Sins of the Fathers, 2/4 (A story for Sansa!)
I am so sorry about the delays on this! My personal life has gone utterly mad and people keep appearing from all over the world without warning. I am shipping them all home so I have more writing time!
Many, many thanks to everyone who commented so kindly on the first part. I hope that you enjoy this part. I am so sorry that it became one of three, but time and giant chapters have conspired against me. The conclusion is not far away!
Enormous personal thanks to
jadzialove, whose witty, supportive and skilled beta-ing made a world of difference, especially in the sanity stakes (because four hours sleep is not enough! Unless you're Margaret Thatcher, but who'd want to be?)
And to
anthimaeria for encouragement above and beyond the call of lj.
Title Sins of the Fathers 2/4
Author
blamebrampton
Characters Scorpius and Albus, and pretty much everyone still alive at the end of DH, plus a few sundry extras working for scale.
Rating PG, oh the URST, yet the young folk have the excuse that they are still legitimately young. The adults are just thick.
Words 9572
Notes Absolutely nothing to do with Jo Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic or any other media titans. But affectionately nicked from all of the above.
Completely thanks to
sansa1970 , whose brilliant list of 20 Random Facts About Scorpius Malfoy is the entire reason this story exists.
Secundus dates back to my grandfather's public school days where he was primus, his unfortunate younger brothers secundus and tertius. Brother four was mercifully sent to a different school. Because there are too many Mr Potters in this story, you're all smart and McGonagall is a traditionalist.
And for people who are counting, I know that their third year would be 2019, and so eligible to be a Triwizard Tournament year, but I think that it's far more likely they went in for traditional student exchanges the next time it seemed as though inter-school relations were in order. The Goblet is probably hidden away in a dark corner and not mentioned. Ever.
Go here if you missed Part One
XI
Scorpius is reading when he realises the castle is trying to get his attention. "Not right now," he tells it gently, "unless it's important."
The castle shows him a slim, dishevelled boy running riotously through its hallways, looking for someone.
"Oh, thanks." Scorpius pats the wall fondly.
He's two minutes away, it tells him.
Scorpius is at the bottom of the Ravenclaw staircase by the time the running figure sags against the balustrade, gasping for breath. "Hi, Al," he greets his friend cheerfully.
"That's - uncanny -" Al pants. Then he straightens up. "You have to come with me. Right now. I have found the best thing." Al doesn't wait for an answer but simply drags his friend along. "I knew it was here, but not where it was. Actually, I thought it was destroyed, but it was just that one version. And anyway, James doesn't know and he is going to die when he finds out. If we tell him. Although, why Dad didn't tell me …"
"Albus!" Scorpius is shouting now, and they have both begun to jog. "What on Earth are you on about?"
Al grins widely, all devilry. "Just wait!" and drags him along at a run.
A few minutes later Scorpius is deposited beside a battered tapestry. "Wait," Al tells him, and then walks up and down the hallway, concentrating intently and whispering to himself. A doorway appears. Scorpius is amazed.
Al is beaming at him. "It's the Room of Requirement; remember it from the War stories? I found it, and it still works." He takes Scorpius's arm and leads him through the doors. "I asked it for the perfect room!"
The inside is a terrifying glance into the subconscious mind of Albus Severus Potter.
"You are a madman," Scorpius tells his companion.
Huge sofas are littered around the room. A great brass machine against one wall bears taps labelled "Coffee", "Tea", "Hot Chocolate" "Iced Chocolate", "Orangeade" and "Lemonade". Beside it is a sideboard packed with mugs and glasses. Games boards cover one large table, while an enormous wizard's train set chugs around its tracks, avoiding landslides and bearing down on tiny shrieking heroines tied to the rails.
A team of house-elves bustles in, one bearing a large jar of sweets and the others carrying jugs of drinks which are poured into the brass machine. They bow cheerfully to Scorpius, who wonders exactly how much of his soul Al has sold to achieve this much favouritism.
Stacks of Quidditch magazines and annuals are piled untidily about, and on one wall, a long row of broomsticks of varying designs, plus tool kits and cleaning equipment for polishing and tinkering. The ceiling is a masterpiece: it can't be less than seventy feet high, and broad oak beams curve down from its central axis in arcs and loops that beg to be flown through.
At the far end of the hall there is a small writing desk, with a bookshelf beside it and a good lamp. Scorpius walks down to it and finds that the desk is stocked with quills and parchment. "For your homework?" he raises an eyebrow.
"Don't be stupid," Al grins. "That's your bit."
Al throws him a vintage Firebolt. "Race you round the room!" he cries, jumping on his own, newer model.
Scorpius is aloft and chasing before he's even properly mounted his broom, and they are both laughing like lunatics as they loop in and out of the graceful oak curves. Scorpius beats Albus by the narrowest of margins, and he is flying hard, so Al doesn't mind that he has lost. They come to a stop at the drinks machine, and both select Lemonade.
"Why no water?" Scorpius asks.
"Common as muck. You can pop outside or ask the house-elves yourself."
"Why no pumpkin juice?"
"Cos you're allergic. I've sworn off it in case there's a terrible case of mixed glasses."
"You've sworn off it because it's not full of sugar and you found out it was healthy."
"There may be an element of that, yes."
"Why no butterbeer?"
"Common."
"Milk?"
"Common."
"Iced coffee?"
"Destroys the good name of coffee."
"You are so selfish," Scorpius grins. "What about when you invite all your friends and relatives over?"
Albus shrugs. "Not sure I want to, it's nice having somewhere that's just for us. You can study if you want to, and I can keep busy when you need to do your work."
Scorpius's smile slowly takes over his face.
He's moving without meaning to.
"Oh, I have the best idea. Let's see your perfect room!" Al is dragging him towards the door.
"But what about this one?" Scorpius is dragging his heels.
"It'll still be here!"
"But I'm not sure I actually require a room, I think the castle only gives it to you if you need one!"
"Scoop," Albus stops beside him in the doorway, "You're the equal smartest kid in our year, I never give you time to study, and when you're in your common room people are either asking you for help with their homework or to find their quills. Thanks to my sister and cousin being idiots, you had to fill your study place with snakes, you deserve another one. That's why I went looking for the Room in the first place."
Scorpius leans against the wall. He can feel the Castle chuckling. "Well, then, I'll give it a go," he declares.
With mounting excitement, he walks up and down the hall three times, muttering to himself. He opens the doors when they appear and Al follows him in.
"Oh …" Scorpius is rapt.
"You are kidding!" Albus is horrified.
Row after row of shelves stretch away into the distance, all laden with books. At the end of every second row is a small desk with a good lamp, comfortable chair and an adequate supply of writing materials. Near the doorway is a single large sofa and table, bearing the same jar of sweets and a text on Quidditch strategies. Scorpius walks straight to the first shelf and tentatively touches the spines of the books.
"Oh that's it -- Lily can have you. I'm finding a new best friend," Albus exclaims.
"Excellent," Scorpius teases him, reaching for the nearest volume. "She's a girl, that means that at some point there'll be experimental snogging. I wonder what it's like?"
"You are such an idiot." Al grabs Scorpius's robes, pulls him close and presses his lips against his friend's. For the first time in his life, Scorpius drops a book. Al lets him go. "Girl kisses are just like that, only feebler, and with a lot more giggling."
Scorpius has no words to convey the suddenly obvious fact that he has no interest whatsoever in Lily Potter's kisses.
Al bends to pick up Scorpius's dropped book, which is time enough for Scorpius to walk quickly to the far end of the private library, looking for a dark corner that will hide the red washing over his face.
Al's voice follows him: "I've changed my mind. I don't care that you're an idiot. I like your house too much -- I'm keeping you. All right?"
"Right," Scorpius calls back, amazed at how even his voice is. "Besides, you'd have to hang out with your brother's friends if you ditched me."
Al joins him in the aisle, leaning against the shelf marked Charms, Cu-He. "That's true," he says. "And who'd give me flying tips? And who'd keep you from reading yourself into an early grave?"
Scorpius smiles wryly. "I thought this was all about finding me a place to read uninterrupted."
Al nods. "I should leave you to it."
"Or … we could go outside and I could show you the Krum inside turn again. I can come back and study when it's not so sunny."
"That would be great," Albus's smile stretches all the way to his eyes again. They walk towards the doorway together. "So, you like it?" Al asks.
"It's brilliant!"
"That's good." Albus pauses. "Sorry."
Scorpius is walking ahead of him. "Are you kidding? This is so much better than the Chamber of Secrets."
"Oh. Yeah, yeah it is."
That night Scorpius presses his hand against the castle wall tentatively and asks if there is something horribly wrong with him. Not at all, it answers. What can be wrong about a kiss?
The castle shows him scenes of kisses it has seen. He sees Albus's parents, and Rose's, too. There is Professor McGonagall, very young, with a young man only a little older; it is impossible to think of her that age. There is James and Emily Craddock, and James and Maisie Carrington, and James and … is that a sixth year? There is a girl with dusky skin and huge eyes in the Ravenclaw common room tentatively brushing the lips of a slighter blonde who looks somehow familiar. There is a teacher in tattered robes, passionately embracing a man with black hair, and there, fleetingly, is himself and Albus, except the castle is looking at them from below, they're not really that tall.
Friendship and love, that's all, it tells him. And if you are afraid, just wait until you aren't.
"I don't want him to think I'm an idiot," Scorpius whispers.
Albus has never thought that you are an idiot, the stones tell him, and they are serious and truthful.
XII
Slytherin come out in favour of Ravenclaw for the finals of the Quidditch Cup. Anything is better than Gryffindor, they say, and they like Malfoy.
"Even if you're pale and bookish," Lester Biggs, the Slytherin captain teases him.
"Pale, bookish, yet wiped your team from the pitch in fifteen minutes," Scorpius smiles brightly.
There are rude hand gestures, but they are made without malice and Biggs waves his Ravenclaw flag as he walks off to find a seat. Scorpius has been even-handed in his treatment of his schoolmates. Most of them like him, and the ones who think he's evil are either intrigued or tend to hide when he's about. Anyone who can convince that many people he's guileless, they theorise, is not to be trusted.
The rest of the Ravenclaw team arrives and Scorpius follows them into the changing room. Shinpads, kneepads, elbowpads go on. Brooms are checked. Extra body armour is strapped to those who will need it. Scorpius slips on his Quidditch robes and feels the rush of anticipation that precedes every game. He smoothes down the blue garment, turns his bronze lapels out. Taps his toes firmly into his boots.
"Three simple instructions," Mari Bott tells her team. "Hold to our strategies, don't lose your heads, and don't let those flashy gits distract you."
Her team murmurs their agreement and waits for her usual oration on the importance of working together. She looks at them impatiently. "That's it! We've got a Cup to win!"
"Yes, Captain!" they cheer her this time, and Scorpius is filled with nervous energy as he walks out onto the pitch, broom in hand.
Mari and Nathan Spinnet, the Gryffindor captain, shake hands in the centre. Scorpius nods at James, his opposing Seeker, and Albus, whose excellent work as Keeper has in no small part brought their team to the final. The call to mount brooms goes out, and Scorpius is aloft at the first sound of the whistle.
Beneath him, Mari has grabbed the Quaffle and is flying fast. He can hear the commentator: "Ogden smacks a Bludger at Bott, who avoids it in a lovely spin, nice flying! and there's Carrington in support, but Bott is taking the shot herself and it's -- OH! Brilliant save by Potter the younger and now Spinnet is moving the Quaffle out of the Gryffindor danger zone …"
Scorpius focuses on the seemingly aimless flight of James Potter. He recognises the potential here -- their styles are very much alike. They both prefer to feint, they both rely on misdirection. They both fly nearly as well as each other. Scorpius knows he is a tiny bit better, but James has longer arms, and enough weight to make the difference in a dive.
He decides to fly up and sit beside him.
"Good day for it," he chats pleasantly.
