Everything [Scorpius/Lysander - PG-13] - Part 2
Author: Anonymous
Title: Everything
Prompt: #17 Submitted by alley_skywalker
Pairing: Scorpius/Lysander, Scorpius/FemaleOC, Astoria/FemaleOC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mild sexual situations, violence with pointy swords,
lots and lots of swearing, character death. May also contain traces of
humour.
Word Count: 14,353
Summary: As Oscar Wilde would say, “The exploits of purebloods
are rarely pure and always bloody.” Scorpius finds a wife, Lorcan
challenges him to a duel of honor, Lily buys everyone drinks (let’s
hope they’re not poisoned), and Lysander looks on in confusion.
Notes: A thousand thanks to the fest mods for making this all
possible, and to my glorious betas, H and K, as well as the D key on
my laptop, may it rest in peace.
“What is this about, Lysander, really?” Lily crossed her arms, leaning in across the table. “You never drink.”
“I drink,” he protested, taking a gulp of firewhiskey.
“You drink gay pink fruity drinks at parties, and only occasionally,” Lily corrected. “Not like this.”
“What, so you keep tabs on my drinking habits?”
“No, but your drinking habits tonight are on my tab, and really, this is extortionate,” she smirked, before growing serious. “I’m an auror, Lysander, and I’ve known you for ages. In other words, I can’t be fooled, so spit out whatever’s got you all mopey, and have done with it.”
“I’m not mopey,” he protested, staring irritably into his firewhiskey.
“Yes, you bloody well are.”
“Fine, Lils. Merlin, you don’t have to go all interrogation-mode on me,” he snapped. “I’m just - Scorpius is getting married.”
“… Oh.”
“And it’s not about him, it isn’t. I’m over him. It’s just … he’s getting married, and I’ve only ever dated two people in my life.”
“Two?” Lily asked, surprised. “Who else?”
“You, idiot. When we were twelve.”
“I thought we agreed never to speak of that time.”
“Fine, then. I’ve only ever dated one person in my life - him, the complete bastard.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Lily smiled. “Glad to hear you finally admit it.”
“You’re not helping.”
She sighed. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to be upset that you’re not a dirty little slut like Malfoy.”
“I’m not - it’s just, it would be fine, right, if we were still … together, or if it had been someone else I had dated. I don’t need to sleep around, I don’t want - I just - fuck. Lily?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I still love him.”
“Fuck,” she replied sympathetically, pouring him more firewhiskey.
***
Scorpius woke suddenly, breathing heavily. His eyes stung, and tears had run down his face into his ears where he lay. The pillow was damp, and he flipped it over, shaking.
He had dreamed of the moment that he had ended things with Lysander, exactly as it had been, as if he was there again, back in time. Having to tell Lysander, “I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
He still felt as if all his internal organs were freezing, starting with his heart, when he thought of it. He didn’t even want to imagine how Lysander must have felt.
Scorpius knew he was a bastard. But he wasn’t a selfish bastard, at least. Merlin knew, if he was selfish, he would have stayed with Lysander, but he had greater responsibilities.
This was no use; sitting up, he fumbled for his wand. “Lumos.” Stumbling into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, Scorpius passed the book on its shelf. There it sat, perfectly incongruous - just like any other herbology text, save the inscription.
He couldn’t help himself, not after the dream. Reaching out, Scorpius allowed his fingers a quick brush along the spine - and before he knew it, he was grabbing it off the shelf, clutching it to his chest, not even bothering to bite his lip, because there was no hope of stopping these tears.
Forget the tea. He stumbled back to bed, clutching the book as if his life depended upon it, and fell asleep with it pressed against his chest.
***
Heir to Wasps’ Legacy Becomes New Malfoy Trophy Wife
Special Correspondent Terry Boot, June 24th, 2028
It is with great interest that the wizarding world has watched the unfolding romance between Scorpius Malfoy (21), heir to a massive estate and recent addition to the ministry’s Unspeakables, and Mary Morstan (26), daughter of the ludicrously wealthy Wasps’ manager, also an Unspeakable.
The interest comes not only from the couples’ famous parents, but from Scorpius’ self-earned fame. In February he became the youngest wizard to become an Unspeakable in nearly one hundred and fifty years, and he has earned himself an extensive list of other distinctions in the potions and alchemical fields since leaving Hogwarts.
In contrast, little is known of Miss Morstan. Her parents sent her to Beuxbatons rather than Hogwarts, and she has succeeded at largely living outside of the notice of the press, although many at the Prophet appear to be personally acquainted with her. This gossip smells foul play.
Several of Scorpius’ old school chums, all of whom wished to remain anonymous, have expressed astonishment at the mere fact that Scorpius is marrying a woman. During his school years, and since, many have believed that his preferences are not for the fairer sex.
Nevertheless, the new Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy appear to be happy together. The couple made their first public appearance as man and wife on Friday, at the ministry’s Midsummer gala. Scorpius seemed fatigued, but as happy as any man would be with such a catch as Morstan.
“We’re very happy for them,” Draco Malfoy said of the match. “Mary is a lovely girl.”
Astoria Malfoy declined to comment.
***
When Mary Morstan removed her clothing, it was less like she was stripping each article off, and more that they were floating off of their own accord, because no garment could wish to obscure that perfect, pale body for long.
Scorpius lounged against silk-cased pillows, decidedly not aroused.
She stalked towards him with movements reminiscent of a cat, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to reveal breasts that could only be described as perfect, shapely and perky and smooth.
Scorpius could smell some sort of tasteful perfume wafting off of her, vanilla and white musk. It reminded him of Lysander’s cologne, and only then did his traitorous body respond. Mary smirked, leaning closer.
“I can’t do this, Mary,” he said suddenly, sitting up. “Not tonight.”
“Why not, dearest?” she said, looking concerned. “Is it something I’m doing wrong.”
“Of course not, darling,” he bent, kissing her soundly. “It’s just … stress, you know,” he assured himself, smiling weakly.
“I understand, of course,” she smiled, clasping his thin hand. “We can wait as long as you like.”
This suits me well enough, she thought, slipping under the covers. The longer he has to keep me around, the better.
***
On Saturday, Scorpius found himself returning to London with Mary for the fencing class. He could have said no to her, could have said that he didn’t have time for the class now that they were married. At first, he had of course only been attending the lessons due to some remaining attraction towards the instructor’s brother, but that was all completely gone now, and over the months he had come to really enjoy the class.
It was a brilliant form of stress relief, just as Mary had first promised - of agression, as well, and Scorpius now found himself with more agression than he had ever thought himself capable of. Every little thing made him want to slit someone’s throat.
He was pretty sure it had to do with work. The idea of a single component was still gnawing at the corners of his mind, but any evidence seemed to be eluding him, meanwhile, Mary was still keeping at him to give it up.
And, earlier that week, his mother had called him into the dining room to Discuss Things.
***
“You must leave your job at the Department, Scorpius.”
“I - what?” Scorpius sat down heavily. “Mother, you know how important my work is to me.”
“Of course it is, dear, but you knew it could never last,” she said sensibly.
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
“It is healthy to indulge childhood fantasies for a time, Scorpius, but now your work is to manage the Malfoy finances. A Malfoy is never meant to have a career,” she said the last word as if it was a bit of excrement on the bottom of her glass slippers.
“Mother, it can’t possibly be anywhere near time for me to take over our holdings,” Scorpius protested. “Father is in perfect health, he’s entirely capable of handling things.”
