Author's Notes : I hesitated for a long, long time to write this chapter that was forming in my head. Why? You'll understand as you read it. It's dark, and I went quite far. But deep down, this is what I had in mind for Scorpius from the beginning, even though, as time went on, I didn't want to write what had happened. Writing things down, rather than just imagining them, is a risky and grim task… grim, grim, grim… and sordid and sinister. Let me know what you think!

For the music… there's a very pretty French song that was modified to become a horrific version for a shark horror movie. And I admit, I listened to that version several times while writing this story.

Music I listened to while writing : Les Petits Poissons dans l'Eau - Sous la Seine OST

He wasn't at Hogwarts. Albus didn't recognize this place.

It was a large study, the kind you'd find in a manor or a castle. Bookshelves lined most of the walls, and a massive rosewood desk stood in the center of the room on a Persian rug threaded with gold. The rest of the furniture consisted of two red velvet armchairs and a chestnut dresser where wooden figurines and a Turkish letter opener were displayed.

A boy was sitting at the desk. Albus recognized him. It was Scorpius.

Sitting in front of the desk, his chair slightly turned toward the light, the boy gazed out the window, a quill dipped in ink in his hand.

It was Scorpius, but younger, his face rounder, his cheeks full and rosy. He watched the garden through the French doors, lost in thought.

A man in a gray suit stood nearby, a book in his hands. He was reading, but Scorpius wasn't writing anything.

The man, with slicked-back brown hair, removed his glasses and nervously wiped his forehead, swallowing uneasily, his feverish gaze fixed on Scorpius. Aware that Malfoy was more interested in the view outside than in his lesson, he tapped the desk with his wand and told the boy to focus. Scorpius startled, then smiled, a mischievous grin that hinted at trouble. The man, likely his tutor, asked him what amused him. Scorpius laughed at his nervousness and told him he should go home and enjoy the beautiful day so he could do the same.

"Besides, you seem a bit unwell. You're all red."

"My subject amuses you, does it? Just because you have a certain talent for it doesn't mean you shouldn't work."

Scorpius shrugged.

"It's really a beautiful day, too nice to study. Plus, you've said we're well ahead in the curriculum. A break would do you good. It would be in your best interest."

"And how's that?"

"Well, if my family realizes I'm learning more from books than from you, you won't be able to justify your salary."

"You're a little devil with a sharp tongue."

The man was visibly tormented by something; he was trembling. He approached Malfoy, positioning himself behind the desk chair, and leaned over him.

"Do you know your father wants to dismiss me?" Scorpius stiffened, clearly uncomfortable with the tutor's proximity. "Yes, you know… Just one more month, and my contract ends. I told him you still have much to learn. He thinks you're ready for Hogwarts."

"I think I've learned all I can from you. That's what I've told my father." His voice was hard. He clearly didn't like the young tutor.

"Really?" the man hissed. "Perhaps I can prove otherwise? What do you think?"

Scorpius shot him a look of disdain, mixed with a hint of defiance, and the tutor continued, walking nonchalantly behind the boy's chair:

"Transfigurationis actually just a small part of Metamorphosis. It allows you to transform an object into something else, as you well know. It's easy to turn one object into another or transform a living being into an object. We've even done that right here in this room. But turning an object into a living being is a delicate process, requiring true knowledge of basic biology. Take this desk lamp, for instance—it can take on a most surprising form."

With a flick of his wand, in an instant, the lamp transformed into a brown, multi-legged creature with a segmented, yellowish body and a shiny carapace.

"My God," Scorpius whispered, and Albus, watching as a spectator, shouted at the same time.

"This is a scutigera coleoptrata," the tutor informed, his voice laced with grim enthusiasm, "also known as a house centipede. Very aggressive."

The creature slithered for a moment, its large, black, lifeless eyes turning toward the boy. Then, suddenly, it animated its many legs, which clicked on the varnished wood of the desk. The insect rushed toward Scorpius, who screamed and jumped from his seat. He threw himself at the tutor, the creature following close behind, grasping the man's shoulders, clinging to his arms to lift himself off the ground, wrapping his arms around his neck.