"You're not going to distract me," James tells him cheerfully.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Scorpius replies.
"Crap ..." James mutters as the blue-banner waving part of the crowd below goes wild. Maisie Carrington has intercepted Spinnet's pass to Rufford and gone on to score.
"Bad luck," Scorpius mutters, glancing about idly. The Cup is theirs now, if he can catch the Snitch. When Ravenclaw's Laura Wadcock snatches the Quaffle from a missed pass, Scorpius can feel the tension run through the audience. He almost looks down at the state of play, especially when a goal is scored, instead he looks across at James, whose face is an open book.
Scorpius kicks against the air, throwing his broom sideways in a roll that gets across and ahead of James in the one move. The Snitch is maddeningly close, yet so erratic in its flight. At any moment it could dart past him and towards James.
Below them the spectators have noticed the pursuit and bellows of "Go Ravens!" and "Go Lions!" begin until it is all one thrilling cacophony.
The snitch plummets and both Seekers are in close formation with it. They stream through the centre of the play below, neatly missing Mari, who has just intercepted a pass between Piers Duke and Merewyn Rufford if the commentary is to be believed.
James edges to the lead by virtue of greater mass, but when the Snitch climbs again it is Scorpius who is ahead, his skinniness proving a boon for once. Then the Snitch jags right, and it is in front of James, only a little out of reach, and Scorpius can only reach it if he moves his broom across into the other Seeker's line, but they are so high, and James has one hand outstretched, and if he should slip ...
The crowd screams with either glee or fury as Scorpius barrel rolls across James, reaching out his hand while upside down to snatch the Snitch inches before the Gryffindor's fingers can close on it. He swings upright again and holds the golden treasure aloft, laughing wildly.
James is laughing, too. "You jammy git, that was amazing! Damn you and well done!"
And then Scorpius is mobbed on his way back to Earth. Mari nearly falls off her broom, she is hugging him so hard. Charles Derwent and Ryan Timms use their bats to form an arch for him to fly under, and Laura and Maisie are swooping around him in complicated loops. Rose has thrown her Keeper's gloves to the ground and is hugging every part of him not already claimed by Mari. Scorpius concentrates on flying so he can get them all to the ground.
There things become even more chaotic. Rose kisses him joyfully and dances about, Mari promises she will do his Potions homework forever, Professor Flitwick joins the crush, and the Gryffindors come over to shake the team's hands, "Good job, well flown," is traded back and forth.
Al shakes his head at him in mock dismay. "You are trying to get us disowned. Dad may actually kill James."
Lester Biggs claps Scorpius on the back and pushes a black cashmere scarf into his hands. "Fifteen galleons!" he crows, "and Margaret Tyndall owes me a date. I knew you'd do it!"
One of the younger Slytherins who is always following Lester presses a butterbeer bottle into Scorpius's hands. "Have a drink," he says.
He takes a mouthful and immediately realises that it's not butterbeer. His mouth is itching, he spits it out over his boots and the shoes of the younger Slytherin. Lester laughs, but Scorpius is gasping for breath now, and Lester is horrified and shouting at his housemate: "What was in that?"
"It's just pumpkin juice," comes the sulky reply.
Scorpius can just hear the voices over his own ragged breaths. "He's allergic!" Lester is shouting. "You know that, everyone knows that!"
"I thought he'd just throw up! It was a joke!"
"Scoop?" Al catches him as his knees start to fold. It's strange, his throat seems to be closing in on itself. That can't be good, he reasons.
"Professor! Rosie! Where's Madame Bones?" Al is shouting over everybody, and he's holding him now. Scorpius realises he's on the ground, in Al's lap. That's nice. If only he could breathe.
"Scorpius Malfoy!" a sharply burred voice makes him focus. Professor McGonagall is there and her hands are pulling back his robes from his throat and chest. It's nice and cool.
"Pay attention boy! There's no time! Remember when you turned the rabbits into fish? Remember how we worked on the gills? You need to make yourself gills!"
Which is ridiculous, because gills don't work in air, but he knows the spell, and she's placed his wand in his hand, so he does as she says because it's too hard to argue when your mouth and throat feel like this.
"Good boy. Now hold on." With Al assisting she manoeuvres Scorpius onto his own broom, and kicks off the ground. "Potter secundus, I'll need your help," she says over her shoulder.
Al flies as close as he can, steadying his friend as needed. The Professor aims straight for the lake and lands in the shallow water. Oxygen floods back through Scorpius's veins.
Al is white and scared on the shore, dragging Scorpius's broom out from the wet, but McGonagall is there beside him "Are you all right, Scorpius?" she asks.
He nods, there's still no room in his throat for voice. But he smiles gratefully at her, and at Al.
Al runs in, too, and hugs him, and the professor, and starts to laugh with relief. "Thank you!" he kisses McGonagall's cheek.
She blushes, but is pleased. "I've been saving students from each other since before your parents were born," she demurs. "Ah, here's Susan."
Madame Bones is running towards them, wand at the ready and pack of potions slung across her back. She smiles when she sees Scorpius wave, then laughs when she sees the gills.
"We'll just have to fix you in stages," she says. "Unless you're planning to start a swimming team here, which may upset the giant squid."
XIII
In the remaining weeks of third year, Professor McGonagall secretly allows Scorpius to attempt some more transformations on himself.
He asks her about the need to register, noting she has not mentioned it.
"The whole registration process is about making sure you're safe while you're learning. And I don't see that we need to bother with that when I'm teaching you," she confides.
"Doesn't the Ministry want to keep a tab on Animagi?"
She sniffs, and then remembers how young he is. "The Ministry has genuine concerns, but to be honest, the people it needs to be worried about aren't going to register anyway. So it ends up being another level of control over the lives of ordinary people. Those are the same controls that were so badly abused during the War.
"Which isn't to say that you should keep such things secret -- many is the young wizard or witch who's nearly come to a nasty end when they decided to transform into poultry."
Scorpius laughs at the idea of anyone willingly transforming themselves into a chicken. "Does everyone have just one form?" he asks.
"Transfiguring yourself into an animal is not an easy task," she reminds him. "The shape dictates how we see the world. Remembering to keep your mind human while your shape is not takes more energy and effort than you think. And you must be able to at least transfigure back without a wand. Remembering how to do that for more than one form takes too much energy and effort, better you remember to do it perfectly for the one."
Scorpius nods. "So how do you choose?" He has been thinking on the topic since she first raised it, and is no closer to a decision.
McGonagall leans back in her seat and waves her hand discursively. "Well, there are many factors," she begins. "I prefer a cat because they are intelligent and independent, and can move through a variety of situations with ease. But you might have a specific reason for wishing to become an Animagus. For example, if you want to be an Auror when you're an adult, something stealthy would be an advantage, such as a sparrow. Or perhaps you wish to experience the sensation of fast movement, in which case a racing animal, a hound or horse. Maybe there are certain animals that just appeal to you …"
Scorpius manages to stop his eyebrow from moving more than the slightest twitch, but it's too late. "And, Mr Malfoy, I warn you now that one goat joke will see an end to this class today."
He allows the smile that's threatening to tug his lips up ever so slightly. "Professor, the fact that I know George Weasley should not be held against me in this manner."
She lets out a bark of laughter at that. "Oh, there was a student with genius … if he and his brother had ever shown one iota of application to schoolwork …" her voice trails off in tones of fondness with a trace of sorrow, but she soon refocuses. "The one rule I have is that you will not practice this alone until I tell you that you may. Any breaking of that rule will see an end to our classes, forever. Am I understood?"
Scorpius nods. But he has a question, "What about Sirius and Mr Potter's father?"
She is smiling again, though she tries to hide it with a stern look. "They were students of unusual talent and ability, but they were also very foolish and only safe by virtue of their good luck. And you'll note that they both chose larger mammals for their forms, which are somewhat easier. When they taught the trick to Mr Pettigrew, he had the advantage of their study, and then there also are some say that the transformation is best achieved choosing an animal that shares some characteristics of the wizard or witch. Do you have any ideas of where you'd like to start?"
"I do like cats, too, although dogs are good, maybe something like a wolfhound. I like ferrets, the way they're all slinky …"
McGonagall shakes her head slightly, "I'm not sure your father would approve."
"What about a bird? I like owls, a Snowy Owl would be good!"
"You spend a lot of time with the Potters, don't you?"
"A week or two every hols."
She purses her lips. "Maybe not a Snowy Owl, then, but a raptor is a good idea. How do you feel about eagles, or hobbies, kites or falcons?"
His face lights up. "Do you really think I could do a falcon?"
"Oh yes," her eyes look over him calculatingly. "It's a good fit, they're lean and hungry, but smart enough to know when not to pounce. They are good evaluators, they see very clearly, and they are much, much less mad than you'd expect." She clears her throat. "Compared to other raptors, that is. I think a peregrine would fit well with your passion for speed on the Quidditch pitch, Mr Malfoy. Shall we work to that?"
His eyes are shining with glee as he nods.
On his third lesson, he makes the transformation perfectly. He has never felt such a perfect fit with magic as he does in this; without a spell or a wand, he simply shifts between the states. And she is right, the falcon's mind is so very clear and precise. So much so that it hears things that Scorpius has missed.
For three years she has been dropping hints: "I was wrong to send them all away, they were right to come back"; "You have your father's humility"; "If only I could change things"; "I was wrong about your father".
And so when she looks at him fondly after his first flawless change, puts her head to one side, and says, "I am glad I had the chance to meet you," he takes a risk.
"When my father was here, did you like him?"
She is startled by the question, but she answers him honestly. "No, Malfoy, I did not. He was not a pleasant boy in his first years here, but I was hasty to judge and I never looked for reasons. I did not know what was happening in his home, how terribly misguided his parents were. They only realised at the end, and I am ashamed to say that I had written them, and him, off long before then."
Scorpius sits beside her, and presses gently for more information. "He used to tell me that things in the War did not happen exactly as the history books say, now he tells me that I should let the official versions stand, because it's still too raw to look at any other way."
McGonagall looks at him with interest. "I never said your father wasn't a smart man. He's right on both counts, more's the pity. It's my fault, too. If I had spoken up at the time, the truth would have come out. But it was so very much easier to leave things black and white, to not have to accept that easy sides are impossible, even at a crisis."
When she does not appear to be going on, Scorpius prompts her again. "Mr Potter says my father was there at the end, and that he was brave."
He is not expecting her to gasp. "Harry said that?" a small smile follows. "Well, it's true. It took Draco enough time to find his courage, but once he did, he was unwavering. I did him a grave injustice on that issue."
Scorpius smiles encouragingly at her. "I don't think he minds," he says. "He told me that everything was worthwhile for what he has now."
"Then he is an even better man than I have given him credit for," she concludes.
Scorpius is shaken by the seriousness of her expression, and so transfigures once more, landing lightly on her wrist before soaring into the sky to dive and wheel and bring a smile to her face with his grace.
When the holidays arrive, Scorpius stays with the Potters for a full five weeks so that he can help in the work for Mr Potter's fortieth birthday. The guest list expands and contracts several times, with dignitaries inviting themselves and Mr Potter disinviting them in quick succession.
In the chaos, Scorpius and Al manage to tramp over half the local countryside in search of new markers for their mental maps of the area. Lily tags along some days, mostly to escape her mother's firm belief that she should learn some housework and her grandmother's commitment to keeping her neat.
Mr Potter makes time every day to fly with the children, and is impressed with Scorpius's speed and accuracy. " Don't ever tell your father I said this, but you're at least as good as I ever was," he confides one evening.
Scorpius glows with pride, and Al grins widely at him. James snorts with disgust. "At least I'm …"
"… Better looking!" they all conclude for him.
Mr Potter ruffles his hair affectionately. "You've as much natural talent, James, but I just can't see you practicing as many hours."
Scorpius looks down and mutters.