“Yes, darling, but we must think of the future,” Astoria pointed out. “You need to gain a good understanding of what you will be doing when your father steps down. And now that you are living at the Manor, you must be doing something to maintain it.”
“I can’t agree to that, Mother,” Scorpius said. “The work that I’m doing at the Department is simply too important, too pressing, to leave at this time.”
“… Of course,” she agreed, looking down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “It is, naturally, your decision. But Scorpius -”
“Will that be all, Mother?” he said sharply.
“… Yes. Yes, thank you, Scorpius.”
He rose wordlessly, slamming the door behind him.
***
He had never wanted to hit something as much as he had then. And now he could stab something -- albeit with a blunted foil. To be honest, Scorpius had never been sure why Lorcan even bothered with the blunting charm. The man certainly seemed to love tearing people apart.
And, true to form, Lorcan stopped him after that afternoon’s session. “So you married her, Malfoy.”
“Did I? News to me.” Scorpius turned to hang up his foil, back to Lorcan. “I did, as it happens, but I don’t believe that concerns you.”
“Of course it does. My brother’s heart will always be my concern.”
Scorpius whirled around, foil in hand. The charm had been removed for the week, and for the first time, he really realized what a weapon such as this was capable of. Before he knew what he was doing, the tip was quivering at Lorcan’s throat. “I am so bloody sick of this, Scamander.”
Lorcan smirked and raised one elegant hand, flicking the blade away as though it was a mildly irritating insect. A few drops of blood fell on his perfect cravat. “Of what? Of someone finally refusing to play your game?”
Scorpius threw the foil aside, breathing heavily. It clattered on the floor. “I don’t have a game, Lorcan.”
“Don’t you?” The smirk grew, becoming almost predatory, but Lorcan’s posture against the wall was utterly, elegantly casual. “You carefully choose who is deserving of your attention, and devote everything to them, even if it means stepping on the people who really care about you - Merlin knows why.”
“You were a Hufflepuff. I would’ve thought you’d understand the concept of loyalty.”
The tension was thicker than it had ever been between the two of them, over so many years of tentatively respecting each other. The air felt like a taught string, each of them pulling on their end so hard that their knuckles glowed white, fibres so close to tearing that the strain was almost audible. Scorpius felt as if he could reach out and snap the middle, hear the note resounding through the stiflingly sunlit room.
Then Lorcan did something entirely unexpected. Scorpius was braced for anything from a biting comment to a punch in the face, but instead, Lorcan threw back his head and laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh by any means. It was harsh and mocking and a little insane, but it was clearly sincere - sincerely mocking, harsh, and insane, perhaps, but a part of Scorpius suddenly felt as if he might deserve it.
“Of course a Ravenclaw would have a misguided concept of loyalty,” Lorcan smirked, brushing tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes.
Scorpius crossed his arms. “Enlighten me, then.”
“Oh, gladly,” Lorcan said, composing himself. “You think that loyalty to your parents is the most important thing, that they are the most important people -”
“Of course they -”
Lorcan held up a hand. “No interruptions. Scorpius, they’re not. The most important people are those who give you everything, and expect nothing in return. What have your parents ever given you but more expectations? They want you to be the perfect Malfoy son. Lysander wants you to be truly happy.”
“Excellent psychoanalysis, Scamander. But there are a couple of major flaws.”
“Oh, do tell, Malfoy. I’d love to hear how you plan to avoid the truth this time.”
It was becoming a struggle not to throw something at the man. “Well, first, what if I’m happy with Mary?”
“You’re not. It’s excruciatingly obvious.”
“Merlin, Scamander, could you get any more egotistical? You can’t bloody know that. And second, Lysander doesn’t want me back, wouldn’t take me back even if I offered.”
“You can’t know that. Stop misleading yourself, Malfoy. You’ve gone too long believing that everything will be fine as long as you do what Daddy tells you.”
“You’re the one misleading yourself, Lorcan,” Scorpius turned away, heading for the door. “The rest of us have wised up to the simple truth that magic may be real, but miracles will never happen. Our fates are decided for us, and if the endings aren’t happy enough, that’s life. Lysander wants nothing to do with me, and rightly so.”
“You can’t really believe that!” Lorcan shouted after him, and Scorpius halted, not because of his words, but because the tone was more sincere than anything Scorpius had ever heard come out of that pretentious mouth. “What you said, about happy endings. No one would believe that, and still go on living.”
“We can’t all be flighty romanticists. Merlin, what do you even do with your time? Read Muggle romance novels and swoon against billows of marshmallow-stuffed pillows?”
“No - well, yes, a bit, but that’s what Lysander’s been doing as well,” Lorcan insisted. “He denies it, of course, he always does. But … Merlin love him, the boy is bloody brilliant at concealing his emotions. Trust me, I know him well enough to be able to see through it - Lily’s noticed it as well, and if that doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what -”
Scorpius whirled around to face him again, struggling to keep his shoulders from shaking. “I left him, Lorcan. I left him three years ago, and I have a wife now. What will it take to make you understand that it would be impossible?”
“Scorpius, if you could only see him when his guard is down --” Lorcan’s tone was almost pleading.
“Merlin!” Scorpius shouted, feeling himself losing control. “Why are you doing this, Lorcan? I wasn’t good for him. You’ve said so yourself. Why are you suddenly trying to play matchmaker?”
“Because - no, don’t run off now, you have to at least hear me out -”
“I can’t listen to this anymore, Lorcan. It’s final. ” Scorpius pulled away from the hand on his shoulder, and didn’t stop running until he was three blocks away.
Rain was falling, fast and heavy, pooling in the gutters, running off the eaves, and turning London a dingey, almost comforting shade of grey. There was no hope of apparating in this sort of emotional state, so Scorpius tucked himself under the eaves of a cozy little café, breathing heavily.
The manner in which he had broken things off with Lysander had, frankly, been indescribable without such words as ‘cold’ and ‘cruel.’ Scorpius had known that if any sign remained that he still loved him, Lysander would have held onto that hope, tried to change Scorpius’ mind. He would never have moved on, and that would be the one thing for which Scorpius could not forgive himself.
No, it was much better this way. To cut all ties, and to keep them cut. But … had Lysander ever moved on? From all reports Scorpius had heard, and what he had seen himself on that single misguided social call, Lysander had spent the last three years a social recluse, curled up in his lonely tower, only a typewriter for a friend.
But he had seemed healthy and happy enough. Still, who was Scorpius to judge? If Lorcan could be believed - and Scorpius thought that perhaps, for once, he could - Lysander was better at putting on a fake smile than Scorpius had ever known.
Fuck. The rain had soothed Scorpius’ headache a bit, and he felt at a loss for where to go. Back to the manor was out - his parents, not to mention Mary, were the last people he wanted to see right now. Perhaps he could go to the Ministry - burying himself in work sounded perfect.
He was about to disapparate, when an all too familiar voice drifted over through the rain.
“Perfect. You won’t regret this, trust me. I’ll see that when this is all over, your family is returned to fine standing …”
Mary? Scorpius edged towards the noise. How could she be here, now? He had thought she had apparated home after fencing - but there she was, in the dingy alley, speaking to someone out of sight.
She turned, then, walking at a suspiciously fast pace as she shoved something into her purse, and nearly collided with Scorpius. He fell into step beside her. “I thought you were home.”
“Oh, I ran into an old friend,” she smiled, taking his arm.
Scorpius was too dazed to ask why she had been three blocks away in the first place.
