his face into the lake repeatedly as he did his best to steer towards Copper Hilltop. He'd crashed right through the window. Aunt Hermione had screeched and sent a hex his way, just missing his head. Uncle Ron showed up after he'd already wrapped his arms around his aunt's waist, finally crying and sobbing out the story of how his dad was hurt and his mum was scared.
Uncle Ron had apparated to retrieve a Healer while Aunt Hermione had apparated them back home. His father had been saved. His mother was both furious and delighted with him. His face had been bruised and numb, having it repeatedly whacked on the water. He could still recall the feeling of happiness and relief surge through his body when the healer had told him his dad would be alright. He'd also been relieved he'd never have to use a broom again. That hadn't been the last time he'd been scared for his dad though.
He was shaken from his thoughts as he heard the portrait behind him open and watched as a clocked boy slipped through. The boy hadn't seen him curled up in the alcove, partially hidden behind the curtained window. What was anyone doing up this early? Maybe they couldn't sleep either. He almost called out to announce his presence. However, the boy bounded up the stairs, silent as a fox and turning his head left and right. The hood fell back revealing blue-tipped hair. Why was Teddy up so early?
Ba dum. Ba dum.
A groan escaped her lips and Rose clutched at her pounding head. There was something slick and warm all over her hands. The room was dark. Dim firelight from a single torch flickered lightly across a line of statues. Too bright. Too blurry.
Where am I?
Her body leaned against the base of a statue… a womanly figure in a gown on bended knees, weeping. She'd been weeping too! That's right. She'd been placed in Slytherin. Thoughts of serpentine walls and large windows looking out into a lake swam through her mind. She remembered running out of her dorm for privacy and to have a cry. But to cry about what? The sorting into Slytherin… and some secret?
Ba dum. Ba dum.
Her mind really did hurt. She'd never had a headache before that felt like her mind was splitting open, making her want to dry heave. She took a few slow breathes in and out of her nose. It hurt to think, but something was tugging at her. Something she knew was important. A secret. What was she doing before the sorting ceremony? She'd been on the Hogwart's Express with Albus and another boy who liked to draw. What was his name? Her parents had given her a hug and sent her off with tears and smiles. Her parents! They'd had a secret. Albus had bought her and the boy chocolate frogs. There was a card with her uncle's face on it and she'd been shocked. Something had been written on the card. Something about the war that had broken out when her parents attended Hogwarts. A Dark Lord defeated!
Boom, ba boom. Boom, ba boom.
She felt tears welling up past her eyes as the pain crescendoed in her head.
Breathe in one, two, three; and out one, two, three.
Her mouth tasted tangy, like iron. Her lungs ached, air suddenly feeling like icicles. There was something she had to remember though, something she couldn't let slip past her mind as it roared at her in protest. Parents, they had secrets. Albus was surprised by a chocolate frog card. A blond boy on a boat saved a student. An old man with a cat welcomed her class to Hogwarts. Albus was sorted into Gryffindor. She was sorted into Slytherin.
Ba boom. Ba boom.
She gasped, choking on the liquid coating her throat and mouth. Her head felt like someone had taken a nail and hammer to it.
She'd been brought to the Slytherin dorms. She'd run out to cry and had fallen asleep. And she'd heard someone.
Boom boom boom. Boom boom boom.
She panted, gasping for air as if drowning.
Breathe in, one; breathe out, one.
She'd heard footsteps while crying earlier. She'd seen someone. Something had been shattered on the floor.
Ba boom.
Between the fire in her head and the pinpricks tingling up her arm like a thousand tiny quills, she focused her eyes on the spot at the base of the statue. Tiny shards of glass reflected back at her.
It'd been a potion! Someone had dropped a potion!
Ba boom boom boom. Ba boom boom boom.
She felt the right side of her body surge with a blaze of icy fire before going completely numb. She wanted to pitch her head into a bucket of ice water. Or into a fire. Anything to make the pain stop.
It'd been a liquid luck potion, Felix Felicis.
Boom!
She fell over onto her numb right side and watched as a figure in green and black robes swept across the hall to her. Her vision went black as her heart thundered.
The promise of a quick cup of tea and light breakfast in the Great Hall before his fellow first-year Slytherins awoke had him tiptoeing across the black marble of the Slytherin common room and into the dungeons. Avoiding any potential conversation was also a perk. He'd "woken" up at 5:30 to the snoring and heavy breathing of his new dormmates. How was anyone ever supposed to get a blasted bit of rest around here when sharing a ruckus of a room?
Thump.
He looked over his shoulder to find a student slumped over on the floor towards the end of the dungeons. The student didn't move.
Shit.
The girl was mumbling something under her breath. "Flelis, fela, felax."