Al nudges him and says, "Tell them, no, show them!"
And McGonagall did give permission on the last day of term, so he changes then, and flies above them, climbing far into the air, then screaming into a dive that has the Potters breathless, Scorpius's kreeing call sends every small bird from the garden or deep into shrubs. He wheels about above the ground and lofts gently back onto Al's outstretched wrist, where he lands gently and chuckles, before hopping off and resuming his own shape.
James, Lily and Mr Potter are impressed. "And so it's no wonder you're outflying me these days," James seizes on the, to him, logical extension.
"Does your dad know?" Mr Potter asks.
Scorpius nods. "But he hasn't seen it yet. I only learned it at the end of term."
"Good work." His own children are now clamouring to learn the spells required, and both Mr Potter and Scorpius are laughing. "If you receive O's in transfiguration, you may ask Professor McGonagall yourself," he tells them. And, "if you are nearly killed and have to make your own gills, then yes, you may also have advanced classes," he adds.
The Potter children are undivided in their assertion their father is no fun.
When the Granger-Weasleys arrive, the Potter house is transformed into an all-out riot. Lily, Rose and Al fight over who sits next to Scorpius at dinner, until Mr Weasley declares that he and Mrs Granger-Weasley will, which leads to several evenings in which conversation is ambling along merrily until Mr Weasley turns to look at Scorpius and starts in horror each time.
"Different Malfoy," Scorpius deadpans, much to Mrs Granger-Weasley's amusement. By the third time she has joined the chorus, and by the fifth, Mr Weasley and the rest of the table are also delivering the punchline.
George Weasley arrives the day before the celebrations and brings a selection of new party favours, which he promises are delightful, enjoyable and completely lacking in ghastly side-effects. When Lily tries one, she is adopted by a spectral rabbit that spends all day hopping after her, nibbling gently at her toes. Its soft fur can just be felt. Mrs Potter laughingly accepts that open-toed shoes will be an acceptable risk at the event, and looks forward to seeing the promised cats and birds of paradise.
The day of the party is a constant whirl of wizarding society. Mr Potter has given up on restricting guests and, after the night before's family and friends celebration, is cheerfully accepting that he is a hostage to publicity. Even the Daily Prophet's reporter is allowed in for twenty-five minutes. Which becomes eighteen minutes when she begins to complain that Luna Lovegood has unrestricted access.
Professor Longbottom is there, too, and takes time out to sit with the children for a while. "It's too mad over with Harry," he admits to them. He is astonished to learn that Scorpius hates Potions, which has the others clamouring to provide the most outrageous stories of the lengths that Scorp will go to to avoid doing his Potions homework.
"He had Mari chained to it for months, then he managed to convince Al to do it in return for covering Al's Charms papers," Rose dobs him in cheerfully.
"But you're so good in Herbology!" Professor Longbottom pretends that he has never heard of such misbehaviour, a performance that would be more convincing had they not heard his hilarious tales of skiving the night before.
"Everyone's good at Herbology," Lily tells him. "Because you make it interesting and fun!"
Professor Longbottom ignores the compliment, but they can tell that he is pleased.
The speeches go on for over an hour. But the presents are good, and Mr Potter is genuinely happy to announce two new scholarships as part of the Potter Foundation, one devoted to postgraduate studies in cryptozoology, and named for Miss Lovegood.
Al has filled Scorpius in on the long childhood hunts for various members of the Snorkack family, so he is not surprised by Miss Lovegood's speech. He is surprised that Mr Potter wanders some little distance away from the party during it. When he looks up and sees Scorpius watching him, he waves him over.
"Escaping?" Scorpius asks.
"For a few minutes," he confesses. "Thanks for all your help this month, I think the kids would have killed each other if you hadn't been around."
"I think Mrs Weasley might have killed them first," Scorpius whispers, nodding at Al's scary grandmother.
Mr Potter laughs quietly. "I know Al calls her Deathgran," he shares.
Scorpius grins. "It's pretty cool," he says quietly.
They sit in companionable silence for a while, listening as Miss Lovegood details the huge expanses of Norwegian glacier as yet uninvestigated.
"Tell your dad happy birthday for last month," Mr Potter says quietly.
"Why don't you tell him when he picks me up tonight?"
Mr Potter looks at his shoes. "We're not very good at remembering the social niceties."
Scorpius makes his choice. "I know that he was horrible to you at school, but I also know that changed at some point. Everyone tells me that he just grew up to be different. He tells me that you trusted him once. You told me that he was with you at the Battle of Hogwarts, yet the history books say that he was a prisoner. No one tells me what really happened. Can you?"
Mr Potter shakes his head slightly. "I can't. I should have, I should have told everyone at the time, but I was angry over stupid things and I let everyone believe what they wanted to. And so I let old prejudices live and killed a new friendship. When your grandfather tried to set the record straight, I made no comment. I regret very little more than that."
Scorpius is trying to understand. "Is it too late to change?"
"I think so, yes." Mr Potter is silent for a while, then adds, "But I am very happy that you and Al are friends. All my children love you, and that's something that I never thought possible. So we'll see."
He ruffles Scorpius's hair, then wanders back to the party. Al reclaims his friend and demands assistance demolishing some of the hippogriff-shaped chocolate cake. By the time Scorpius's father arrives to claim him that evening, he is nearly asleep, stuffed with cake and worn-out with partying. There is just enough energy to wander down to the gate with Al, James and Mr Potter.
"Have you packed everything?" Mr Potter is asking Al.
"Yup, and I can borrow anything I forgot."
"Mr Malfoy."
"Mr Potter."
Scorpius's father reaches out and hugs him. "Did you have a good time?" he asks.
"Great! You should have seen the cake! I saved some for you and Mum."
Scorpius's father smiles broadly. "So long as the cake was good, then." He looks up at Mr Potter. "Forty, eh? Good grief."
Mr Potter grins. "At least we both still have our hair."
Al hugs his father goodbye, then walks through the gate to the Malfoys. "See you Monday," he tells his brother.
"What time does the party start?" James checks.
"One," Scorpius tells him. "And make sure Lily knows that I really don't want Puddlemere United pyjamas for my birthday."
"She knows, she's hoping you'll give them back to her."
"Oh, well in that case, sure."
Scorpius's father takes hold of his son's and Al's hands, and makes sure they have a tight grip on their bags before he Apparates. "Thank you for taking good care of him, Helene will meet you in Diagon Alley on Monday to pick up the others."
"Draco," Mr Potter's voice is slightly hesitant. "Happy birthday for last month."
"Happy birthday, Harry," Scorpius's father says evenly. And the slight tremor in his hand is easily explained by the side-along Apparition.
XIV
Scorpius is fourteen when the first revisionist history of the war is released. Irving Low's poorly written but hotly selling tome constructs Scorpius's grandfather as a hero of the wizarding cause who has been unfairly tarred by his association with Voldemort.
Lucius Malfoy, Low insists in his account, was nothing less than a pure-blooded hero who was prepared to make any sacrifice to protect the wizarding world from the intrusive brutality of Muggles.
Citing "reliable sources", Low repeats the hoary old tale of forty-thousand British witches and wizards killed by Muggles in the Burning Times and constructs an elegant, if absurd, scenario where most of the Death Eaters were in fact motivated by rising dangerous Fundamentalism in the Muggle population.
The first that Scorpius hears about this is when Lester Biggs drags him over to the Slytherin table at the end of breakfast. His seventh-year mates are all sitting at the one end, with a seat reserved for Scorpius.
"Is it true?" they ask him.
After a few minutes they accept that he has no idea what they are talking about, and so a brief explanation is offered. Scorpius is at first horrified, then astonished, and finally unable to speak due to howls of laughter.
"Well, he's your grandfather," Lester says, trying to calm him down. "We figured you'd know."
"The idea of my grandfather knowing anything about Muggles, oh you have no idea ..." Scorpius starts laughing again. "If he was alive, this would kill him."
"I told you it was bollocks," Lester tells the other Slytherins.
"But he did want to keep the wizarding world hidden, yeah?" a seventh-year who Scorpius does not know asks.
"Well, sort of. He wanted to keep us secret because he thought that Muggles were pathetic … little more than animals. It was all about his own ego, really. The minute Voldemort showed his true colours, he wanted out of there."
"But I heard that he said we weren't safe from the Muggles and that they weren't safe from us, and that until we could work out ways not to harm each other, we'd be better off apart," the boy continues.
Scorpius shakes his head. "No, that was my Dad. He said that after the War. It wasn't very popular, but he was right. And that's what we've done. Besides," he turns back to Lester. "Those numbers are crap. Wendelin the Weird isn't entirely a fairy story for kids, you know. Proper analyses of witch trials in the UK put the upper number of the dead at one thousand, and of that it's only ever been established that three were genuine witches, two of whom were suicides, and there were no real wizards at all. It's Muggles killing Muggles again. They do that all the time. But we do it, too. Voldemort killed more than a thousand Muggles in the last War alone. And he killed more than a thousand of us. If we were serious about safety, we'd be isolating ourselves from everyone and everything."
"But that won't happen," Lester is quick on the uptake for all that he looks as though he was hewn rather than grown. "When we kill each other, it's Dark Wizards, or an unfortunate accident. It's never the fact that we're rubbish at promoting social harmony."
Scorpius realises that he has always quite liked Lester.
"That's all very well, but how can we harmonise with a society that would be appalled at the very idea of us?" Scorpius thinks the girl speaking is named Veronica.
Lester shrugs. "I don't even know how we work with each other when we've still got pureblood prejudices running rife among us. For all that it's not fashionable, you know your parents would be thrilled if you took me or Malfoy home, and horrified if it was Charles Derwent, wouldn't they Vivianne?"
That's her name, Scorpius thinks. Vivianne shrugs. "Perhaps. Alas, Malfoy's a wee babe, so I'll never be able to put it to the test."
Scorpius joins in the general laughter. He's impressed, though. This is good critical thinking.
"I've got a copy if you want to borrow it," Lester offers. "A Reassessment of the War, which is more accurately titled: Voldemort's dead, so let's blame it all on that fucker and get back to hating everyone."
"Nah," Scorpius laughs. "No, I've heard enough about the evils of Voldemort at home to last me the rest of my life."
He trots off to grab his books before class, promising to put in some practice down at the pitch with Lester on Thursday. He doesn't notice the younger set of Slytherins who have followed the conversation with interest.
Over the next two days, people are talking about Reassessment. Low has captured the imaginations of some, and sparked the outrage of others. Scorpius refuses to touch the book, but Rose thinks it is only wise to know what's in it. She is halfway through one evening when she drops it to the floor and runs over to Scorpius on the other side of the common room.
"He talks about Uncle Harry!" she says, and that is all she needs to say. They run from Ravenclaw Tower together, and are soon at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Rose begins to knock, but Al keeps Scorpius up to date with the password for emergencies, and they bowl into the Gryffindor common room to find it in uproar.
James is ranting at the masses. "How dare he? Lucius Malfoy was an arse and to say that he was more honest than my father …" The crowd has parted enough for him to spot Scorpius's pale blond hair.
"It's OK," Scorpius tells him. "He was an arse."
James grins bashfully at him. "Sorry, mate. It's just …"
"Yeah, I know. Rose just got to that part, and we thought we ought to get over here and confiscate all your copies. Too late."
James is astonished. "I can't believe I beat Rose through a book."
"I only got my copy this afternoon!" She is affronted.
Scorpius can hear Al's laughter above the rest of the Gryffindors and quickly spots him towards the back of the common room, with Hugo and Lily. He turns back to James. "Just, don't do anything stupid, OK? It's an idiotic book written by someone who has no clue about anything, and anyone who believes it will be slowly and carefully argued out of their position by me or Rose. You banging their head against a wall will not help."
"I do not bang heads against walls!"
"No, you bang them against other heads, and that won't help either."
James is forced to admit that this is true, even if it's only happened the twice.