The tutor laughed joylessly, barely supporting the boy as the creature stopped near his black shoes, raising half of its body toward the child.

"And very fast as you can see," the tutor said, holding the boy by the hips. He bent him over to give him a closer look at the nearly one-meter-long creature trying to grab the ankles that Scorpius was attempting to wrap around the tutor's legs.

The boy screamed again, "Stop it!"

"I thought my lesson was boring; isn't that what you kept telling your father?" the man whispered, pressing the boy against him, his face in Scorpius's neck, breathing in his skin.

"Stop it!" Scorpius screamed as he felt one of the creature's legs grab his foot.

The clicking sound of the legs on the floor stopped.

Panting, Scorpius slowly glanced toward the ground. The insect had turned back into a desk lamp with a pale yellow lampshade.

The man was still holding him against him, his heart pounding against Scorpius's, powerful against his chest. Scorpius knew his own heart was pounding painfully because he had been scared. The tutor hadn't been scared, yet his heartbeat was urgent.

Something was swelling against the boy's stomach, and Scorpius looked up at the man's brown eyes. They were dark, dilated. His face was flushed, his breathing irregular. Scorpius would learn to recognize that look later—the face of desire, the face of unhealthy impulses.

As Scorpius made a move to get down from his arms, the tutor kissed him, painfully, their lips clashing against his teeth. The boy pushed him away, pulling at his hair, tearing off his glasses, which shattered on the floor. He broke free from the kiss, digging his nails into the man's shoulders.

"You're sick! Let go of me right now!"

"You weren't so proud just now when you ran into my arms."

With contempt, Scorpius retorted, "Don't get it twisted. That's the most common mistake. To escape one monster, you jump into the arms of another."

The man seemed to lose his composure, rage distorting his features, twisting his mouth into a cruel sneer.

"Well then, I don't think the lesson is over yet."

He let go of Scorpius. The boy's feet hit the lamp as they touched the ground, causing him to stumble. The man didn't give him a chance to get back up.

"Another part of Metamorphosis is Vanishment! You know that you can vanish an object, like this!"

Scorpius's wand, lying on the desk, vanished. The boy jumped to his feet, his cheeks flushed with anger.

"Make it reappear, William," he growled. "I want my wand right now!"

The man stared at him but seemed not to hear—or rather, was determined to ignore him as he continued the lesson:

"But vanishing objects is relatively simple. What's much more difficult, however, is vanishing part of an object or a body because you must have a very precise understanding of the part you wish to make disappear. Especially if it's invisible. For example, it could be the openings of a house."

The professor pointed his wand at the door, which sealed itself and vanished, trapping them inside the study. Scorpius paled, and the man turned toward him with a sinister smile on his lips.

He aimed his wand at Scorpius and murmured, "Or your vocal cords."

Scorpius felt a cold breath in his throat. He grabbed his neck and gasped in fear, but no sound came from his lips. He clenched his fingers around his neck, trying to produce sounds and words, but nothing—only silence. He wanted to scratch at his skin as tears filled his eyes.

In a rage, he ran toward the professor and struck at him, but his fists were too weak, and the man immobilized him, gripping his forearms with an iron grip.

He forced the boy to look at him and continued:

"In this particular case, it's crucial to have a thorough knowledge of human anatomy, you see, because if I had made your trachea disappear, you'd be suffocating."

Paralyzed with fear, Scorpius froze, trembling.

The man continued in a soft voice, "That's why Metamorphosis is such a fascinating subject. It's multifaceted and complex. You're about to discover that soon." His tone shifted back to the lecturing voice. "Another part is Conjuration!"

Something lightly bumped against Scorpius's heels, and he turned around. A thin white mattress now lay in the middle of the room in front of the desk. Before he could react, strong arms seized him and forced him to kneel on the mattress. He struggled, but the man lay down with him, pinning him to the ground with his weight. He kicked and flailed, but it only exhausted him.