***
Lysander had never been particularly good with people. He was friendly, to be sure, but in a dreamy manner. Things like hopeless crushes and quarrels over tiny misunderstandings generally made little sense to him, as they didn’t even exist in the world of words within his head. They were too mundane, too petty, to be so upsetting. On paper, people only ever quarrelled because the world was ending. On paper, true love was real, and the hero always got the girl.
That perspective was probably what had first attracted him to Scorpius, the one person who seemed to fit the world inside Lysander’s head. Scorpius was the downtrodden prince from the family that had fallen from great power, burdened by the expectations of his outcast mother and father, but longing for nothing more than true love and a new cauldron, because really, cauldron bottoms these days …
And better yet, he was gay. And he liked Lysander.
Their love had been absurdly pure and tender, the sort of thing you would find penned in glittery gelpen in a pre-pubescent girl’s most private spiral-bound notebook. They had passed enchanted origami notes in class, curled up together in a corner of the library to share private kisses over their arithmancy notes, signed dedications in herbology books Always.
It had lasted nearly a year. Then Scorpius discovered the real world, and left Lysander behind in the dream. There he had drifted for nearly another year, before moving on to writing realistic stories about ordinary men who dreamt their own dreams. Sometimes those dreams came true, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes magic happened, more often it didn’t. That was life.
He had built up emotional walls. Not ugly, menacing walls, but beautiful ones, walls of ornately carved ivory inlaid with thousands of miniscule, glittering diamonds. Beautiful, but no less impenetrable. The sparkle only helped to distract from what was beyond it.
And then one little realization, that he still loved Scorpius, had sent it all crashing down. It was incredibly irritating, to see all that hard work go to waste.
Now he was curled up on the tower’s highest window-seat with his typewriter, an already half-empty bottle of mandarin orange schnapps, and the Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle fleece blanket Lily had given him for his eighth birthday.
He huddled over the typewriter and began to write.
***
Scorpius fingers shook as he opened the letter. It smelled of vanilla cologne, and a bit of the orange schnapps that Lysander took refuge in on the rare occassions when he was known to drink, and of some other warm, boyish note that was pure Lysander. It was hauntingly familiar, and Scorpius was desperately tempted to press his nose up against the parchment and inhale deeply.
The letter was typed - no great surprise, as Lysander always had complained of having awful handwriting. Still, there was nothing impersonal about it - there was something in the way Lysander let words bend and dance that would make even a grocery list seem, unintentionally, like a love-letter.
Scorpius,
Lorcan splinched a bit of his nose off apparating home this evening. I’ve never seen him so upset in my life; the rage could practically be seen bubbling off him in great, roiling waves of smoke. I had to help him to a chair and force him to sit down, he seemed to want to remove a section of your nose as well.
It’s no secret that my brother Lorcan is an over-dramatic, over-protective buffoon. I hope you can forgive him that. There is good in him, you simply have to have an angelic amount of patience to see it, or, if you can stand it, spend enough time in his company that it finally becomes apparent of its own accord.
Nevertheless, there is some truth in the overwrought romanticisms he’s been feeding you. Although I did a rather comendable job of denying it for the past few years, I do still love you. I think I have proven to myself that I can live without you, but that certainly doesn’t mean that I wish to.
You’ve never done yourself enough credit, Scorpius. Even when we were together, you would say that there weren’t good enough for me. That was bollocks. How can you not recognize the great many qualities there are in you that a man could easily love?
There is a quiet, confident air of calm about you that causes any lapses in conversation around you to be comfortable pauses, rather than awkward ones. Not that there are likely to be any lapses in conversation when you’re present - the scope and breadth of your knowledge and interests is simply mindboggling.
You are also, my dear, excellent in bed (and if that was entirely the wrong thing to say, it’s the schnapps talking).
I understand that you have a wife. I did have the pleasure of briefly meeting Mary at the lovely party Draco threw in honour of my father’s expedition, and she seemed a positively delightful woman. I can see you two fitting perfectly, and wish you both all the joy in the world. I would never wish to break up such a match.
It is not for the purpose, therfore, of calling you back to lay your weary golden head against my lily-white bosom that I write this letter. It is merely because I think I owe it to you, to tell you the truth of my feelings - and because I have already consumed the better part of two bottles of schnapps.
I love you, Scorpius, with all my heart. I think, perhaps, that I always will. You may not be mine, but a part of me will always belong to you. This is no burden, far from it - it gives me great joy to love you, in any way that I am allowed to. The friendship we had at Hogwarts, before it became something more, meant the world to me. I see no reason that it should end over something as petty as a breakup.
Owl me as soon as you find the time. I do hope work is going well, and that the arcane secrets of the universe are being rightfully revealed to you in those dark, mysterious hallways.
Yours always,
Lysander.
Scorpius sank down into a chair. The shaking had, strangely, disappeared, leaving him with nothing but a dull emptiness. He tucked the letter into a book, secreted the book away in the nightstand, and pressed a hand over his eyes, remembering what Lysander had asked him at their last meeting.
“What, exactly, am I to you, Scorpius?”
The answer was becoming all too clear.
***
Mary unfolded the letter, shoved so unceremoniously into a battered copy of Spellman’s Syllabary. The creases along her brow grew ever deeper as she read.
Shit. Now was the time. It was far too soon, but … Scorpius was drifting away. If he decided he wanted to be rid of her now, everything would be wasted.
She pulled a vial out of her pocket and held it up to the light. It looked empty, save when the light glanced off one of the miniscule, transparent crystals. Colourless, tasteless, odourless. No one would ever be the wiser.
***
Draco Malfoy had always been a man to walk the finest moral line he could, neutral between good and evil. In the hands of one as skilled as he, the technique could render a person almost invisible, socially speaking. Always there, but never exceptional. Draco often wondered why it had taken him so long to recognize the merits of invisibility, of being politely unextraordinary.
Morals, for Malfoys, were more of a tool than anything. Nevertheless, Draco was not an inately bad person. He wanted the best for his son, and the best was Mary Morstan.
Ah, and here she came now: smile like an angel, and carrying a steaming cup of tea. “Mary! You’re up late.”
“I saw your light under the door,” she explained, setting the cup down next to an enormous ledger. “Thought you could probably use a bit of a pick-me-up.”
He furrowed his brows, taking a sip. “Ah, rum! Mary, you really are a genius.”
“Oh, hush,” she demurred, and bent to kiss his cheek.
The cup fell to the floor, smashing in one final burst of drama, as Draco sagged in the high-backed chair, unconscious.
Mary smiled and pulled out her handkerchief, dabbing daintily at her lips, before pulling the vial out of her pocket and pouring a bit of the powder into his open mouth. She corked it and returned it to her pocket, not bothering to clear up the spilled tea.
They would check the tea, of course, but find no poison. Even his body would display no sign of any murder, the chemical and magical backgrounds of the poison both fading gently into the background, like a chameleon’s skin. The only possible conclusion would be that Draco Malfoy had died suddenly, of undetermined natural causes. Possibly too much rum-spiked Earl Grey.
Mary smirked as she slipped out of the study, and back into bed next to Scorpius. He slept so peacefully.
***
The investigations for the death of Draco Malfoy dragged on over a period of months. It was enough to nearly make Scorpius forget all about Lysander’s letter, though it lurked at the edges of his consciousness, just another problem added to the growing stack.
There was something oddly numbing about his father’s death. It was pain so unbearable that the soul’s only possible reaction was to completely postpone all emotions. Scorpius lived each day like a pale grey ghost, and hid his face at night against Mary’s chest. He was only vaguely aware that other people exists - they were like blurred shapes just outside of his vision, the closest ones (Mary, his mother, a red-headed Auror) only slightly more in focus. He was vaguely aware that Mary was the most supportive wife that anyone could ask for, and that was about it.