"So you're cool?"
"I am cool," James replies.
"Lily?" Rose knows better than to trust the redheaded Potter to stay calm, but for once she has been misjudged.
"Anyone who believes that tripe isn't worth my effort," she declares, glaring pointedly at her older brother.
"I don't believe it," he protests. "That's the whole point!"
"Yes, but you've been going on about it for twenty minutes and we were going to play Exploding Snap."
"Oh go snog somebody. No! That was a joke!" James leaves off talking to Scorpius and Rose as Lily leaps with glee from her chair and into the nearby lap of Piers Duke.
Scorpius and Rose wave goodbye to Al and Hugo, as Lily's loud arguments follow them to the hallway. "But I'm thirteen! His dad's a rock star! You were snogging everyone when you were thirteen!"
For two weeks they are so convinced that they have calmed the situation that they miss clues; the most obvious being Lester Biggs handing out detentions to four of the Slytherin third-year boys. Al tells him later that the boys in question had made Death Eater robes and worn them around the common room. Scorpius thinks it was meant as a joke, but Al is worried.
Al is right. That night as they leave a late dinner, James is accosted by two of the Slytherin third years. "Blood traitor!" they accuse him.
"Oh shut up you try-hard Voldeweenies," he laughs at them. He thinks he is letting them off.
Then there is a wand. Scorpius dives forward, reaching for his own. He hears Al and Lester both screaming his name. He hears something else, too, but isn't sure what it is, just a string of vowels and hard consonants. There is green light, and there is nothing.
A snap of consciousness. Someone is holding him and sobbing. Someone is nearby, snivelling. "I didn't mean it!" they are whimpering. They sound as though they are being shaken.
He is in a bed. Everything is so sore, so distant. His eyelids hurt to move, so he opens them just a slit. He can see his father, and Al is curled up asleep in his father's lap. He wants to smile at them, but it's too hard. His mother moves into view, her eyes are red from crying. She looks at him intently, then turns away. "I can't …" she sobs.
It must be another day, because Al is wearing different clothes, and Mr Potter is there with him now. His father is crying on Mr Potter's shoulder, while Al pats his pale hair. Scorpius wants to tell them it's all right, and he will, just after he sleeps a little longer.
Lester is there, now, and Al is dozing against him. "See, his eyes flickered again. Wake up, Al, see?" Lester leaves off trying to raise Albus and looks at Scorpius intently. "Come on, mate, time to wake up now. Enough slacking off."
Al is there alone, he is holding his hand. "Just get well. Just get well," he says, over and over again. Scorpius wishes he had the strength to squeeze back.
His father is wiping his face with a cool, damp cloth. He can smell herbs in the water, and thinks Professor Longbottom must have sent them; they have that fresh vibrancy that all his plants seem to possess. Some of the water runs down onto his neck. "Cold," he whispers, in a croaking voice.
His father gasps, and pulls him close against his chest and holds him as though he is a lifeline. He can feel his father shaking, and instead of words, there are sobs. In the background, he can hear Mr Potter calling for Madame Bones.
"Scoop," the nickname is whispered, but he hears it.
Madame Bones is there and his father is pushed away - Mr Potter takes hold of him and lets him cry against his shoulder again - and he is lowered back onto his pillow, his pulse taken, his eyes checked. When asked how he is feeling, he answers, "Thirsty," and is allowed a small sip of cool water. It is the best thing he has ever tasted.
He answers enough questions to assure Madame Bones that he is on the road to recovery. She pushes his hair back from his forehead and if her eyes are glistening, he's sure it's just a trick of the lamplight. "Good," she says. "You gave us all quite a fright. And I was worried that young Albus was going to starve to death if you didn't wake up soon."
At his name, Al steps forward, tentatively. "It's all right," Madame Bones assures him. "The danger is past, you can sit and chat for a little, then I want to see you sleep in a proper bed tonight."
Al takes Scorpius's hand gently. His lips are pressed together tightly.
"Sorry," Scorpius apologises.
"If you ever do anything that stupid again, I'll kill you," Al promises.
"Should have tackled the kid," Scorpius considers.
"And if you'd paid more attention to the minutiae of Muggle Studies, you'd have known about Rugby," Al starts to smile.
"Head in the clouds," Scorpius croaks.
"And full of air," Al concurs. He passes him a glass of water, and holds him up tenderly while he drinks it.
Scorpius's father is back. He smiles at Al, kisses Scorpius's forehead. "We were worried," he says. "Al wouldn't leave for anything but a shower and the lav. We couldn't even convince him to come for meals downstairs."
"I thought you might wake up while I was having dinner, and you'd fail to notice the extent of my devoted friendship," Al deadpans.
"Who are you, anyway?" Scorpius responds in kind. Then, serious, turns to his father. "Where's Mum?"
"She's coming, I just sent her a message. Harry's gone to meet her."
"You were here every day. I only saw her once."
His father's eyes ghost behind a film of water, which he blinks quickly away. "It was hard for her. You were so still. It was very hard …"
"I knew you could see us," Al is saying. "Lester thought so, too. You kept opening your eyes a little bit. He wanted to bring photos of the bruising he gave Terrance Byford before Goshawk expelled him, but I wasn't sure you'd want to see them."
"Expelled?" Scorpius is shocked. "It was an accident."
Al is quiet, and it's up to his father to speak. "He used an Unforgiveable on you, son. We're just lucky he was only a stupid, vicious little boy. Very, very lucky."
There are quick footsteps coming. "Over here, Mrs Malfoy," says Albus's dad.
And there is his Mum, and she is holding him and kissing him and crying and begging that he forgive her. "It's all right, I'm all right," he says many times.
"Thank you, Mr Potter," he hears in the distance. And he can't quite work out why that sentence sounds wrong.
"You are welcome, Mr Malfoy."
He reaches out to touch the wall at the head of his bed. He hears the sigh of happiness through all of his bones.
The next morning he's well enough for guests. Lily and Hugo come armed with sweets and are filled with gossip from the fortnight he has missed. Rose kisses him squarely on the mouth and tells him that she, too, will kill him if he ever does anything so stupid again. James hugs him and bursts into tears. Lester tells him that the fourth-year Slytherins have all made duplicate copies of their notes for the work he's missed, plus plan to take him out to dinner in Hogsmeade to make up for the idiocy of their housemates. He adds that the remaining three said idiots have been re-educated and would like to apologise in person.
Albus gets out of his proper bed, which is the next one along in the infirmary, and joins the impromptu party. After a while, Madam Bones joins in, too.
XV
In the aftermath of the attack, Irving Low's tome is banned from Hogwarts. When Scorpius is found reading it a month later in the library, his father is summoned to the Headmistress's office.
Scorpius does his best to look embarrassed when his father arrives. He is ignored for a moment, as his father shakes the Headmistress's hand.
"Professor Goshawk," he greets her. "I have been informed of the reason for my summons …"
She is apologetic, "If ever I was to make an exception, I would make one for Scorpius. But I have banned even my teachers from possessing copies of this book. While I understand his curiosity after he suffered so, I cannot countenance disobedience of a direct order. Yet I do not feel it is fitting to punish the boy, either. Would you have a word with him? I think that would be for the best."
Scorpius's father picks up the book in question. He flicks through the first pages, stopping briefly to examine the binding. He puts it back on the Headmistress's desk and regards Scorpius calmly. "When I said that things did not happen the way the history books have it, this --" he taps the cover dismissively -- "is not what I meant."
"I know that," Scorpius keeps his voice cool, though he is nervous. "It's rubbish, that's obvious, but how are we meant to argue against lies if we don't know what they are?"
The Headmistress draws a deep breath. "I agree with you from an intellectual standpoint, Scorpius, but," she raises a finger, "not every student is you. For all that you are able to spot the lies in this text, others are not so discerning."
"Oh, there are truths, too," Scorpius tells her, quietly. He goes on, before she has a chance to marshal a reply, "Not about Voldemort and his Death Eaters, at least, not in any important ways. My grandfather may have regretted his allegiance, but that was only because his association with the Dark Lord threatened his family. He was quite happy to risk other families up to that point.
"No, where it tells the truth is in saying that we're lied to about who fought back. Because when you read the official accounts and you stack them up one against the other, something strange emerges. They're all taken from just five eyewitness accounts. One of them is reliable; Neville Longbottom tells his story just as it occurred, everyone else agrees with him, and the other people I've spoken with who were there on the day say it is as they remember it, too. But Professor Longbottom was in the thick of the fighting and his view is limited.
"One of them was a child, Ginny Weasley, and her account is faithful and accurate so far as it concerns her family and Mr Potter, but it omits several events and people that I am reliably told she witnessed. One other witness was an egoist, and Professor Horace Slughorn's account was mainly directed at making himself appear heroic. Which is not to say that he did not play a key role, just that he ignores any others. Arthur Weasley's account is very accurate, but again, limited and hopelessly distracted by the death of his son. And the final witness, Professor McGonagall, lied."
"Mr Malfoy!" The headmistress is outraged, and even his father is looking at Scorpius with a frown.
He goes on. "She told me. She will tell you, too, if you ask her. She's not proud of it, but she was so angry at the time, and it seemed such a minor lie. It's what she intended to happen, so why not just pretend that it did? And later, everything moved so quickly into established fact. There was no time for corrections. But the story that she told me is the same story that Mr Potter told me, and I think," he looks at his father, "I think it is the same story my father would tell me if he ever spoke about that night."
His father shakes his head. "The Official History is so comforting, so simple. After a war, people crave simple. A simple truth, and simple lives. Let it go, Scorpius. I crave simplicity, too."
The headmistress is looking between them, and she is a smart woman and she has heard the stories. Her conscience is not easy. "Surely truth matters, too," she says.
"People have the truth they want," Scorpius's father answers. "We have spent over twenty years building on that truth. The few of us who were harmed by it will not see all that work swept aside for the sake of our egos."
"I'm sorry," Scorpius beats the headmistress to the phrase. "I didn't realise."
His father kisses his brow swiftly. "Not your fault, I never told you. And you assure me you're not psychic."
As they grin at each other, Professor Goshawk realises exactly where Scorpius comes from. She is impressed. She has heard tales of Mr Malfoy as a student, and can only imagine his work to become this man.
"You have a remarkable boy," she tells the senior Malfoy. "And you have a remarkable father," she adds to the younger. "I am keeping the book, though. If you wish to read it, you may do so in my office. I may read a chapter or two myself if you have any recommendations. Now please escort your father out, Scorpius. I suggest you take a tour of the grounds, it is a beautiful day and you may have the afternoon off class."
"I like your headmistress," Scorpius's father tells him as they exit her office. "Strict but fair, and with kinky boots."
"You've had enough sun already, from the sounds of it," Scorpius sighs dramatically.
His father laughs, then plays his hunch. "I'd like the piece of parchment in your pocket, please."
Scorpius looks at him for a long moment, then passes it over. "I'm trusting you," he says.
It is cheap parchment, the sort used by low-cost printers. It is torn down one side and blank, save for an inscription on the top right-hand corner: Rose Granger-Weasley, Ravenclaw. Mr Malfoy raises one eyebrow at his son.
"She wasn't foolish enough to get caught with it. I owe her three galleons," he says.
His father takes a handful of gold from his pocket and passes it to him. "Treat her to a meal in Hogsmeade with my compliments," he replies.
When Scorpius returns to the common room before dinner, everyone quiets down at his appearance. Rose nervously asks if he is all right. He assures her that he is.
"We were worried, you weren't in class."
"The Headmistress said I could spend some time with my father."
He can't place the muttered reply from one of his housemates, but he hears the words clearly enough: "The Death Eater."
"We were planning a charitable institution to train Squib children, and the mentally fragile," he continues in a louder voice. "And possibly a rescue home for kittens."
"Really?" Maisie Carrington looks up, "I love kittens!"