He screamed until his lungs burned, shouting for his father, for Dorian, for anyone! But only a silent breath escaped his wide-open mouth as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Tired and breathless, his wrists pinned to the mattress by the man's powerful hands, he eventually wept silently, utterly defeated. The professor looked at him, his feverish eyes void of any compassion, pitiless, almost clinical. He observed Scorpius like a child watches a butterfly whose wings have been torn off, or a fish gasping for air before death brings it peace. When the tears stopped, the man wiped the dampness from the boy's face.

"You must think I've lost my mind." His voice was soft, and his wild eyes were tinged with sadness. "I think so too. It's not recent. Everything is collapsing around me, and it's driving me mad. I thought I could wait a little longer. Your father had asked me to stay for another year, and I thought I'd have more time, that I could prevent this from happening… but now that I know I have to leave, I can't bear it. I can't resist, but I can't resign without… I've dreamed of this moment since the first day I met you. I… I don't like young boys, no, it's something else. I've… I've tried to cure myself. I knew the temptation here would be too strong, and I didn't want to accept this position. But I needed it. Who will pay for my mother's care if I don't! You have to understand me."

There was a plea in his voice. He was asking Scorpius to forgive him for what he was about to do, and the boy felt fear seep into every cell of his body, freezing him in terror.

"And then there's Untransfiguration," the professor whispered. "This spell cancels all previous ones. Normally, the standard academic course would end here because I've shown you all the spells you'll need to master at Hogwarts." He brought his face closer to the boy's, breathing in the scent of his skin. Scorpius flinched under the warm breath brushing his cheeks.

The man's eyes darkened. "But there's another Metamorphosis spell," his voice was hollow, sinister. "A Dark Magic spell they won't teach you. It's the one I've always wanted to show you. It's called… the Petrification Spell."

Horrified, Scorpius jerked, trying to break free. The man's hands felt like steel.

He struggled, aware of the man's sickly sweet voice urging him to calm down. Defeated, he resumed crying silently.

"You're scared," the professor whispered, wiping away his tears. "So am I, a little. I've never done it before. But I've studied the case. They say the effects are similar to rigor mortis, the stiffness of death. At least, that's the theory. I believe it's different. Unlike a corpse, the petrified subject doesn't lose the elasticity of the tissues and muscles. No, the skin stays soft and supple, I'm sure of it."

Holding both of Scorpius's thin wrists in one hand, gripping them with iron strength, he pressed the tip of his wand against the boy's ribs and murmured a spell.

The movements stopped.

Scorpius's body stiffened, his breathing halted, his limbs turned cold, and his eyes froze in place.

A corpse, but with rosy cheeks and full lips. The body didn't look dead. Just… lifeless.

The man touched his face with trembling fingers. He recoiled at the touch of Scorpius's cheek. Then a small, pleased chuckle escaped his mouth as he caressed the boy's lips.

"Yes, the skin is soft, I was right. But it's cold too! Like porcelain!"

Mad, with nervous, jerky movements, he unbuttoned Scorpius's trousers and slid them down his stiff legs. Then he lowered the boy's underwear. He felt his thighs, assessing the suppleness of the skin, and swallowed hard. Placing one hand on the boy's back and the other on his hip, he lifted him, twisting his limbs as though handling a porcelain-faced doll with wooden joints, careful with the articulation.

He sat Scorpius up, gently moved his head. Trembling, he kissed the boy's cold lips and chuckled with pleasure, running his thumb over his mouth, staring into his frozen pupils, and let out a small, mad laugh before kissing him again.

He broke the kiss and gently manipulated the head, tilting it slightly and undoing the boy's hair, which cascaded down his back. He brought the hair forward, framing his face with blonde strands. He adjusted the arms—one down by his side, the hand near his thigh but not touching it, the other slightly outstretched, hand open, like a shop mannequin. He partially unbuttoned Scorpius's shirt and let the fabric slide slightly off one shoulder. He grimaced at the sight of Scorpius's exposed genitals and covered them with the hem of his white shirt.