One day - he thought it may have been a Wednesday, but had long since lost track of the passage of time - his mother pulled him away from another of the endless, pointless meetings with Aurors, the serious expression he had come to dread twisting her elegant features.
“Scorpius, with your father’s death, there is no other option but for you to take over our investments, full-time.”
“It’s true,” Mary chimed in, coming up behind him from out of nowhere. “There’s no other option, darling.”
“That’s fine,” Scorpius agreed, blankly. Something the Aurors were discussing in voices more hushed than usual had caught his ear. He was vaguely aware of his mother and wife discussing important decisions regarding the future, and ignored them, edging closer to the Aurors.
“What has you so certain it was a murder, Potter?” one of them was saying, tone decidedly cynical.
“It doesn’t make sense for a natural death,” the redhead replied, and Scorpius realized with a shock that she was Lily Potter. How could he have failed to recognize her before? “He had no significant physical problems whatsoever, and we know he died extraordinarily suddenly - all his charms were cut off with near-traumatic abruptness, rather than the slow fade that would have occurred had it been natural.”
“Natural deaths can be sudden,” the other argued, sounding a bit uncertain. “Heart attacks and that, right?”
“Even a heart attack would have taken a bit longer,” Lily persisted. “This seems more like a fast-acting poison of some sort, but we couldn’t find any residue.”
“Exactly. Anyway, who the hell would’ve murdered him? None of the wards were broken, and both the wee little Malfoys say that Malfoy Sr. was the only one awake.”
“For Merlin’s sake, Finnegan, stop calling them that. I could report you for that sort of think, you know.”
“Don’t speak that way to your superiors -”
“Oh, come off it! You’re not my --”
Scorpius turned away, the Aurors still bickering in the background. Things were falling together now in a way that he didn’t think he wanted them to fall.
***
Scorpius rummaged through the nightstand, pawing past the detritus of years, looking for the letter. He knew he had left it in an old copy of Spellman’s Syllabary, but - something rolled out of the drawer, smashing on the floor.
It was a small glass vial. It had shattered on contact with the hard floor, but among the shards of glass there could just barely be seen smaller particles, perfectly clear. Scorpius scraped a few into his hand and lifted them to his nose.
Colourless. Odourless. Probably tasteless, but he certainly wasn’t checking. A poison as deadly as, and more indetectable than, the killing curse, lost to the centuries.
Scorpius scraped up the rest of the debris and apparated to the ministry, head spinning.
Lily met him at the Auror Department. “Merlin, Scorpius, what the hell happened to you? You look like shite.”
Scorpius glanced down at his hands, and realized with a shock that they were bleeding, probably from the glass shards. “It’s not important. Listen, Lily, you think my father was murdered, right?”
“Yes, but it’s impossible --”
“It’s not. Can we talk somewhere more private?” he added, realizing that more than a few aurors were craning out of their cubicles to look.
“Sure,” she said, pulling him into her cubicle and shoving him into a chair. “Explain, Malfoy.”
By way of an answer, he released the powder clenched in his fists.
“The hell is this?” she asked, leaning closer to inspect it. “Broken glass?”
“Partly,” he admitted, shoving the larger shards from the broken bottle aside. “But the rest is poison.”
“Scorpius, to have been responsible for your father’s death it would have to be completely indetectable.”
“It is,” Scorpius said hurriedly. “Odourless, tasteless, colourless - or it would be, but it’s a bit bloodstained at the moment.”
“… Right. I’d better take care of that,” Lily reached into a drawer of her desk and pulled out a roll of bandages. “But no such thing exists, Scorpius. I’ve looked all through the library here.”
“So have I,” Scorpius said, “and the Department of Mysteries’ library as well. Nothing - but I think … whoever did this must have hidden any books. I know that I read something of this when I was in Paris, of a powder exactly like this - I just can’t recall the name.”
“Where did you find this?” Lily asked, bandaging Scorpius’ scratched hands in a businesslike manner.
“… My nightstand,” Scorpius admitted.
“So, what, you’re accusing yourself? Or - oh, no, it couldn’t be,” Lily breathed, realization dawning. “Why the hell would she leave it in the nightstand?”
“I have no idea,” he sighed. “Probably - Merlin - probably she thought I would never find out.”
“Well, we can’t even question her if we don’t know it’s poison,” Lily said, pulling out her wand and muttering a simple incantation. The powder glowed a brighter red than Scorpius had ever seen before. “… Yeah, that’s poison. I’ll get a message to Finnegan, tell him to bring her here. We’ll question her under veritaserum.”
“Can’t I just -”
“No,” Lily insisted. “If we’re right, and it is Mary, she’d kill you as soon as look at you.”
“I can’t believe she would -”
“I can,” Lily said bluntly. “She’s not a particular good person, Scorpius. Her … reputation, you know.”
“What reputation?” Scorpius asked. “The Prophet didn’t seem to think she has one.”
“Merlin, I forgot how new you are around here,” Lily ran a hand back through her firey hair, looking acutely uncomfortable. “She … well, she’s said to have screwed nearly half of the Department, and a fair few from around the rest of the ministry, as well.”
“What about you?” Scorpius asked.
“Sorry?”
“Did you fuck her?”
“Merlin, no. I don’t do ugly slags,” Lily said, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, mate. Forgot she was your wife. If it turns out she had nothing to do with all this, you have official permission to hex me for that.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Scorpius shrugged. Everything was feeling numb again, but in a sharp, clear way, rather than the hazey dimness of the past few months. He simply didn’t care anymore. “I just want to see whoever killed him locked up.”
“They will be,” Lily assured him. A paper plane drifted down to her desk, and she unfolded it, brow furrowed. “Oh, hell. Seamus says she’s gone to the Scamander place; he needs back up - Scorpius? Shite.”
Scorpius had already disapparated, wand drawn.
***
He arrived at the tower to see Seamus Finnegan standing outside, wringing his hands and looking up at the sky, as if he thought a Deus ex Machina might fall out of it.
“Why the hell aren’t you in there?” Scorpius shouted, striding over.
“There’s some sort of ward up, I can’t use my wand. Malfoy, they’re using swords!”
“Yeah, and?” Scorpius rolled his eyes and pushed past the auror, into the tower.
It took him a moment to assess the scene. Lorcan was pressed against a bookcase, pince-nez sliding down his nose, and the edge of Mary’s rapier pressed flush against his throat. Lysander lay half on the floor, half on the chaise lounge, stunned or worse.
Then Scorpius was grabbing Lorcan’s discarded blade, leaping over the chaise lounge, grabbing Mary’s shoulder to whirl her around to face him. Her blade moved away from Lorcan’s throat to meet his, and all Scorpius could think of, now, was the clash of blade against blade, the thrust, the parry, the reprise, the retreat. He was vaguely aware of Lorcan shouting instructions like the teacher he was, and ignored him, pulling off a perfect passata-sotto, Mary’s blade swishing just over his head.
“I didn’t want it to be like this, you know, Scorpius,” Mary hissed. “You could simply have taken over your estate like a good little Malfoy, and everything would have been alright.”
“What - this wasn’t about my job, was it?”
“Of course it was about the job, idiot!” Mary snapped. “I was all set for promotion, and then you prance on in, a faggy little alchemist fresh out of training. The only course of action was quite clear.”
“What, to kill my father so that I would have to step down?! Merlin, you really are mental,” Scorpius said through clenched teeth, nearly getting a hit, before she leaned neatly away at the last second.