"Yes," Scorpius snaps, walking towards his dormitory. "As do I. Although the tiny little bones can prove tricky."
part three
Many, many thanks to everyone who commented so kindly on the first part. I hope that you enjoy this part. I am so sorry that it became one of three, but time and giant chapters have conspired against me. The conclusion is not far away!
Enormous personal thanks to
jadzialove, whose witty, supportive and skilled beta-ing made a world of difference, especially in the sanity stakes (because four hours sleep is not enough! Unless you're Margaret Thatcher, but who'd want to be?)
And to
anthimaeria for encouragement above and beyond the call of lj.
Title Sins of the Fathers 2/4
Author
blamebrampton
Characters Scorpius and Albus, and pretty much everyone still alive at the end of DH, plus a few sundry extras working for scale.
Rating PG, oh the URST, yet the young folk have the excuse that they are still legitimately young. The adults are just thick.
Words 9572
Notes Absolutely nothing to do with Jo Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic or any other media titans. But affectionately nicked from all of the above.
Completely thanks to
sansa1970 , whose brilliant list of 20 Random Facts About Scorpius Malfoy is the entire reason this story exists.
Secundus dates back to my grandfather's public school days where he was primus, his unfortunate younger brothers secundus and tertius. Brother four was mercifully sent to a different school. Because there are too many Mr Potters in this story, you're all smart and McGonagall is a traditionalist.
And for people who are counting, I know that their third year would be 2019, and so eligible to be a Triwizard Tournament year, but I think that it's far more likely they went in for traditional student exchanges the next time it seemed as though inter-school relations were in order. The Goblet is probably hidden away in a dark corner and not mentioned. Ever.
Go here if you missed Part One
XI
Scorpius is reading when he realises the castle is trying to get his attention. "Not right now," he tells it gently, "unless it's important."
The castle shows him a slim, dishevelled boy running riotously through its hallways, looking for someone.
"Oh, thanks." Scorpius pats the wall fondly.
He's two minutes away, it tells him.
Scorpius is at the bottom of the Ravenclaw staircase by the time the running figure sags against the balustrade, gasping for breath. "Hi, Al," he greets his friend cheerfully.
"That's - uncanny -" Al pants. Then he straightens up. "You have to come with me. Right now. I have found the best thing." Al doesn't wait for an answer but simply drags his friend along. "I knew it was here, but not where it was. Actually, I thought it was destroyed, but it was just that one version. And anyway, James doesn't know and he is going to die when he finds out. If we tell him. Although, why Dad didn't tell me …"
"Albus!" Scorpius is shouting now, and they have both begun to jog. "What on Earth are you on about?"
Al grins widely, all devilry. "Just wait!" and drags him along at a run.
A few minutes later Scorpius is deposited beside a battered tapestry. "Wait," Al tells him, and then walks up and down the hallway, concentrating intently and whispering to himself. A doorway appears. Scorpius is amazed.
Al is beaming at him. "It's the Room of Requirement; remember it from the War stories? I found it, and it still works." He takes Scorpius's arm and leads him through the doors. "I asked it for the perfect room!"
The inside is a terrifying glance into the subconscious mind of Albus Severus Potter.
"You are a madman," Scorpius tells his companion.
Huge sofas are littered around the room. A great brass machine against one wall bears taps labelled "Coffee", "Tea", "Hot Chocolate" "Iced Chocolate", "Orangeade" and "Lemonade". Beside it is a sideboard packed with mugs and glasses. Games boards cover one large table, while an enormous wizard's train set chugs around its tracks, avoiding landslides and bearing down on tiny shrieking heroines tied to the rails.
A team of house-elves bustles in, one bearing a large jar of sweets and the others carrying jugs of drinks which are poured into the brass machine. They bow cheerfully to Scorpius, who wonders exactly how much of his soul Al has sold to achieve this much favouritism.
Stacks of Quidditch magazines and annuals are piled untidily about, and on one wall, a long row of broomsticks of varying designs, plus tool kits and cleaning equipment for polishing and tinkering. The ceiling is a masterpiece: it can't be less than seventy feet high, and broad oak beams curve down from its central axis in arcs and loops that beg to be flown through.
At the far end of the hall there is a small writing desk, with a bookshelf beside it and a good lamp. Scorpius walks down to it and finds that the desk is stocked with quills and parchment. "For your homework?" he raises an eyebrow.
"Don't be stupid," Al grins. "That's your bit."
Al throws him a vintage Firebolt. "Race you round the room!" he cries, jumping on his own, newer model.
Scorpius is aloft and chasing before he's even properly mounted his broom, and they are both laughing like lunatics as they loop in and out of the graceful oak curves. Scorpius beats Albus by the narrowest of margins, and he is flying hard, so Al doesn't mind that he has lost. They come to a stop at the drinks machine, and both select Lemonade.
"Why no water?" Scorpius asks.
"Common as muck. You can pop outside or ask the house-elves yourself."
"Why no pumpkin juice?"
"Cos you're allergic. I've sworn off it in case there's a terrible case of mixed glasses."
"You've sworn off it because it's not full of sugar and you found out it was healthy."
"There may be an element of that, yes."
"Why no butterbeer?"
"Common."
"Milk?"
"Common."
"Iced coffee?"
"Destroys the good name of coffee."
"You are so selfish," Scorpius grins. "What about when you invite all your friends and relatives over?"
Albus shrugs. "Not sure I want to, it's nice having somewhere that's just for us. You can study if you want to, and I can keep busy when you need to do your work."
Scorpius's smile slowly takes over his face.
He's moving without meaning to.
"Oh, I have the best idea. Let's see your perfect room!" Al is dragging him towards the door.
"But what about this one?" Scorpius is dragging his heels.
"It'll still be here!"
"But I'm not sure I actually require a room, I think the castle only gives it to you if you need one!"
"Scoop," Albus stops beside him in the doorway, "You're the equal smartest kid in our year, I never give you time to study, and when you're in your common room people are either asking you for help with their homework or to find their quills. Thanks to my sister and cousin being idiots, you had to fill your study place with snakes, you deserve another one. That's why I went looking for the Room in the first place."
Scorpius leans against the wall. He can feel the Castle chuckling. "Well, then, I'll give it a go," he declares.
With mounting excitement, he walks up and down the hall three times, muttering to himself. He opens the doors when they appear and Al follows him in.
"Oh …" Scorpius is rapt.
"You are kidding!" Albus is horrified.
Row after row of shelves stretch away into the distance, all laden with books. At the end of every second row is a small desk with a good lamp, comfortable chair and an adequate supply of writing materials. Near the doorway is a single large sofa and table, bearing the same jar of sweets and a text on Quidditch strategies. Scorpius walks straight to the first shelf and tentatively touches the spines of the books.
"Oh that's it -- Lily can have you. I'm finding a new best friend," Albus exclaims.
"Excellent," Scorpius teases him, reaching for the nearest volume. "She's a girl, that means that at some point there'll be experimental snogging. I wonder what it's like?"
"You are such an idiot." Al grabs Scorpius's robes, pulls him close and presses his lips against his friend's. For the first time in his life, Scorpius drops a book. Al lets him go. "Girl kisses are just like that, only feebler, and with a lot more giggling."
Scorpius has no words to convey the suddenly obvious fact that he has no interest whatsoever in Lily Potter's kisses.
Al bends to pick up Scorpius's dropped book, which is time enough for Scorpius to walk quickly to the far end of the private library, looking for a dark corner that will hide the red washing over his face.
Al's voice follows him: "I've changed my mind. I don't care that you're an idiot. I like your house too much -- I'm keeping you. All right?"
"Right," Scorpius calls back, amazed at how even his voice is. "Besides, you'd have to hang out with your brother's friends if you ditched me."
Al joins him in the aisle, leaning against the shelf marked Charms, Cu-He. "That's true," he says. "And who'd give me flying tips? And who'd keep you from reading yourself into an early grave?"
Scorpius smiles wryly. "I thought this was all about finding me a place to read uninterrupted."
Al nods. "I should leave you to it."
"Or … we could go outside and I could show you the Krum inside turn again. I can come back and study when it's not so sunny."
"That would be great," Albus's smile stretches all the way to his eyes again. They walk towards the doorway together. "So, you like it?" Al asks.
"It's brilliant!"
"That's good." Albus pauses. "Sorry."
Scorpius is walking ahead of him. "Are you kidding? This is so much better than the Chamber of Secrets."
"Oh. Yeah, yeah it is."
That night Scorpius presses his hand against the castle wall tentatively and asks if there is something horribly wrong with him. Not at all, it answers. What can be wrong about a kiss?
The castle shows him scenes of kisses it has seen. He sees Albus's parents, and Rose's, too. There is Professor McGonagall, very young, with a young man only a little older; it is impossible to think of her that age. There is James and Emily Craddock, and James and Maisie Carrington, and James and … is that a sixth year? There is a girl with dusky skin and huge eyes in the Ravenclaw common room tentatively brushing the lips of a slighter blonde who looks somehow familiar. There is a teacher in tattered robes, passionately embracing a man with black hair, and there, fleetingly, is himself and Albus, except the castle is looking at them from below, they're not really that tall.
Friendship and love, that's all, it tells him. And if you are afraid, just wait until you aren't.
"I don't want him to think I'm an idiot," Scorpius whispers.
Albus has never thought that you are an idiot, the stones tell him, and they are serious and truthful.
XII
Slytherin come out in favour of Ravenclaw for the finals of the Quidditch Cup. Anything is better than Gryffindor, they say, and they like Malfoy.
"Even if you're pale and bookish," Lester Biggs, the Slytherin captain teases him.
"Pale, bookish, yet wiped your team from the pitch in fifteen minutes," Scorpius smiles brightly.
There are rude hand gestures, but they are made without malice and Biggs waves his Ravenclaw flag as he walks off to find a seat. Scorpius has been even-handed in his treatment of his schoolmates. Most of them like him, and the ones who think he's evil are either intrigued or tend to hide when he's about. Anyone who can convince that many people he's guileless, they theorise, is not to be trusted.
The rest of the Ravenclaw team arrives and Scorpius follows them into the changing room. Shinpads, kneepads, elbowpads go on. Brooms are checked. Extra body armour is strapped to those who will need it. Scorpius slips on his Quidditch robes and feels the rush of anticipation that precedes every game. He smoothes down the blue garment, turns his bronze lapels out. Taps his toes firmly into his boots.
"Three simple instructions," Mari Bott tells her team. "Hold to our strategies, don't lose your heads, and don't let those flashy gits distract you."
Her team murmurs their agreement and waits for her usual oration on the importance of working together. She looks at them impatiently. "That's it! We've got a Cup to win!"
"Yes, Captain!" they cheer her this time, and Scorpius is filled with nervous energy as he walks out onto the pitch, broom in hand.
Mari and Nathan Spinnet, the Gryffindor captain, shake hands in the centre. Scorpius nods at James, his opposing Seeker, and Albus, whose excellent work as Keeper has in no small part brought their team to the final. The call to mount brooms goes out, and Scorpius is aloft at the first sound of the whistle.
Beneath him, Mari has grabbed the Quaffle and is flying fast. He can hear the commentator: "Ogden smacks a Bludger at Bott, who avoids it in a lovely spin, nice flying! and there's Carrington in support, but Bott is taking the shot herself and it's -- OH! Brilliant save by Potter the younger and now Spinnet is moving the Quaffle out of the Gryffindor danger zone …"
Scorpius focuses on the seemingly aimless flight of James Potter. He recognises the potential here -- their styles are very much alike. They both prefer to feint, they both rely on misdirection. They both fly nearly as well as each other. Scorpius knows he is a tiny bit better, but James has longer arms, and enough weight to make the difference in a dive.
He decides to fly up and sit beside him.
"Good day for it," he chats pleasantly.
"You're not going to distract me," James tells him cheerfully.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Scorpius replies.