Suddenly, he stepped back, admiring the tableau: the petrified boy sitting on the white mattress, head tilted, vacant blue eyes, rosy cheeks, his body frozen, pale, translucent skin.

The professor raised his hands to his mouth, stifling an "Oh" of astonishment.

"It's perfect! It's perfect…"

He backed up, then moved forward again, circling the boy over and over, admiring him from every angle. He ran his hands over his own face, through his hair, visibly at the end of his rope, sweating, and again he approached, murmuring his mad mantra over and over.

He hesitated, then bent down to kiss the boy's motionless lips, gently caressing his rigid, paralyzed limbs.

"It's almost over," he whispered into Scorpius's ear, as if he were about to put the finishing touch on his masterpiece.

Gently, he lowered the boy's arms and bent his upper body down. With extreme care, he turned Scorpius's head to the left, then rolled his body over onto his stomach.

Trembling, sweat beading on his forehead, he unfastened his trousers and lowered them, freeing his hardened member. He lifted the shirt that covered the boy's hips, pulling it up to his shoulders, and straddled him, covering him with his body. Pressing his lower abdomen against Scorpius's cold, rigid skin, barely supporting himself with his arms, he rubbed himself against the boy's frozen body. A slick frictional noise filled the room, accompanied by the man's guttural moans. He kissed Scorpius's back and shoulders, clutching the boy's hair in his fist. The man's moans grew more guttural, more plaintive, and his thrusts more erratic. Finally, with one last grunt, his body tensed.

Panting, he sat up and collapsed next to the boy.

After catching his breath, he grabbed his wand and pointed it at Scorpius's shoulder, murmuring, "Invanesca."

Scorpius gasped, his back arching with a deep breath, his lips parting, his fingers and feet twitching slightly. He could finally blink, and tears began to well up in his eyes.

As he slowly regained control of his body, he noticed the door to the study reappearing on the wall.

"Your body is waking up. It should be quick. You won't have any lasting damage."

Scorpius placed his hands on the mattress, and with what little strength he could muster, he lifted himself slightly and turned his head toward the man.

The professor sat on the floor, leaning against the desk's leg. He was disheveled, his trousers pulled up but still open. His tear-reddened eyes still looked at Scorpius with desire.

"It has a name. Pygmalionism. But in the end, it doesn't matter. You can't understand. No one can."

He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and stood up.

Scorpius jerked back, trying to move away, but his legs couldn't support him, and he collapsed to his knees beside the mattress. A sticky liquid trickled down his back.

The professor tossed his clothes at him and vanished the mattress. With a flick of his wand, the cold substance on Scorpius's back disappeared. Scorpius grabbed his clothes, sliding his numb limbs into his trousers. He tried to stand, his legs shaking, his back trembling, and he stumbled after taking two steps toward the door. But his knees didn't hit the floor—strong arms lifted him and set him back on his feet. Scorpius gritted his teeth and tried to pull away, but the professor guided his steps toward the door. Trembling, the boy placed his hand on the door handle, pushing the man away with his other arm, but the professor stopped the hand gripping the handle. He could feel the man's breath on the back of his neck.

"Your voice will take a little longer," he murmured. "Maybe ten minutes. Maybe more. Say whatever you want, I don't care." He released the boy's wrist. "Maybe they'll believe you. I'll be long gone." He stepped away and went back to the desk.

Without looking back, Scorpius opened the door and left.

Albus pulled his head out of the Pensieve so quickly that he fell backward, gasping for breath. Nausea rose in his throat, and he couldn't get to his feet. He felt as if he were going to vomit, his body shaken by uncontrollable tremors.

My God, what had he just seen? What the hell was that?

For a moment, he lay there, stunned.

He wished he could go back, wished he hadn't learned the truth. Eventually, he managed to stand, approached the Pensieve, his fists clenching and unclenching, unsure of what to do or how to feel. He brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes, feeling the urge to cry.

So many questions raced through his mind. When had this happened? What had happened afterward? Who knew? And where was that man now?