“And I’ll happily kill your lovely little boyfriend as well, if you’re so keen to see me in Azkaban.”
“Never mind Azkaban, Mary, I’d like to see you dead. Unless you want me to send you back to where you were two years ago - unemployed in Greenland!” Scorpius added. Something in the thrill of the fight made him want to provoke her, to push her mindless rage past its limit. “Now tell me what the hell that poison was, before I slit your throat.”
“Iocaine powder,” she smirked. “Odorless, tasteless, and dissolves instantly in liquid - probably the deadliest poison ever known to wizardkind. Like the killing curse, but with no magical signature to be traced.”
“The tea?” Scorpius asked.
She laughed. “No, no. I had to be able to stick around, make sure he died, you know. Paralyzing lipgloss to the cheek, followed by iocaine powder directly into the mouth. I must tell you, he was quite cheery until the powder took effect. I think he liked me.”
“Paralyzing lipgloss? Classy,” Scorpius snapped, ducking under her rapier. “Where the hell did you get the iocaine? I thought the last remaining supply disappeared before Flamel’s death.”
“The last in Britain,” Mary smirked. “But iocaine comes from Australia, and as everyone knows, Australia is entirely peopled with criminals. It wasn’t too difficult to find an Australian who was willing to procure some for me.”
“And you destroyed all the books that mentioned it, of course. Truly, you have a dizzying intellect,” Scorpius said. Lysander was coming ‘round now, twitching slightly, and he tried to keep his focus on the madwoman he had married.
“I know, don’t I?”
And there, as she paused to gloat, was the opening. It would be so easy to just stab. But first, Scorpius felt instinctively, there was something that needed to be said.
“My name is Scorpius Malfoy. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
Then he thrust the blade into her heart. It protruded there for a moment, quivering, as she stared down at it in shock, before falling back against the floor.
The Aurors chose this moment to rush in, all wielding swords that they didn’t look like they knew what to do with.
Ignoring them, as well as Lorcan’s heartfelt applause, Scorpius rushed to Lysander’s side. He seemed conscious, but unable to move, probably due to pain - a long, thin gash ran along his side, seeping into the neat white shirt.
“We need to get him to Saint Mungo’s,” Scorpius exclaimed, grabbing hold of the nearest Auror - who he recognized, a split second later, as Harry Potter. “Er … please.”
“… Right. Did you stab that woman?”
“Yeah,” Scorpius snapped, “but only because she was trying to stab me. Ask your daughter, she’ll explain. Listen, he’s bleeding, can we please get on with it?”
“But … with a sword?”
“Well, you used a sword to kill the basilisk, didn’t you?” Scorpius snapped, recalling one of his father’s old Hogwarts stories.
“Hm. Fair point.”
***
It took Scorpius a week to get to the hospital to see Lysander, not through any will of his own, but simply because he was horrendously busy. There were endless hours of questioning with the aurors - though Lorcan had already testified that the murder of Mary Morstan was pure self-defense, followed by the ridiculous post-mortem trial the ministry insisted upon, and of course the matter of finding a deceptively-mousy accountant named Smithers to manage the Malfoy holdings. When he finally made it to St. Mungo’s, Lysander was mending well, nearly ready to return home.
Scorpius gently pushed open the ward door, wielding an arrangment of baby’s breath and irises like a shield. Lysander was smiling up at him from the bed, glowing as beautifully as if he had never been nearly killed by a madwoman with a rapier.
“Scorpius,” he said brightly. “Are those for me?”
“Well, yes,” Scorpius said, handing them over. “I don’t usually make a habit of carrying boquets into hospital rooms if I don’t intend them for the patient.”
“I do love irises,” Lysander smiled. “They’re lovely. I’ll have Molly rustle up a vase for them. But first, sit! I would offer you a cup of tea, but they refused to let me have an electric kettle by my sickbed.”
“Well, now, that’s just ridiculous. How do they expect you to fulfill your Earl Grey addiction?” Scorpius laughed. “Who’s Molly?”
“One of the nurses.”
“Of course you’d learn the names of your nurses.”
“Well, I was a Hufflepuff … and she’s one of Lily’s cousins, so I already knew her.”
“Has Lily been by to visit you, yet?”
“Not once yet, actually,” Lysander replied. “She’s been busy with the whole Morstan debaucle, as well. Er … I’m sorry, Scorpius. About everything.”
“About what?” Scorpius said bitterly. “My wife murdering my father, stabbing you, and attempting to kill me as well until I ran her through with a sword? It’s nothing, Lysander, really.”
“I wasn’t exactly stabbed. More … slashed.”
“Either way, it still had me pretty fucking worried,” Scorpius muttered. “Lysander?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve thought about what you said, when we had tea that time. About … what you mean to me, and that.”
Lysander smiled tentatively. “And the verdict?”
“You mean absolutely nothing. You’re insignificant.”
“… I see. Well, in that case -”
Scorpius cut him off. “In the grand scheme of things, that is. The grand scheme in which I marry a pretty pureblooded blonde girl, and have one heir by her who I raise to be another in a neverending line of perfect little Malfoys, before never sleeping with her ever again. In that game, you’re less than a pawn. Nothing.
“But to me? To me, Lysander … you’re everything. Everything I want and need. It sounds horribly cliché, I know, but … love is cliché, I guess. And much more important than the plan my parents had for me.”
For a moment, Lysander was perfectly still, staring down at his hands, still clasping the irises in their gaudy paper wrapping. Then he leaned in, and it was like coming home - not home to the place you always went because it was the only place you knew, but home, home to the crumbling tower with hundreds of rare plants weaving themselves across its stones, where no one cared where you came from, and where time never passed because you were exactly where you wanted to be.
Since the invention of the kiss, there had been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.
The End
Title: Everything
Prompt: #17 Submitted by alley_skywalker
Pairing: Scorpius/Lysander, Scorpius/FemaleOC, Astoria/FemaleOC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mild sexual situations, violence with pointy swords,
lots and lots of swearing, character death. May also contain traces of
humour.
Word Count: 14,353
Summary: As Oscar Wilde would say, “The exploits of purebloods
are rarely pure and always bloody.” Scorpius finds a wife, Lorcan
challenges him to a duel of honor, Lily buys everyone drinks (let’s
hope they’re not poisoned), and Lysander looks on in confusion.
Notes: A thousand thanks to the fest mods for making this all
possible, and to my glorious betas, H and K, as well as the D key on
my laptop, may it rest in peace.
“What is this about, Lysander, really?” Lily crossed her arms, leaning in across the table. “You never drink.”
“I drink,” he protested, taking a gulp of firewhiskey.
“You drink gay pink fruity drinks at parties, and only occasionally,” Lily corrected. “Not like this.”
“What, so you keep tabs on my drinking habits?”
“No, but your drinking habits tonight are on my tab, and really, this is extortionate,” she smirked, before growing serious. “I’m an auror, Lysander, and I’ve known you for ages. In other words, I can’t be fooled, so spit out whatever’s got you all mopey, and have done with it.”
“I’m not mopey,” he protested, staring irritably into his firewhiskey.
“Yes, you bloody well are.”
“Fine, Lils. Merlin, you don’t have to go all interrogation-mode on me,” he snapped. “I’m just - Scorpius is getting married.”
“… Oh.”
“And it’s not about him, it isn’t. I’m over him. It’s just … he’s getting married, and I’ve only ever dated two people in my life.”
“Two?” Lily asked, surprised. “Who else?”
“You, idiot. When we were twelve.”
“I thought we agreed never to speak of that time.”