"Crap ..." James mutters as the blue-banner waving part of the crowd below goes wild. Maisie Carrington has intercepted Spinnet's pass to Rufford and gone on to score.
"Bad luck," Scorpius mutters, glancing about idly. The Cup is theirs now, if he can catch the Snitch. When Ravenclaw's Laura Wadcock snatches the Quaffle from a missed pass, Scorpius can feel the tension run through the audience. He almost looks down at the state of play, especially when a goal is scored, instead he looks across at James, whose face is an open book.
Scorpius kicks against the air, throwing his broom sideways in a roll that gets across and ahead of James in the one move. The Snitch is maddeningly close, yet so erratic in its flight. At any moment it could dart past him and towards James.
Below them the spectators have noticed the pursuit and bellows of "Go Ravens!" and "Go Lions!" begin until it is all one thrilling cacophony.
The snitch plummets and both Seekers are in close formation with it. They stream through the centre of the play below, neatly missing Mari, who has just intercepted a pass between Piers Duke and Merewyn Rufford if the commentary is to be believed.
James edges to the lead by virtue of greater mass, but when the Snitch climbs again it is Scorpius who is ahead, his skinniness proving a boon for once. Then the Snitch jags right, and it is in front of James, only a little out of reach, and Scorpius can only reach it if he moves his broom across into the other Seeker's line, but they are so high, and James has one hand outstretched, and if he should slip ...
The crowd screams with either glee or fury as Scorpius barrel rolls across James, reaching out his hand while upside down to snatch the Snitch inches before the Gryffindor's fingers can close on it. He swings upright again and holds the golden treasure aloft, laughing wildly.
James is laughing, too. "You jammy git, that was amazing! Damn you and well done!"
And then Scorpius is mobbed on his way back to Earth. Mari nearly falls off her broom, she is hugging him so hard. Charles Derwent and Ryan Timms use their bats to form an arch for him to fly under, and Laura and Maisie are swooping around him in complicated loops. Rose has thrown her Keeper's gloves to the ground and is hugging every part of him not already claimed by Mari. Scorpius concentrates on flying so he can get them all to the ground.
There things become even more chaotic. Rose kisses him joyfully and dances about, Mari promises she will do his Potions homework forever, Professor Flitwick joins the crush, and the Gryffindors come over to shake the team's hands, "Good job, well flown," is traded back and forth.
Al shakes his head at him in mock dismay. "You are trying to get us disowned. Dad may actually kill James."
Lester Biggs claps Scorpius on the back and pushes a black cashmere scarf into his hands. "Fifteen galleons!" he crows, "and Margaret Tyndall owes me a date. I knew you'd do it!"
One of the younger Slytherins who is always following Lester presses a butterbeer bottle into Scorpius's hands. "Have a drink," he says.
He takes a mouthful and immediately realises that it's not butterbeer. His mouth is itching, he spits it out over his boots and the shoes of the younger Slytherin. Lester laughs, but Scorpius is gasping for breath now, and Lester is horrified and shouting at his housemate: "What was in that?"
"It's just pumpkin juice," comes the sulky reply.
Scorpius can just hear the voices over his own ragged breaths. "He's allergic!" Lester is shouting. "You know that, everyone knows that!"
"I thought he'd just throw up! It was a joke!"
"Scoop?" Al catches him as his knees start to fold. It's strange, his throat seems to be closing in on itself. That can't be good, he reasons.
"Professor! Rosie! Where's Madame Bones?" Al is shouting over everybody, and he's holding him now. Scorpius realises he's on the ground, in Al's lap. That's nice. If only he could breathe.
"Scorpius Malfoy!" a sharply burred voice makes him focus. Professor McGonagall is there and her hands are pulling back his robes from his throat and chest. It's nice and cool.
"Pay attention boy! There's no time! Remember when you turned the rabbits into fish? Remember how we worked on the gills? You need to make yourself gills!"
Which is ridiculous, because gills don't work in air, but he knows the spell, and she's placed his wand in his hand, so he does as she says because it's too hard to argue when your mouth and throat feel like this.
"Good boy. Now hold on." With Al assisting she manoeuvres Scorpius onto his own broom, and kicks off the ground. "Potter secundus, I'll need your help," she says over her shoulder.
Al flies as close as he can, steadying his friend as needed. The Professor aims straight for the lake and lands in the shallow water. Oxygen floods back through Scorpius's veins.
Al is white and scared on the shore, dragging Scorpius's broom out from the wet, but McGonagall is there beside him "Are you all right, Scorpius?" she asks.
He nods, there's still no room in his throat for voice. But he smiles gratefully at her, and at Al.
Al runs in, too, and hugs him, and the professor, and starts to laugh with relief. "Thank you!" he kisses McGonagall's cheek.
She blushes, but is pleased. "I've been saving students from each other since before your parents were born," she demurs. "Ah, here's Susan."
Madame Bones is running towards them, wand at the ready and pack of potions slung across her back. She smiles when she sees Scorpius wave, then laughs when she sees the gills.
"We'll just have to fix you in stages," she says. "Unless you're planning to start a swimming team here, which may upset the giant squid."
XIII
In the remaining weeks of third year, Professor McGonagall secretly allows Scorpius to attempt some more transformations on himself.
He asks her about the need to register, noting she has not mentioned it.
"The whole registration process is about making sure you're safe while you're learning. And I don't see that we need to bother with that when I'm teaching you," she confides.
"Doesn't the Ministry want to keep a tab on Animagi?"
She sniffs, and then remembers how young he is. "The Ministry has genuine concerns, but to be honest, the people it needs to be worried about aren't going to register anyway. So it ends up being another level of control over the lives of ordinary people. Those are the same controls that were so badly abused during the War.
"Which isn't to say that you should keep such things secret -- many is the young wizard or witch who's nearly come to a nasty end when they decided to transform into poultry."
Scorpius laughs at the idea of anyone willingly transforming themselves into a chicken. "Does everyone have just one form?" he asks.
"Transfiguring yourself into an animal is not an easy task," she reminds him. "The shape dictates how we see the world. Remembering to keep your mind human while your shape is not takes more energy and effort than you think. And you must be able to at least transfigure back without a wand. Remembering how to do that for more than one form takes too much energy and effort, better you remember to do it perfectly for the one."
Scorpius nods. "So how do you choose?" He has been thinking on the topic since she first raised it, and is no closer to a decision.
McGonagall leans back in her seat and waves her hand discursively. "Well, there are many factors," she begins. "I prefer a cat because they are intelligent and independent, and can move through a variety of situations with ease. But you might have a specific reason for wishing to become an Animagus. For example, if you want to be an Auror when you're an adult, something stealthy would be an advantage, such as a sparrow. Or perhaps you wish to experience the sensation of fast movement, in which case a racing animal, a hound or horse. Maybe there are certain animals that just appeal to you …"
Scorpius manages to stop his eyebrow from moving more than the slightest twitch, but it's too late. "And, Mr Malfoy, I warn you now that one goat joke will see an end to this class today."
He allows the smile that's threatening to tug his lips up ever so slightly. "Professor, the fact that I know George Weasley should not be held against me in this manner."
She lets out a bark of laughter at that. "Oh, there was a student with genius … if he and his brother had ever shown one iota of application to schoolwork …" her voice trails off in tones of fondness with a trace of sorrow, but she soon refocuses. "The one rule I have is that you will not practice this alone until I tell you that you may. Any breaking of that rule will see an end to our classes, forever. Am I understood?"
Scorpius nods. But he has a question, "What about Sirius and Mr Potter's father?"
She is smiling again, though she tries to hide it with a stern look. "They were students of unusual talent and ability, but they were also very foolish and only safe by virtue of their good luck. And you'll note that they both chose larger mammals for their forms, which are somewhat easier. When they taught the trick to Mr Pettigrew, he had the advantage of their study, and then there also are some say that the transformation is best achieved choosing an animal that shares some characteristics of the wizard or witch. Do you have any ideas of where you'd like to start?"
"I do like cats, too, although dogs are good, maybe something like a wolfhound. I like ferrets, the way they're all slinky …"
McGonagall shakes her head slightly, "I'm not sure your father would approve."
"What about a bird? I like owls, a Snowy Owl would be good!"
"You spend a lot of time with the Potters, don't you?"
"A week or two every hols."
She purses her lips. "Maybe not a Snowy Owl, then, but a raptor is a good idea. How do you feel about eagles, or hobbies, kites or falcons?"
His face lights up. "Do you really think I could do a falcon?"
"Oh yes," her eyes look over him calculatingly. "It's a good fit, they're lean and hungry, but smart enough to know when not to pounce. They are good evaluators, they see very clearly, and they are much, much less mad than you'd expect." She clears her throat. "Compared to other raptors, that is. I think a peregrine would fit well with your passion for speed on the Quidditch pitch, Mr Malfoy. Shall we work to that?"
His eyes are shining with glee as he nods.
On his third lesson, he makes the transformation perfectly. He has never felt such a perfect fit with magic as he does in this; without a spell or a wand, he simply shifts between the states. And she is right, the falcon's mind is so very clear and precise. So much so that it hears things that Scorpius has missed.
For three years she has been dropping hints: "I was wrong to send them all away, they were right to come back"; "You have your father's humility"; "If only I could change things"; "I was wrong about your father".
And so when she looks at him fondly after his first flawless change, puts her head to one side, and says, "I am glad I had the chance to meet you," he takes a risk.
"When my father was here, did you like him?"
She is startled by the question, but she answers him honestly. "No, Malfoy, I did not. He was not a pleasant boy in his first years here, but I was hasty to judge and I never looked for reasons. I did not know what was happening in his home, how terribly misguided his parents were. They only realised at the end, and I am ashamed to say that I had written them, and him, off long before then."
Scorpius sits beside her, and presses gently for more information. "He used to tell me that things in the War did not happen exactly as the history books say, now he tells me that I should let the official versions stand, because it's still too raw to look at any other way."
McGonagall looks at him with interest. "I never said your father wasn't a smart man. He's right on both counts, more's the pity. It's my fault, too. If I had spoken up at the time, the truth would have come out. But it was so very much easier to leave things black and white, to not have to accept that easy sides are impossible, even at a crisis."
When she does not appear to be going on, Scorpius prompts her again. "Mr Potter says my father was there at the end, and that he was brave."
He is not expecting her to gasp. "Harry said that?" a small smile follows. "Well, it's true. It took Draco enough time to find his courage, but once he did, he was unwavering. I did him a grave injustice on that issue."
Scorpius smiles encouragingly at her. "I don't think he minds," he says. "He told me that everything was worthwhile for what he has now."
"Then he is an even better man than I have given him credit for," she concludes.
Scorpius is shaken by the seriousness of her expression, and so transfigures once more, landing lightly on her wrist before soaring into the sky to dive and wheel and bring a smile to her face with his grace.
When the holidays arrive, Scorpius stays with the Potters for a full five weeks so that he can help in the work for Mr Potter's fortieth birthday. The guest list expands and contracts several times, with dignitaries inviting themselves and Mr Potter disinviting them in quick succession.
In the chaos, Scorpius and Al manage to tramp over half the local countryside in search of new markers for their mental maps of the area. Lily tags along some days, mostly to escape her mother's firm belief that she should learn some housework and her grandmother's commitment to keeping her neat.
Mr Potter makes time every day to fly with the children, and is impressed with Scorpius's speed and accuracy. " Don't ever tell your father I said this, but you're at least as good as I ever was," he confides one evening.
Scorpius glows with pride, and Al grins widely at him. James snorts with disgust. "At least I'm …"
"… Better looking!" they all conclude for him.
Mr Potter ruffles his hair affectionately. "You've as much natural talent, James, but I just can't see you practicing as many hours."
Scorpius looks down and mutters.
Al nudges him and says, "Tell them, no, show them!"