Albus had never understood the fear that gripped Scorpius during every Transfiguration lesson and his inability to perform even the simplest transformation spells.

He knew the subject all too well, both theory and practice.

When Albus had been kidnapped, he had never been in real danger. The man cherished him—or rather, worshiped his father, mistaking him for Harry Potter. He didn't want to hurt him. And above all, he knew that his father, the great Harry Potter, would come to his rescue; he had never doubted it. His father had killed Voldemort, the Dark Lord, for heaven's sake! Of course, he was going to save him. Afterward, Albus had undergone several rounds of therapy and had healed from whatever needed healing. And he knew exactly where his kidnapper was: locked away in Bethlem Royal Hospital, an asylum from which he would never escape.

It had been a resolved matter for Albus, more traumatizing for his parents than for himself. He had never truly realized the danger.

But if Scorpius had shown this memory to Dorian in recent days, it meant he had kept silent about it all this time.

Albus exhaled slowly, grabbed the vial, and stood up. With his wand, he placed the memory back into the small glass tube and sealed it. He put it in his pocket and left the room. He still had a little time before meeting Scorpius, and as he walked through the corridors, he felt an overwhelming urge to find Dorian and confront him about what he had seen, to ask him what he knew.

But he didn't know where Dorian was, and he didn't have much time.

On a whim, he headed for the library and walked through the doors at a brisk pace. The librarian asked him to calm down, but he ignored her and went deep into the book stacks. Frustrated, he wandered through several rows.

"Albus, are you okay?"

He turned to see Sally Macnair, a Gryffindor. He must have looked deranged for her to ask that.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine."

He resumed searching through the volumes.

"Do you need help?"

"I'm just looking for a dictionary."

"A dictionary?"

"Yes, a dictionary," he snapped, aware of his rudeness. "A book that goes from A to Z, like the Oxford Dictionary, or the Encyclopedia Britannica, just a bloody dictionary."

"They're in aisle 2-B."

He muttered a "thanks" and crossed the grand hall. Once in the aisles, he grabbed one of the volumes, sat at a table between the shelves, and opened it to the letter P.

Pycnometer – Pyelonephritis – Pygargue – Pygmalion – Pygmalionism

Pygmalionism (from the Greek agalma, meaning statue, and -philia, meaning love) is a paraphilia that involves a sexual attraction to statues, dolls, mannequins, or similar figurative objects.

Albus raised a hand to his mouth, the nausea returning as his mind went blank.

"It's creepy," said a voice behind him.

Potter jumped and turned to find Hugo reading over his shoulder.

"Bloody hell, Hugo, you scared the life out of me! What are you doing behind me?"

"I was curious to see what could make you search for a dictionary with so much determination. You looked like a junkie in need of a pixie dust fix."

Albus closed the book, pushing his cousin as he stood up from his chair, then put the book back on the shelf.

"I'm just in a hurry, Scorpius is waiting for me, if you must know, even though it's none of your business."

Hugo didn't seem offended by his remark.

"Hmm... actually, can we walk together?"

Albus raised an eyebrow.

"If you want."

They walked out together and descended the stairs to the third floor, talking about random things.

"Did your dad invite Scorpius for the holidays?" Hugo asked casually.

Albus resisted the urge to sigh in annoyance.

"I don't know how you know that, but yes, he did."

"My sister was with you at the table this morning, remember? She thinks it's a good idea."

"And you don't," Albus shot back, his tone sharp.

Hugo shrugged.

"We've talked about it. You know how I feel."

"But you won't blame my dad for doing what he wants in his own house, will you?"

"No. But since we always do Christmas Day at the Burrow, you won't blame the rest of the family for thinking it's a bad idea."

"What do you know about it?" Albus snapped, growing frustrated.

They were almost at the classroom, and Potter didn't want Scorpius to overhear this conversation. He stopped in front of Hugo, blocking his path.

"I don't know anything," Hugo said slowly, his hands in his pockets, his face calm and diplomatic. "I'm just worried, that's all. Inviting Scorpius Malfoy to the Weasleys' isn't exactly what I'd call a great idea."