“Fine, then. I’ve only ever dated one person in my life - him, the complete bastard.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Lily smiled. “Glad to hear you finally admit it.”
“You’re not helping.”
She sighed. “Sweetheart, you don’t need to be upset that you’re not a dirty little slut like Malfoy.”
“I’m not - it’s just, it would be fine, right, if we were still … together, or if it had been someone else I had dated. I don’t need to sleep around, I don’t want - I just - fuck. Lily?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I still love him.”
“Fuck,” she replied sympathetically, pouring him more firewhiskey.
***
Scorpius woke suddenly, breathing heavily. His eyes stung, and tears had run down his face into his ears where he lay. The pillow was damp, and he flipped it over, shaking.
He had dreamed of the moment that he had ended things with Lysander, exactly as it had been, as if he was there again, back in time. Having to tell Lysander, “I can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
He still felt as if all his internal organs were freezing, starting with his heart, when he thought of it. He didn’t even want to imagine how Lysander must have felt.
Scorpius knew he was a bastard. But he wasn’t a selfish bastard, at least. Merlin knew, if he was selfish, he would have stayed with Lysander, but he had greater responsibilities.
This was no use; sitting up, he fumbled for his wand. “Lumos.” Stumbling into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, Scorpius passed the book on its shelf. There it sat, perfectly incongruous - just like any other herbology text, save the inscription.
He couldn’t help himself, not after the dream. Reaching out, Scorpius allowed his fingers a quick brush along the spine - and before he knew it, he was grabbing it off the shelf, clutching it to his chest, not even bothering to bite his lip, because there was no hope of stopping these tears.
Forget the tea. He stumbled back to bed, clutching the book as if his life depended upon it, and fell asleep with it pressed against his chest.
***
Heir to Wasps’ Legacy Becomes New Malfoy Trophy Wife
Special Correspondent Terry Boot, June 24th, 2028
It is with great interest that the wizarding world has watched the unfolding romance between Scorpius Malfoy (21), heir to a massive estate and recent addition to the ministry’s Unspeakables, and Mary Morstan (26), daughter of the ludicrously wealthy Wasps’ manager, also an Unspeakable.
The interest comes not only from the couples’ famous parents, but from Scorpius’ self-earned fame. In February he became the youngest wizard to become an Unspeakable in nearly one hundred and fifty years, and he has earned himself an extensive list of other distinctions in the potions and alchemical fields since leaving Hogwarts.
In contrast, little is known of Miss Morstan. Her parents sent her to Beuxbatons rather than Hogwarts, and she has succeeded at largely living outside of the notice of the press, although many at the Prophet appear to be personally acquainted with her. This gossip smells foul play.
Several of Scorpius’ old school chums, all of whom wished to remain anonymous, have expressed astonishment at the mere fact that Scorpius is marrying a woman. During his school years, and since, many have believed that his preferences are not for the fairer sex.
Nevertheless, the new Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy appear to be happy together. The couple made their first public appearance as man and wife on Friday, at the ministry’s Midsummer gala. Scorpius seemed fatigued, but as happy as any man would be with such a catch as Morstan.
“We’re very happy for them,” Draco Malfoy said of the match. “Mary is a lovely girl.”
Astoria Malfoy declined to comment.
***
When Mary Morstan removed her clothing, it was less like she was stripping each article off, and more that they were floating off of their own accord, because no garment could wish to obscure that perfect, pale body for long.
Scorpius lounged against silk-cased pillows, decidedly not aroused.
She stalked towards him with movements reminiscent of a cat, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to reveal breasts that could only be described as perfect, shapely and perky and smooth.
Scorpius could smell some sort of tasteful perfume wafting off of her, vanilla and white musk. It reminded him of Lysander’s cologne, and only then did his traitorous body respond. Mary smirked, leaning closer.
“I can’t do this, Mary,” he said suddenly, sitting up. “Not tonight.”
“Why not, dearest?” she said, looking concerned. “Is it something I’m doing wrong.”
“Of course not, darling,” he bent, kissing her soundly. “It’s just … stress, you know,” he assured himself, smiling weakly.
“I understand, of course,” she smiled, clasping his thin hand. “We can wait as long as you like.”
This suits me well enough, she thought, slipping under the covers. The longer he has to keep me around, the better.
***
On Saturday, Scorpius found himself returning to London with Mary for the fencing class. He could have said no to her, could have said that he didn’t have time for the class now that they were married. At first, he had of course only been attending the lessons due to some remaining attraction towards the instructor’s brother, but that was all completely gone now, and over the months he had come to really enjoy the class.
It was a brilliant form of stress relief, just as Mary had first promised - of agression, as well, and Scorpius now found himself with more agression than he had ever thought himself capable of. Every little thing made him want to slit someone’s throat.
He was pretty sure it had to do with work. The idea of a single component was still gnawing at the corners of his mind, but any evidence seemed to be eluding him, meanwhile, Mary was still keeping at him to give it up.
And, earlier that week, his mother had called him into the dining room to Discuss Things.
***
“You must leave your job at the Department, Scorpius.”
“I - what?” Scorpius sat down heavily. “Mother, you know how important my work is to me.”
“Of course it is, dear, but you knew it could never last,” she said sensibly.
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
“It is healthy to indulge childhood fantasies for a time, Scorpius, but now your work is to manage the Malfoy finances. A Malfoy is never meant to have a career,” she said the last word as if it was a bit of excrement on the bottom of her glass slippers.
“Mother, it can’t possibly be anywhere near time for me to take over our holdings,” Scorpius protested. “Father is in perfect health, he’s entirely capable of handling things.”
“Yes, darling, but we must think of the future,” Astoria pointed out. “You need to gain a good understanding of what you will be doing when your father steps down. And now that you are living at the Manor, you must be doing something to maintain it.”
“I can’t agree to that, Mother,” Scorpius said. “The work that I’m doing at the Department is simply too important, too pressing, to leave at this time.”
“… Of course,” she agreed, looking down at her hands, clasped in her lap. “It is, naturally, your decision. But Scorpius -”
“Will that be all, Mother?” he said sharply.
“… Yes. Yes, thank you, Scorpius.”
He rose wordlessly, slamming the door behind him.
***
He had never wanted to hit something as much as he had then. And now he could stab something -- albeit with a blunted foil. To be honest, Scorpius had never been sure why Lorcan even bothered with the blunting charm. The man certainly seemed to love tearing people apart.
And, true to form, Lorcan stopped him after that afternoon’s session. “So you married her, Malfoy.”
“Did I? News to me.” Scorpius turned to hang up his foil, back to Lorcan. “I did, as it happens, but I don’t believe that concerns you.”
“Of course it does. My brother’s heart will always be my concern.”
Scorpius whirled around, foil in hand. The charm had been removed for the week, and for the first time, he really realized what a weapon such as this was capable of. Before he knew what he was doing, the tip was quivering at Lorcan’s throat. “I am so bloody sick of this, Scamander.”
Lorcan smirked and raised one elegant hand, flicking the blade away as though it was a mildly irritating insect. A few drops of blood fell on his perfect cravat. “Of what? Of someone finally refusing to play your game?”
Scorpius threw the foil aside, breathing heavily. It clattered on the floor. “I don’t have a game, Lorcan.”
“Don’t you?” The smirk grew, becoming almost predatory, but Lorcan’s posture against the wall was utterly, elegantly casual. “You carefully choose who is deserving of your attention, and devote everything to them, even if it means stepping on the people who really care about you - Merlin knows why.”
“You were a Hufflepuff. I would’ve thought you’d understand the concept of loyalty.”