And McGonagall did give permission on the last day of term, so he changes then, and flies above them, climbing far into the air, then screaming into a dive that has the Potters breathless, Scorpius's kreeing call sends every small bird from the garden or deep into shrubs. He wheels about above the ground and lofts gently back onto Al's outstretched wrist, where he lands gently and chuckles, before hopping off and resuming his own shape.
James, Lily and Mr Potter are impressed. "And so it's no wonder you're outflying me these days," James seizes on the, to him, logical extension.
"Does your dad know?" Mr Potter asks.
Scorpius nods. "But he hasn't seen it yet. I only learned it at the end of term."
"Good work." His own children are now clamouring to learn the spells required, and both Mr Potter and Scorpius are laughing. "If you receive O's in transfiguration, you may ask Professor McGonagall yourself," he tells them. And, "if you are nearly killed and have to make your own gills, then yes, you may also have advanced classes," he adds.
The Potter children are undivided in their assertion their father is no fun.
When the Granger-Weasleys arrive, the Potter house is transformed into an all-out riot. Lily, Rose and Al fight over who sits next to Scorpius at dinner, until Mr Weasley declares that he and Mrs Granger-Weasley will, which leads to several evenings in which conversation is ambling along merrily until Mr Weasley turns to look at Scorpius and starts in horror each time.
"Different Malfoy," Scorpius deadpans, much to Mrs Granger-Weasley's amusement. By the third time she has joined the chorus, and by the fifth, Mr Weasley and the rest of the table are also delivering the punchline.
George Weasley arrives the day before the celebrations and brings a selection of new party favours, which he promises are delightful, enjoyable and completely lacking in ghastly side-effects. When Lily tries one, she is adopted by a spectral rabbit that spends all day hopping after her, nibbling gently at her toes. Its soft fur can just be felt. Mrs Potter laughingly accepts that open-toed shoes will be an acceptable risk at the event, and looks forward to seeing the promised cats and birds of paradise.
The day of the party is a constant whirl of wizarding society. Mr Potter has given up on restricting guests and, after the night before's family and friends celebration, is cheerfully accepting that he is a hostage to publicity. Even the Daily Prophet's reporter is allowed in for twenty-five minutes. Which becomes eighteen minutes when she begins to complain that Luna Lovegood has unrestricted access.
Professor Longbottom is there, too, and takes time out to sit with the children for a while. "It's too mad over with Harry," he admits to them. He is astonished to learn that Scorpius hates Potions, which has the others clamouring to provide the most outrageous stories of the lengths that Scorp will go to to avoid doing his Potions homework.
"He had Mari chained to it for months, then he managed to convince Al to do it in return for covering Al's Charms papers," Rose dobs him in cheerfully.
"But you're so good in Herbology!" Professor Longbottom pretends that he has never heard of such misbehaviour, a performance that would be more convincing had they not heard his hilarious tales of skiving the night before.
"Everyone's good at Herbology," Lily tells him. "Because you make it interesting and fun!"
Professor Longbottom ignores the compliment, but they can tell that he is pleased.
The speeches go on for over an hour. But the presents are good, and Mr Potter is genuinely happy to announce two new scholarships as part of the Potter Foundation, one devoted to postgraduate studies in cryptozoology, and named for Miss Lovegood.
Al has filled Scorpius in on the long childhood hunts for various members of the Snorkack family, so he is not surprised by Miss Lovegood's speech. He is surprised that Mr Potter wanders some little distance away from the party during it. When he looks up and sees Scorpius watching him, he waves him over.
"Escaping?" Scorpius asks.
"For a few minutes," he confesses. "Thanks for all your help this month, I think the kids would have killed each other if you hadn't been around."
"I think Mrs Weasley might have killed them first," Scorpius whispers, nodding at Al's scary grandmother.
Mr Potter laughs quietly. "I know Al calls her Deathgran," he shares.
Scorpius grins. "It's pretty cool," he says quietly.
They sit in companionable silence for a while, listening as Miss Lovegood details the huge expanses of Norwegian glacier as yet uninvestigated.
"Tell your dad happy birthday for last month," Mr Potter says quietly.
"Why don't you tell him when he picks me up tonight?"
Mr Potter looks at his shoes. "We're not very good at remembering the social niceties."
Scorpius makes his choice. "I know that he was horrible to you at school, but I also know that changed at some point. Everyone tells me that he just grew up to be different. He tells me that you trusted him once. You told me that he was with you at the Battle of Hogwarts, yet the history books say that he was a prisoner. No one tells me what really happened. Can you?"
Mr Potter shakes his head slightly. "I can't. I should have, I should have told everyone at the time, but I was angry over stupid things and I let everyone believe what they wanted to. And so I let old prejudices live and killed a new friendship. When your grandfather tried to set the record straight, I made no comment. I regret very little more than that."
Scorpius is trying to understand. "Is it too late to change?"
"I think so, yes." Mr Potter is silent for a while, then adds, "But I am very happy that you and Al are friends. All my children love you, and that's something that I never thought possible. So we'll see."
He ruffles Scorpius's hair, then wanders back to the party. Al reclaims his friend and demands assistance demolishing some of the hippogriff-shaped chocolate cake. By the time Scorpius's father arrives to claim him that evening, he is nearly asleep, stuffed with cake and worn-out with partying. There is just enough energy to wander down to the gate with Al, James and Mr Potter.
"Have you packed everything?" Mr Potter is asking Al.
"Yup, and I can borrow anything I forgot."
"Mr Malfoy."
"Mr Potter."
Scorpius's father reaches out and hugs him. "Did you have a good time?" he asks.
"Great! You should have seen the cake! I saved some for you and Mum."
Scorpius's father smiles broadly. "So long as the cake was good, then." He looks up at Mr Potter. "Forty, eh? Good grief."
Mr Potter grins. "At least we both still have our hair."
Al hugs his father goodbye, then walks through the gate to the Malfoys. "See you Monday," he tells his brother.
"What time does the party start?" James checks.
"One," Scorpius tells him. "And make sure Lily knows that I really don't want Puddlemere United pyjamas for my birthday."
"She knows, she's hoping you'll give them back to her."
"Oh, well in that case, sure."
Scorpius's father takes hold of his son's and Al's hands, and makes sure they have a tight grip on their bags before he Apparates. "Thank you for taking good care of him, Helene will meet you in Diagon Alley on Monday to pick up the others."
"Draco," Mr Potter's voice is slightly hesitant. "Happy birthday for last month."
"Happy birthday, Harry," Scorpius's father says evenly. And the slight tremor in his hand is easily explained by the side-along Apparition.
XIV
Scorpius is fourteen when the first revisionist history of the war is released. Irving Low's poorly written but hotly selling tome constructs Scorpius's grandfather as a hero of the wizarding cause who has been unfairly tarred by his association with Voldemort.
Lucius Malfoy, Low insists in his account, was nothing less than a pure-blooded hero who was prepared to make any sacrifice to protect the wizarding world from the intrusive brutality of Muggles.
Citing "reliable sources", Low repeats the hoary old tale of forty-thousand British witches and wizards killed by Muggles in the Burning Times and constructs an elegant, if absurd, scenario where most of the Death Eaters were in fact motivated by rising dangerous Fundamentalism in the Muggle population.
The first that Scorpius hears about this is when Lester Biggs drags him over to the Slytherin table at the end of breakfast. His seventh-year mates are all sitting at the one end, with a seat reserved for Scorpius.
"Is it true?" they ask him.
After a few minutes they accept that he has no idea what they are talking about, and so a brief explanation is offered. Scorpius is at first horrified, then astonished, and finally unable to speak due to howls of laughter.
"Well, he's your grandfather," Lester says, trying to calm him down. "We figured you'd know."
"The idea of my grandfather knowing anything about Muggles, oh you have no idea ..." Scorpius starts laughing again. "If he was alive, this would kill him."
"I told you it was bollocks," Lester tells the other Slytherins.
"But he did want to keep the wizarding world hidden, yeah?" a seventh-year who Scorpius does not know asks.
"Well, sort of. He wanted to keep us secret because he thought that Muggles were pathetic … little more than animals. It was all about his own ego, really. The minute Voldemort showed his true colours, he wanted out of there."
"But I heard that he said we weren't safe from the Muggles and that they weren't safe from us, and that until we could work out ways not to harm each other, we'd be better off apart," the boy continues.
Scorpius shakes his head. "No, that was my Dad. He said that after the War. It wasn't very popular, but he was right. And that's what we've done. Besides," he turns back to Lester. "Those numbers are crap. Wendelin the Weird isn't entirely a fairy story for kids, you know. Proper analyses of witch trials in the UK put the upper number of the dead at one thousand, and of that it's only ever been established that three were genuine witches, two of whom were suicides, and there were no real wizards at all. It's Muggles killing Muggles again. They do that all the time. But we do it, too. Voldemort killed more than a thousand Muggles in the last War alone. And he killed more than a thousand of us. If we were serious about safety, we'd be isolating ourselves from everyone and everything."
"But that won't happen," Lester is quick on the uptake for all that he looks as though he was hewn rather than grown. "When we kill each other, it's Dark Wizards, or an unfortunate accident. It's never the fact that we're rubbish at promoting social harmony."
Scorpius realises that he has always quite liked Lester.
"That's all very well, but how can we harmonise with a society that would be appalled at the very idea of us?" Scorpius thinks the girl speaking is named Veronica.
Lester shrugs. "I don't even know how we work with each other when we've still got pureblood prejudices running rife among us. For all that it's not fashionable, you know your parents would be thrilled if you took me or Malfoy home, and horrified if it was Charles Derwent, wouldn't they Vivianne?"
That's her name, Scorpius thinks. Vivianne shrugs. "Perhaps. Alas, Malfoy's a wee babe, so I'll never be able to put it to the test."
Scorpius joins in the general laughter. He's impressed, though. This is good critical thinking.
"I've got a copy if you want to borrow it," Lester offers. "A Reassessment of the War, which is more accurately titled: Voldemort's dead, so let's blame it all on that fucker and get back to hating everyone."
"Nah," Scorpius laughs. "No, I've heard enough about the evils of Voldemort at home to last me the rest of my life."
He trots off to grab his books before class, promising to put in some practice down at the pitch with Lester on Thursday. He doesn't notice the younger set of Slytherins who have followed the conversation with interest.
Over the next two days, people are talking about Reassessment. Low has captured the imaginations of some, and sparked the outrage of others. Scorpius refuses to touch the book, but Rose thinks it is only wise to know what's in it. She is halfway through one evening when she drops it to the floor and runs over to Scorpius on the other side of the common room.
"He talks about Uncle Harry!" she says, and that is all she needs to say. They run from Ravenclaw Tower together, and are soon at the portrait of the Fat Lady. Rose begins to knock, but Al keeps Scorpius up to date with the password for emergencies, and they bowl into the Gryffindor common room to find it in uproar.
James is ranting at the masses. "How dare he? Lucius Malfoy was an arse and to say that he was more honest than my father …" The crowd has parted enough for him to spot Scorpius's pale blond hair.
"It's OK," Scorpius tells him. "He was an arse."
James grins bashfully at him. "Sorry, mate. It's just …"
"Yeah, I know. Rose just got to that part, and we thought we ought to get over here and confiscate all your copies. Too late."
James is astonished. "I can't believe I beat Rose through a book."
"I only got my copy this afternoon!" She is affronted.
Scorpius can hear Al's laughter above the rest of the Gryffindors and quickly spots him towards the back of the common room, with Hugo and Lily. He turns back to James. "Just, don't do anything stupid, OK? It's an idiotic book written by someone who has no clue about anything, and anyone who believes it will be slowly and carefully argued out of their position by me or Rose. You banging their head against a wall will not help."
"I do not bang heads against walls!"
"No, you bang them against other heads, and that won't help either."
James is forced to admit that this is true, even if it's only happened the twice.
"So you're cool?"
"I am cool," James replies.