"I'm not imposing anything; my parents invited him."

"Your dad invited him."

"He wouldn't have done it without talking to my mum first."

"Your dad thinks your mum is stronger than she is, and she likes letting him believe that's true."

"You're talking nonsense," Albus hissed.

"They think about the war all the time, you know? That's why they never talk about it. Scorpius has Malfoy's eyes, Malfoy's hair, Malfoy's mannerisms. Whether you like it or not, at the Christmas feast, Grandpa will feel like he's sitting down to dinner with Lucius Malfoy."

"He won't be coming to the Burrow, is that good enough for you?" Albus grumbled, eager to end the conversation. He hadn't even thought about Christmas, and at that moment, he didn't care—he just wanted to see Scorpius. "He'll be at my parents' house, not the Burrow."

"Good." Hugo gave him that strange smile again, the kind you paint on a mask, and patted Albus on the shoulder before turning around. "By the way! Give Scorpius my regards," he said with a wink before disappearing around the corner.

Albus shook his head and then continued toward the classroom. He glanced inside and saw Scorpius, who had stood up to hand his parchment to the dubious-looking professor.

Apparently, Malfoy had managed to finish the assignment within the hour, and Mr. Baxter seemed surprised. Albus entered the classroom and walked across it. When he reached Scorpius's desk, he discreetly slipped the vial back into his bag.

As Scorpius walked back from the professor's desk, he noticed Albus and smiled—a radiant smile that lifted Albus's spirits.

"Are you done?" Albus asked, his voice unsteady and his throat tight.

"Yes," Scorpius answered enthusiastically. "I finished faster than I thought. I really didn't want to work on it any longer. I scribbled like crazy, my wrist is killing me."

Albus nodded absentmindedly and waited for Professor Baxter to walk away. Scorpius began packing his books when Albus stopped him and pulled him close.

He hugged him and silently vowed never to let go. Never, ever.

Scorpius seemed surprised but let it happen, sliding his hand over Albus's back.

"I missed you too," he smiled, and Albus laughed.

He reluctantly let him go, and Scorpius resumed packing. Potter watched his calm, sure movements, his bright blue eyes that revealed nothing and hid so much.

He had grown; he seemed more like a boy now, but his body still seemed too small to hold so many secrets. How much control did this pale figure have to keep so many things silent?

"You should be an Unspeakable."

"What?"

"After Hogwarts, you should work in the Department of Mysteries."

"And what would I do there?"

"You'd study mysteries and keep them secret."

Scorpius slung his bag over his shoulder and, almost unconsciously, took Albus's hand as they walked through the classroom.

"Dorian would be very disappointed—he keeps telling me I need to learn how to talk more…"

Albus lowered his head and bit his lip, harder than usual, focusing on what he needed to say instead of what he wanted to say.

"He might be right," he said softly. He lifted his head and cleared his throat. "At the end of the week, we leave for the Christmas holidays. You should tell me what you're planning to do."

"I'm going to write to my father to ask if I can come to your place."

"Really?"

"Yes," Scorpius smiled at Albus's excitement. "For part of Christmas Eve, I think. And then I could come for a few days. Well, we'll see."

"Yeah, we'll see," Albus said absently, putting his arm around Scorpius's shoulders.

Malfoy kept smiling, looking peaceful. Albus smiled too, but he couldn't hold on to it. He smiled because he felt he had to.

End of Chapter 26

Author's Notes : I have to admit, writing this chapter was tough. But when I wrote Dorian's memories of the event (in Chapter 10), that's how it really happened (at least how I saw it). That's why Scorpius was startled by every noise that night and why he slept completely still, only moving his eyes. It's also when he stopped talking, stopped calling for help. Unconsciously, he believes no one will come because he no longer has a voice. That's what I call: the Fabric of Silence.. As if Scorpius was reliving the paralysis and the prison that his body had become. So yeah, creepy, creepy, creepy!

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