Without thinking, his feet were carried him over within seconds. He turned the student onto her side, assessing for damage, and wincing as a combination of putrid vile slipped out of her drooping lips and onto the dungeon floor.
"Weasley!" He gasped, eyes taking in bloody hands and red smears across her temples and face.
His hand went to her wrist, feeling a pulse, while his eyes watched her chest as she gasped faintly, rapidly. Why hadn't his father included medical emergency training in his homeschooling?
"Weasley, stay with me," he commanded, scooping her into his arms, shouting the password at the screaming monk, and gingerly laying her on a leather couch in the common room.
His throat felt raw as he shouted for help at the top of his lungs. His eyes scoured the room. A portrait of a woman dressed in black and sitting by a riverbank caught his eye.
"Please, get the school matron here now… Madame Pomfrey, is it?" He ordered the portrait.
The woman in black nodded and quickly scurried out of view. The other portraits were awakening.
"What's all the bloody noise, boy?"
"Can't a portrait get some sleep?"
"Where's the commotion coming from, I can't see at this angle?"
"Oh shoo! Get out of my portrait, Captain!"
He stole a quick glance at Weasley. She was still making faint gasping noises on the couch and mumbling incoherently. His eyes snapped to the next portrait over, a captain at the helm of a ship watched him as wind tore through his hair.
"You. Please alert Headmistress McGonigal. A student, Rose Weasley, has been found down in the dungeons with bloody hands and struggling to breathe," he addressed the Sea Captain.
"Do you think she's been attacked?" the captain inquired.
"It's possible… I don't know," He whispered, as shiver coursing through him. "Please go, fast as you can!"
He returned to Rose on the couch. She'd stopped gasping. He flew up the small staircase to the prefect's room and rapped on the door and shouted with all his might. Finally, after what Scorpius felt must surely be a year and a half, the door swung ajar and the lanky prefect lazily poked his head out.
"What's all the fuss?" the prefect asked, suspicious eyes raking over him as he tied his bed robe.
"I found Weasley down in the hall, she's not breathing now, there's blood. Get your arse down there and help me!" Scorpius seethed.
The prefect's eyes went wide as he spotted the girl on the couch, shoving him out of the way as he flew down the small staircase.
"I thought the shouting was a prank or something… first day of classes and all," the prefect was shaking.
"Well, do something!" he shouted. This was not the time for him to go into another diatribe against the incompetencies of his peers.
"I… I can heal cuts and bruises. But I don't know any spells to help with breathing. I'll run and get Madame Pomfrey," the prefect blubbered.
Scorpius rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. The right side of Weasley's face was drooping at an odd angle. Shit shit shit.
"I asked the portrait of the woman in black to get the school matron, and the sea captain to get Headmistress McGonigal," he clipped out.
"That's actually brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?" The prefect announced. "You stay here and I'll run and get Professor Slughorn."
Any ounce of confidence he had in his superiors dwindled. Stay with a girl who wasn't breathing and do what, sit and watch her die?
"Weasley, wake up! You need to stay awake!" He was shouting, tapping her shoulders and pinching her arm. "Stay with me. The matron is on her way," he commanded her, grabbing her hand in his and feeling something prick him. A thorn?
Rose's hand had stopped twitching. Her chest barely rose and fell in little pants.
"Out of my way!" the authoritative and calm voice of a woman shouted over his shoulder.
Scorpius withdrew immediately and watched as the matron cast spell after spell over the girl. He felt a hand on his shoulder and shuddered, attention broken from his trance. He turned his eyes away from the scene to find Headmistress McGonigal.
"Are you the boy who saved Miss Weasley's life?" She asked him quietly.
Save her? Hardly. He'd stood there not having any clue at all what to do as her breathing diminished.
"I don't know if I've saved her yet," he looked into the Headmistress' wise, blue-gray eyes. "I didn't know what to do. She was still breathing, gasping, when I came across her. So I brought her back here, shouted for help, and got the portraits to assist me in contacting you and Madame Pomfrey."
"Your quick action and thinking have likely saved this girl's life," the headmistress commended him.
He looked down at his shoes. He still wanted to know what he could've done when she'd almost stopped breathing.
"What's your name," Headmistress McGonigal asked him kindly.
"Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy," he whispered.
"I thought I recognized you," McGonigal said with a quiet smile. "We are lucky to have you here at Hogwarts."
The comment had his heart skip a beat and he took in a shaky breath and allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch into a tight smile. He'd never heard words like that directed at him before. Never even imagined an ounce of praise from any professor, let alone the Headmistress, considering his father had almost personally killed one of the Headmasters here. He didn't know how to respond.
"Will Weasley be alright?" he asked, looking back over to the girl with red hair and red markings on her face.