"Lily?" Rose knows better than to trust the redheaded Potter to stay calm, but for once she has been misjudged.
"Anyone who believes that tripe isn't worth my effort," she declares, glaring pointedly at her older brother.
"I don't believe it," he protests. "That's the whole point!"
"Yes, but you've been going on about it for twenty minutes and we were going to play Exploding Snap."
"Oh go snog somebody. No! That was a joke!" James leaves off talking to Scorpius and Rose as Lily leaps with glee from her chair and into the nearby lap of Piers Duke.
Scorpius and Rose wave goodbye to Al and Hugo, as Lily's loud arguments follow them to the hallway. "But I'm thirteen! His dad's a rock star! You were snogging everyone when you were thirteen!"
For two weeks they are so convinced that they have calmed the situation that they miss clues; the most obvious being Lester Biggs handing out detentions to four of the Slytherin third-year boys. Al tells him later that the boys in question had made Death Eater robes and worn them around the common room. Scorpius thinks it was meant as a joke, but Al is worried.
Al is right. That night as they leave a late dinner, James is accosted by two of the Slytherin third years. "Blood traitor!" they accuse him.
"Oh shut up you try-hard Voldeweenies," he laughs at them. He thinks he is letting them off.
Then there is a wand. Scorpius dives forward, reaching for his own. He hears Al and Lester both screaming his name. He hears something else, too, but isn't sure what it is, just a string of vowels and hard consonants. There is green light, and there is nothing.
A snap of consciousness. Someone is holding him and sobbing. Someone is nearby, snivelling. "I didn't mean it!" they are whimpering. They sound as though they are being shaken.
He is in a bed. Everything is so sore, so distant. His eyelids hurt to move, so he opens them just a slit. He can see his father, and Al is curled up asleep in his father's lap. He wants to smile at them, but it's too hard. His mother moves into view, her eyes are red from crying. She looks at him intently, then turns away. "I can't …" she sobs.
It must be another day, because Al is wearing different clothes, and Mr Potter is there with him now. His father is crying on Mr Potter's shoulder, while Al pats his pale hair. Scorpius wants to tell them it's all right, and he will, just after he sleeps a little longer.
Lester is there, now, and Al is dozing against him. "See, his eyes flickered again. Wake up, Al, see?" Lester leaves off trying to raise Albus and looks at Scorpius intently. "Come on, mate, time to wake up now. Enough slacking off."
Al is there alone, he is holding his hand. "Just get well. Just get well," he says, over and over again. Scorpius wishes he had the strength to squeeze back.
His father is wiping his face with a cool, damp cloth. He can smell herbs in the water, and thinks Professor Longbottom must have sent them; they have that fresh vibrancy that all his plants seem to possess. Some of the water runs down onto his neck. "Cold," he whispers, in a croaking voice.
His father gasps, and pulls him close against his chest and holds him as though he is a lifeline. He can feel his father shaking, and instead of words, there are sobs. In the background, he can hear Mr Potter calling for Madame Bones.
"Scoop," the nickname is whispered, but he hears it.
Madame Bones is there and his father is pushed away - Mr Potter takes hold of him and lets him cry against his shoulder again - and he is lowered back onto his pillow, his pulse taken, his eyes checked. When asked how he is feeling, he answers, "Thirsty," and is allowed a small sip of cool water. It is the best thing he has ever tasted.
He answers enough questions to assure Madame Bones that he is on the road to recovery. She pushes his hair back from his forehead and if her eyes are glistening, he's sure it's just a trick of the lamplight. "Good," she says. "You gave us all quite a fright. And I was worried that young Albus was going to starve to death if you didn't wake up soon."
At his name, Al steps forward, tentatively. "It's all right," Madame Bones assures him. "The danger is past, you can sit and chat for a little, then I want to see you sleep in a proper bed tonight."
Al takes Scorpius's hand gently. His lips are pressed together tightly.
"Sorry," Scorpius apologises.
"If you ever do anything that stupid again, I'll kill you," Al promises.
"Should have tackled the kid," Scorpius considers.
"And if you'd paid more attention to the minutiae of Muggle Studies, you'd have known about Rugby," Al starts to smile.
"Head in the clouds," Scorpius croaks.
"And full of air," Al concurs. He passes him a glass of water, and holds him up tenderly while he drinks it.
Scorpius's father is back. He smiles at Al, kisses Scorpius's forehead. "We were worried," he says. "Al wouldn't leave for anything but a shower and the lav. We couldn't even convince him to come for meals downstairs."
"I thought you might wake up while I was having dinner, and you'd fail to notice the extent of my devoted friendship," Al deadpans.
"Who are you, anyway?" Scorpius responds in kind. Then, serious, turns to his father. "Where's Mum?"
"She's coming, I just sent her a message. Harry's gone to meet her."
"You were here every day. I only saw her once."
His father's eyes ghost behind a film of water, which he blinks quickly away. "It was hard for her. You were so still. It was very hard …"
"I knew you could see us," Al is saying. "Lester thought so, too. You kept opening your eyes a little bit. He wanted to bring photos of the bruising he gave Terrance Byford before Goshawk expelled him, but I wasn't sure you'd want to see them."
"Expelled?" Scorpius is shocked. "It was an accident."
Al is quiet, and it's up to his father to speak. "He used an Unforgiveable on you, son. We're just lucky he was only a stupid, vicious little boy. Very, very lucky."
There are quick footsteps coming. "Over here, Mrs Malfoy," says Albus's dad.
And there is his Mum, and she is holding him and kissing him and crying and begging that he forgive her. "It's all right, I'm all right," he says many times.
"Thank you, Mr Potter," he hears in the distance. And he can't quite work out why that sentence sounds wrong.
"You are welcome, Mr Malfoy."
He reaches out to touch the wall at the head of his bed. He hears the sigh of happiness through all of his bones.
The next morning he's well enough for guests. Lily and Hugo come armed with sweets and are filled with gossip from the fortnight he has missed. Rose kisses him squarely on the mouth and tells him that she, too, will kill him if he ever does anything so stupid again. James hugs him and bursts into tears. Lester tells him that the fourth-year Slytherins have all made duplicate copies of their notes for the work he's missed, plus plan to take him out to dinner in Hogsmeade to make up for the idiocy of their housemates. He adds that the remaining three said idiots have been re-educated and would like to apologise in person.
Albus gets out of his proper bed, which is the next one along in the infirmary, and joins the impromptu party. After a while, Madam Bones joins in, too.
XV
In the aftermath of the attack, Irving Low's tome is banned from Hogwarts. When Scorpius is found reading it a month later in the library, his father is summoned to the Headmistress's office.
Scorpius does his best to look embarrassed when his father arrives. He is ignored for a moment, as his father shakes the Headmistress's hand.
"Professor Goshawk," he greets her. "I have been informed of the reason for my summons …"
She is apologetic, "If ever I was to make an exception, I would make one for Scorpius. But I have banned even my teachers from possessing copies of this book. While I understand his curiosity after he suffered so, I cannot countenance disobedience of a direct order. Yet I do not feel it is fitting to punish the boy, either. Would you have a word with him? I think that would be for the best."
Scorpius's father picks up the book in question. He flicks through the first pages, stopping briefly to examine the binding. He puts it back on the Headmistress's desk and regards Scorpius calmly. "When I said that things did not happen the way the history books have it, this --" he taps the cover dismissively -- "is not what I meant."
"I know that," Scorpius keeps his voice cool, though he is nervous. "It's rubbish, that's obvious, but how are we meant to argue against lies if we don't know what they are?"
The Headmistress draws a deep breath. "I agree with you from an intellectual standpoint, Scorpius, but," she raises a finger, "not every student is you. For all that you are able to spot the lies in this text, others are not so discerning."
"Oh, there are truths, too," Scorpius tells her, quietly. He goes on, before she has a chance to marshal a reply, "Not about Voldemort and his Death Eaters, at least, not in any important ways. My grandfather may have regretted his allegiance, but that was only because his association with the Dark Lord threatened his family. He was quite happy to risk other families up to that point.
"No, where it tells the truth is in saying that we're lied to about who fought back. Because when you read the official accounts and you stack them up one against the other, something strange emerges. They're all taken from just five eyewitness accounts. One of them is reliable; Neville Longbottom tells his story just as it occurred, everyone else agrees with him, and the other people I've spoken with who were there on the day say it is as they remember it, too. But Professor Longbottom was in the thick of the fighting and his view is limited.
"One of them was a child, Ginny Weasley, and her account is faithful and accurate so far as it concerns her family and Mr Potter, but it omits several events and people that I am reliably told she witnessed. One other witness was an egoist, and Professor Horace Slughorn's account was mainly directed at making himself appear heroic. Which is not to say that he did not play a key role, just that he ignores any others. Arthur Weasley's account is very accurate, but again, limited and hopelessly distracted by the death of his son. And the final witness, Professor McGonagall, lied."
"Mr Malfoy!" The headmistress is outraged, and even his father is looking at Scorpius with a frown.
He goes on. "She told me. She will tell you, too, if you ask her. She's not proud of it, but she was so angry at the time, and it seemed such a minor lie. It's what she intended to happen, so why not just pretend that it did? And later, everything moved so quickly into established fact. There was no time for corrections. But the story that she told me is the same story that Mr Potter told me, and I think," he looks at his father, "I think it is the same story my father would tell me if he ever spoke about that night."
His father shakes his head. "The Official History is so comforting, so simple. After a war, people crave simple. A simple truth, and simple lives. Let it go, Scorpius. I crave simplicity, too."
The headmistress is looking between them, and she is a smart woman and she has heard the stories. Her conscience is not easy. "Surely truth matters, too," she says.
"People have the truth they want," Scorpius's father answers. "We have spent over twenty years building on that truth. The few of us who were harmed by it will not see all that work swept aside for the sake of our egos."
"I'm sorry," Scorpius beats the headmistress to the phrase. "I didn't realise."
His father kisses his brow swiftly. "Not your fault, I never told you. And you assure me you're not psychic."
As they grin at each other, Professor Goshawk realises exactly where Scorpius comes from. She is impressed. She has heard tales of Mr Malfoy as a student, and can only imagine his work to become this man.
"You have a remarkable boy," she tells the senior Malfoy. "And you have a remarkable father," she adds to the younger. "I am keeping the book, though. If you wish to read it, you may do so in my office. I may read a chapter or two myself if you have any recommendations. Now please escort your father out, Scorpius. I suggest you take a tour of the grounds, it is a beautiful day and you may have the afternoon off class."
"I like your headmistress," Scorpius's father tells him as they exit her office. "Strict but fair, and with kinky boots."
"You've had enough sun already, from the sounds of it," Scorpius sighs dramatically.
His father laughs, then plays his hunch. "I'd like the piece of parchment in your pocket, please."
Scorpius looks at him for a long moment, then passes it over. "I'm trusting you," he says.
It is cheap parchment, the sort used by low-cost printers. It is torn down one side and blank, save for an inscription on the top right-hand corner: Rose Granger-Weasley, Ravenclaw. Mr Malfoy raises one eyebrow at his son.
"She wasn't foolish enough to get caught with it. I owe her three galleons," he says.
His father takes a handful of gold from his pocket and passes it to him. "Treat her to a meal in Hogsmeade with my compliments," he replies.
When Scorpius returns to the common room before dinner, everyone quiets down at his appearance. Rose nervously asks if he is all right. He assures her that he is.
"We were worried, you weren't in class."
"The Headmistress said I could spend some time with my father."
He can't place the muttered reply from one of his housemates, but he hears the words clearly enough: "The Death Eater."
"We were planning a charitable institution to train Squib children, and the mentally fragile," he continues in a louder voice. "And possibly a rescue home for kittens."
"Really?" Maisie Carrington looks up, "I love kittens!"
"Yes," Scorpius snaps, walking towards his dormitory. "As do I. Although the tiny little bones can prove tricky."
part three