The tension was thicker than it had ever been between the two of them, over so many years of tentatively respecting each other. The air felt like a taught string, each of them pulling on their end so hard that their knuckles glowed white, fibres so close to tearing that the strain was almost audible. Scorpius felt as if he could reach out and snap the middle, hear the note resounding through the stiflingly sunlit room.
Then Lorcan did something entirely unexpected. Scorpius was braced for anything from a biting comment to a punch in the face, but instead, Lorcan threw back his head and laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh by any means. It was harsh and mocking and a little insane, but it was clearly sincere - sincerely mocking, harsh, and insane, perhaps, but a part of Scorpius suddenly felt as if he might deserve it.
“Of course a Ravenclaw would have a misguided concept of loyalty,” Lorcan smirked, brushing tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes.
Scorpius crossed his arms. “Enlighten me, then.”
“Oh, gladly,” Lorcan said, composing himself. “You think that loyalty to your parents is the most important thing, that they are the most important people -”
“Of course they -”
Lorcan held up a hand. “No interruptions. Scorpius, they’re not. The most important people are those who give you everything, and expect nothing in return. What have your parents ever given you but more expectations? They want you to be the perfect Malfoy son. Lysander wants you to be truly happy.”
“Excellent psychoanalysis, Scamander. But there are a couple of major flaws.”
“Oh, do tell, Malfoy. I’d love to hear how you plan to avoid the truth this time.”
It was becoming a struggle not to throw something at the man. “Well, first, what if I’m happy with Mary?”
“You’re not. It’s excruciatingly obvious.”
“Merlin, Scamander, could you get any more egotistical? You can’t bloody know that. And second, Lysander doesn’t want me back, wouldn’t take me back even if I offered.”
“You can’t know that. Stop misleading yourself, Malfoy. You’ve gone too long believing that everything will be fine as long as you do what Daddy tells you.”
“You’re the one misleading yourself, Lorcan,” Scorpius turned away, heading for the door. “The rest of us have wised up to the simple truth that magic may be real, but miracles will never happen. Our fates are decided for us, and if the endings aren’t happy enough, that’s life. Lysander wants nothing to do with me, and rightly so.”
“You can’t really believe that!” Lorcan shouted after him, and Scorpius halted, not because of his words, but because the tone was more sincere than anything Scorpius had ever heard come out of that pretentious mouth. “What you said, about happy endings. No one would believe that, and still go on living.”
“We can’t all be flighty romanticists. Merlin, what do you even do with your time? Read Muggle romance novels and swoon against billows of marshmallow-stuffed pillows?”
“No - well, yes, a bit, but that’s what Lysander’s been doing as well,” Lorcan insisted. “He denies it, of course, he always does. But … Merlin love him, the boy is bloody brilliant at concealing his emotions. Trust me, I know him well enough to be able to see through it - Lily’s noticed it as well, and if that doesn’t convince you, I don’t know what -”
Scorpius whirled around to face him again, struggling to keep his shoulders from shaking. “I left him, Lorcan. I left him three years ago, and I have a wife now. What will it take to make you understand that it would be impossible?”
“Scorpius, if you could only see him when his guard is down --” Lorcan’s tone was almost pleading.
“Merlin!” Scorpius shouted, feeling himself losing control. “Why are you doing this, Lorcan? I wasn’t good for him. You’ve said so yourself. Why are you suddenly trying to play matchmaker?”
“Because - no, don’t run off now, you have to at least hear me out -”
“I can’t listen to this anymore, Lorcan. It’s final. ” Scorpius pulled away from the hand on his shoulder, and didn’t stop running until he was three blocks away.
Rain was falling, fast and heavy, pooling in the gutters, running off the eaves, and turning London a dingey, almost comforting shade of grey. There was no hope of apparating in this sort of emotional state, so Scorpius tucked himself under the eaves of a cozy little café, breathing heavily.
The manner in which he had broken things off with Lysander had, frankly, been indescribable without such words as ‘cold’ and ‘cruel.’ Scorpius had known that if any sign remained that he still loved him, Lysander would have held onto that hope, tried to change Scorpius’ mind. He would never have moved on, and that would be the one thing for which Scorpius could not forgive himself.
No, it was much better this way. To cut all ties, and to keep them cut. But … had Lysander ever moved on? From all reports Scorpius had heard, and what he had seen himself on that single misguided social call, Lysander had spent the last three years a social recluse, curled up in his lonely tower, only a typewriter for a friend.
But he had seemed healthy and happy enough. Still, who was Scorpius to judge? If Lorcan could be believed - and Scorpius thought that perhaps, for once, he could - Lysander was better at putting on a fake smile than Scorpius had ever known.
Fuck. The rain had soothed Scorpius’ headache a bit, and he felt at a loss for where to go. Back to the manor was out - his parents, not to mention Mary, were the last people he wanted to see right now. Perhaps he could go to the Ministry - burying himself in work sounded perfect.
He was about to disapparate, when an all too familiar voice drifted over through the rain.
“Perfect. You won’t regret this, trust me. I’ll see that when this is all over, your family is returned to fine standing …”
Mary? Scorpius edged towards the noise. How could she be here, now? He had thought she had apparated home after fencing - but there she was, in the dingy alley, speaking to someone out of sight.
She turned, then, walking at a suspiciously fast pace as she shoved something into her purse, and nearly collided with Scorpius. He fell into step beside her. “I thought you were home.”
“Oh, I ran into an old friend,” she smiled, taking his arm.
Scorpius was too dazed to ask why she had been three blocks away in the first place.
***
Lysander had never been particularly good with people. He was friendly, to be sure, but in a dreamy manner. Things like hopeless crushes and quarrels over tiny misunderstandings generally made little sense to him, as they didn’t even exist in the world of words within his head. They were too mundane, too petty, to be so upsetting. On paper, people only ever quarrelled because the world was ending. On paper, true love was real, and the hero always got the girl.
That perspective was probably what had first attracted him to Scorpius, the one person who seemed to fit the world inside Lysander’s head. Scorpius was the downtrodden prince from the family that had fallen from great power, burdened by the expectations of his outcast mother and father, but longing for nothing more than true love and a new cauldron, because really, cauldron bottoms these days …
And better yet, he was gay. And he liked Lysander.
Their love had been absurdly pure and tender, the sort of thing you would find penned in glittery gelpen in a pre-pubescent girl’s most private spiral-bound notebook. They had passed enchanted origami notes in class, curled up together in a corner of the library to share private kisses over their arithmancy notes, signed dedications in herbology books Always.
It had lasted nearly a year. Then Scorpius discovered the real world, and left Lysander behind in the dream. There he had drifted for nearly another year, before moving on to writing realistic stories about ordinary men who dreamt their own dreams. Sometimes those dreams came true, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes magic happened, more often it didn’t. That was life.
He had built up emotional walls. Not ugly, menacing walls, but beautiful ones, walls of ornately carved ivory inlaid with thousands of miniscule, glittering diamonds. Beautiful, but no less impenetrable. The sparkle only helped to distract from what was beyond it.
And then one little realization, that he still loved Scorpius, had sent it all crashing down. It was incredibly irritating, to see all that hard work go to waste.
Now he was curled up on the tower’s highest window-seat with his typewriter, an already half-empty bottle of mandarin orange schnapps, and the Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle fleece blanket Lily had given him for his eighth birthday.
He huddled over the typewriter and began to write.