"She's in good hands," the headmistress nodded and took a step back to address the small, gathering crowd of Slytherin students in the common room.
Madame Pomfrey quickly set up a small curtain, to shield her work from prying eyes. His nerves raged, unable to see what was going on.
"Attention, students," the Headmistress called out. "A first-year has been found in the dungeons requiring Madame Pomfrey's emergent medical treatment. We have yet to ascertain the reasons for her predicament and will need to assess the scene before we let anyone out of their houses."
He felt the headmistress' eyes lock onto him again, "Mr. Malfoy, may I see you outside in the dungeon? I have a few questions for you about how you found Miss Granger and any other details you may have noticed."
He directed the Headmistress' gaze to the statue of the weeping woman, where he'd found Weasley down, told her roughly the time he heard the thump, how he'd been going to the Great Hall for an early tea and walk before classes began, and how the dungeon's had been empty around 5 O'clock in the morning.
"Do you think she was attacked?" He bit his tongue as soon as he asked and watched as McGonigal bit her lip, considering.
"We don't know enough yet, but…"
"Good Morning, Headmistress! I heard the Slytherin dorms have had quite an eventful morning. How may I assist you?" An elderly professor in a garish robe inquired.
"Professor Slughorn," McGonigal clipped his name distastefully. "One of your students has been found down out in this very hall and required the emergent medical administrations of Madame Pomfrey. As head of the Slytherin house, you should be involved and aiding in calming and directing the students throughout the day."
"Oh goodness me! Is the student alright?" Slughorn inquired, concern creeping into his voice.
"We will know more soon, but I have every confidence in Madame Pomfrey," McGonigal stated, lips a thin, straight line.
A pang of helplessness pinched at him. Were platitudes to students and professors all the Headmistress had to offer on the situation? That meant Weasley's life was likely still on the line. Though he wasn't responsible for her attack or whatever it had been, he couldn't help but feel responsible in whether she survived or not. He found her. What if he hadn't wasted precious minutes bringing her back to the dorm? What if he'd known what to do when she'd stopped breathing? Frustrated and ashamed, he gazed at his feet, hoping to Balthazar that the professors wouldn't notice his furrowed brows and narrowed eyes as he ground his teeth.
A glint at the corner of the statue caught his eye. He bent down on one knee, careful not to touch anything. Was it a powder? Perhaps shards of glass? He didn't see any blood marked on the larger pieces.
"What are you looking at, Mr. Malfoy?" he heard McGonigal ask as she leaned in over his shoulder.
"There's something on the floor just here," he replied, pointing to the shards as firelight glistened off their surfaces. "It looks like shards of glass, but I can't be sure."
"Let me have a look at that, dear boy," Slughorn bent down next to him.
He couldn't help as skin bristled at being called "boy," nonetheless "dear boy." He'd heard about Slughorn from his father and knew he'd have to get on this Slytherin alum's good side. The professor cast a series of spells over the shards.
"it is indeed glass," Slughorn whispered more to himself. "There's something coating the glass too. I can't quite tell what it is. If you permit, Headmistress, I'd like to take it back to by laboratory for diagnostics. I may then have a better idea as to what this glass was holding."
"Of course, do what you must," McGonigal flushed her wand across the glass and handed a small bag with the contents to Slughorn.
"Thank you, Headmistress. I hope to have answers soon," Slughorn gratefully took the bag. "And Mr. Malfoy, what an observant eye you have. I have a feeling you'll do very well in my class, perhaps even make an excellent portioneer."
He smiled at the professor and gave his head a grateful nod at the compliment, feeling sick to his stomach that professors to hand out praise while a student still may die. Headmistress McGonigal lead him back into the Slytherin common room and proceeded to announce to the school that classes would be pushed back by an hour today, a first-year student being found down and the premises of Hogwarts were to be searched and cleared before students were allowed out of their dorms.
The Slytherin common room was empty, as Madame Pomfrey continued her work in the make-shift room in the middle. He was sent back to the first-year male dorm, much to his chagrin.
"What happened?"
"Wasn't that the half-blood Weasley?"
"Duh, who else would have red hair and buck teeth like that?"
"Did she die?"
"The Headmistress was talking to you, what did she say?"
"Rumor has it you attacked her?"
"Well, I heard you saved her!"
"What a waste of energy that was, don't' tell me you lifted a finger for her."
So many questions, as if he'd answer any of them. He did his best to exaggerate cocking his eyebrow in question and condescension, and quickly slipped back under his perfectly made bed, throwing the covers over his head to block everyone out. He felt completely drained. Under the covers, his dormmates continued to talk but left him alone at least. He let himself drift off, their talking no less obnoxious than their snoring.
Finally, he heard McGonigal's voice magically broadcast to the school that classes would resume and students were allowed out of their dorms to grab breakfast in the Great Hall. He sighed, the promise of a hot cup of tea sounding like the elixir of life. The Slytherin common room was still empty, except for Professor Slughorn and two adults who were seated uncomfortably on the couch opposite Madame Pomfrey's makeshift surgery. The witch was running her hands frantically through her bush of brunette hair that seemingly defied gravity in a mass of curls and waves and static. The wizard had bright red hair, brighter than Rose's, and had his arm wrapped tightly around the witch. Scorpius' stomach dropped. This must be Weasley's parents, the famous friends of renowned Harry Potter. His interest piqued, thinking of all his father had told him about the Golden Trio.
"Mr. Malfoy, there you are!" He heard Slughorn call from across the room. He swallowed, would he be able to pretend he didn't hear and escape for the cuppa tea? Doubtful. The Weasleys had turned to look at him with wide eyes.
"Please come here, I'd like for you to meet my good friends, Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley and her husband, Mr. Ronald Weasley."
"Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, pleasure to meet you" he repeated, willing his voice to sound confident and kind.
He extended his hand to them. They didn't shake it. Confused, he quickly tucked his hand back in his pocket and looked toward Professor Slughorn.
"Mr. Malfoy was the lad to find Rose down, outside in the dungeons. It's his quick thinking and immediate action that has likely saved your daughter's life," Slughorn said, oblivious to the Weasley's ignoring his handshake.
He watched as the witch's eyes lit up in surprise as the wizard's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Slughorn went into the makeshift surgery to aid Madame Pomfrey, leaving him all alone with two parents on edge.
"And you're absolutely sure there's no way this boy couldn't have been the one responsible for attacking her?" Mr. Weasley accused, voice biting.
He felt all the blood rush out of his head. He'd been so caught up in the moment before, how could he not notice that he'd be considered as a suspect. Still, hearing it felt like a blow to his chest. He realized too late he'd allowed his eyebrows to shoot up and his jaw to drop. He shivered and carefully dropped his head demurely.
Balthazar, please let Slughorn release me!
"Ron!" he heard the witch gasp and she pushed against his chest.
"How dare you even think that. This boy just saved our daughter's life!" the witch exclaimed waving her hands, livid.
"But he's a Malfoy…" the wizard grumbled to no one.
"Need I remind you Draco Malfoy once saved our lives?"
Scorpius gasped in surprise as the witch wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "Thank you for saving our daughter, for getting help fast enough," she whispered into his ear as her wild hair swatted his face.
He nodded, not knowing what to say as she finally released him.
"Ron…" the witch hissed.
"Yeah, right. Thank you," Mr. Weasley offered his hand and the witch grinned.
He shook the wizard's hand, unable to quell the slight feeling of awe and embarrassment.
"How is she?" Scorpius finally asked, grimacing at the amount of concern seeping through his voice.
"We're told she's going to survive… if you'd found her five minutes later or hadn't acted as quickly as you did, that might not have been the case," Mrs. Granger-Weasley met his eyes. "We don't know how much damage has been done. Once she's stable, we'll have to transfer her to St. Mungo's. We don't know how long she'll need to be there, or if she'll even be able to return this year."
"She's alive, thank Godric! We'll get through whatever comes next together," Mr. Weasley took his wife's hand in his.
"Not return this year?" Scorpius found himself blurting out before his brain could catch up with his words. Curse the heat in his cheeks! "I mean, she stunned everyone with her sorting. Whole school could tell she was shocked and displeased with it of course, but I think she earned a little bit of respect from our cohort… She was an easy target, but didn't flinch or break once yesterday while they were testing her. Actually, stood up to the lot of them at one point. Nobody with that much mettle should have to be pushed back and wait a whole year. I'll… I'll help. I'll take notes for her while she's at St. Mungos," he found himself rattling. What in Merlin's name was he saying? Why were his thoughts pouring out? He bit his lip hard.
"I think she'd appreciate that," he heard the witch say kindly, even offering him a smile. "If St. Mungo's clears her to return, whenever that will be."
"Honestly, I think it'd be easier for her to be held back a year. Maybe go through the sorting again... perhaps start over in a different house," Mr. Weasley thought aloud. Did he really have such a low opinion of Slytherin?
"Right," Scorpius clipped, his cheeks were burning hot as a dragon's fire. "I have to go to class… and tea."
He dipped his head towards the Weasleys and rushed out as fast as possible. What in the names of Balthazar, Godric, Rowena, and Helga just bloody happened? He checked his timepiece, "16 minutes" and "right on time, with haste" gleamed across it. He quickened his stride to the Great Hall, no one was getting between him and a hot brew of tea this morning... or he might actually attack someone.