***
Scorpius fingers shook as he opened the letter. It smelled of vanilla cologne, and a bit of the orange schnapps that Lysander took refuge in on the rare occassions when he was known to drink, and of some other warm, boyish note that was pure Lysander. It was hauntingly familiar, and Scorpius was desperately tempted to press his nose up against the parchment and inhale deeply.
The letter was typed - no great surprise, as Lysander always had complained of having awful handwriting. Still, there was nothing impersonal about it - there was something in the way Lysander let words bend and dance that would make even a grocery list seem, unintentionally, like a love-letter.
Scorpius,
Lorcan splinched a bit of his nose off apparating home this evening. I’ve never seen him so upset in my life; the rage could practically be seen bubbling off him in great, roiling waves of smoke. I had to help him to a chair and force him to sit down, he seemed to want to remove a section of your nose as well.
It’s no secret that my brother Lorcan is an over-dramatic, over-protective buffoon. I hope you can forgive him that. There is good in him, you simply have to have an angelic amount of patience to see it, or, if you can stand it, spend enough time in his company that it finally becomes apparent of its own accord.
Nevertheless, there is some truth in the overwrought romanticisms he’s been feeding you. Although I did a rather comendable job of denying it for the past few years, I do still love you. I think I have proven to myself that I can live without you, but that certainly doesn’t mean that I wish to.
You’ve never done yourself enough credit, Scorpius. Even when we were together, you would say that there weren’t good enough for me. That was bollocks. How can you not recognize the great many qualities there are in you that a man could easily love?
There is a quiet, confident air of calm about you that causes any lapses in conversation around you to be comfortable pauses, rather than awkward ones. Not that there are likely to be any lapses in conversation when you’re present - the scope and breadth of your knowledge and interests is simply mindboggling.
You are also, my dear, excellent in bed (and if that was entirely the wrong thing to say, it’s the schnapps talking).
I understand that you have a wife. I did have the pleasure of briefly meeting Mary at the lovely party Draco threw in honour of my father’s expedition, and she seemed a positively delightful woman. I can see you two fitting perfectly, and wish you both all the joy in the world. I would never wish to break up such a match.
It is not for the purpose, therfore, of calling you back to lay your weary golden head against my lily-white bosom that I write this letter. It is merely because I think I owe it to you, to tell you the truth of my feelings - and because I have already consumed the better part of two bottles of schnapps.
I love you, Scorpius, with all my heart. I think, perhaps, that I always will. You may not be mine, but a part of me will always belong to you. This is no burden, far from it - it gives me great joy to love you, in any way that I am allowed to. The friendship we had at Hogwarts, before it became something more, meant the world to me. I see no reason that it should end over something as petty as a breakup.
Owl me as soon as you find the time. I do hope work is going well, and that the arcane secrets of the universe are being rightfully revealed to you in those dark, mysterious hallways.
Yours always,
Lysander.
Scorpius sank down into a chair. The shaking had, strangely, disappeared, leaving him with nothing but a dull emptiness. He tucked the letter into a book, secreted the book away in the nightstand, and pressed a hand over his eyes, remembering what Lysander had asked him at their last meeting.
“What, exactly, am I to you, Scorpius?”
The answer was becoming all too clear.
***
Mary unfolded the letter, shoved so unceremoniously into a battered copy of Spellman’s Syllabary. The creases along her brow grew ever deeper as she read.
Shit. Now was the time. It was far too soon, but … Scorpius was drifting away. If he decided he wanted to be rid of her now, everything would be wasted.
She pulled a vial out of her pocket and held it up to the light. It looked empty, save when the light glanced off one of the miniscule, transparent crystals. Colourless, tasteless, odourless. No one would ever be the wiser.
***
Draco Malfoy had always been a man to walk the finest moral line he could, neutral between good and evil. In the hands of one as skilled as he, the technique could render a person almost invisible, socially speaking. Always there, but never exceptional. Draco often wondered why it had taken him so long to recognize the merits of invisibility, of being politely unextraordinary.
Morals, for Malfoys, were more of a tool than anything. Nevertheless, Draco was not an inately bad person. He wanted the best for his son, and the best was Mary Morstan.
Ah, and here she came now: smile like an angel, and carrying a steaming cup of tea. “Mary! You’re up late.”
“I saw your light under the door,” she explained, setting the cup down next to an enormous ledger. “Thought you could probably use a bit of a pick-me-up.”
He furrowed his brows, taking a sip. “Ah, rum! Mary, you really are a genius.”
“Oh, hush,” she demurred, and bent to kiss his cheek.
The cup fell to the floor, smashing in one final burst of drama, as Draco sagged in the high-backed chair, unconscious.
Mary smiled and pulled out her handkerchief, dabbing daintily at her lips, before pulling the vial out of her pocket and pouring a bit of the powder into his open mouth. She corked it and returned it to her pocket, not bothering to clear up the spilled tea.
They would check the tea, of course, but find no poison. Even his body would display no sign of any murder, the chemical and magical backgrounds of the poison both fading gently into the background, like a chameleon’s skin. The only possible conclusion would be that Draco Malfoy had died suddenly, of undetermined natural causes. Possibly too much rum-spiked Earl Grey.
Mary smirked as she slipped out of the study, and back into bed next to Scorpius. He slept so peacefully.
***
The investigations for the death of Draco Malfoy dragged on over a period of months. It was enough to nearly make Scorpius forget all about Lysander’s letter, though it lurked at the edges of his consciousness, just another problem added to the growing stack.
There was something oddly numbing about his father’s death. It was pain so unbearable that the soul’s only possible reaction was to completely postpone all emotions. Scorpius lived each day like a pale grey ghost, and hid his face at night against Mary’s chest. He was only vaguely aware that other people exists - they were like blurred shapes just outside of his vision, the closest ones (Mary, his mother, a red-headed Auror) only slightly more in focus. He was vaguely aware that Mary was the most supportive wife that anyone could ask for, and that was about it.
One day - he thought it may have been a Wednesday, but had long since lost track of the passage of time - his mother pulled him away from another of the endless, pointless meetings with Aurors, the serious expression he had come to dread twisting her elegant features.
“Scorpius, with your father’s death, there is no other option but for you to take over our investments, full-time.”
“It’s true,” Mary chimed in, coming up behind him from out of nowhere. “There’s no other option, darling.”
“That’s fine,” Scorpius agreed, blankly. Something the Aurors were discussing in voices more hushed than usual had caught his ear. He was vaguely aware of his mother and wife discussing important decisions regarding the future, and ignored them, edging closer to the Aurors.
“What has you so certain it was a murder, Potter?” one of them was saying, tone decidedly cynical.
“It doesn’t make sense for a natural death,” the redhead replied, and Scorpius realized with a shock that she was Lily Potter. How could he have failed to recognize her before? “He had no significant physical problems whatsoever, and we know he died extraordinarily suddenly - all his charms were cut off with near-traumatic abruptness, rather than the slow fade that would have occurred had it been natural.”
“Natural deaths can be sudden,” the other argued, sounding a bit uncertain. “Heart attacks and that, right?”
“Even a heart attack would have taken a bit longer,” Lily persisted. “This seems more like a fast-acting poison of some sort, but we couldn’t find any residue.”
“Exactly. Anyway, who the hell would’ve murdered him? None of the wards were broken, and both the wee little Malfoys say that Malfoy Sr. was the only one awake.”
“For Merlin’s sake, Finnegan, stop calling them that. I could report you for that sort of think, you know.”
“Don’t speak that way to your superiors -”
“Oh, come off it! You’re not my --”
Scorpius turned away, the Aurors still bickering in the background. Things were falling together now in a way that he didn’t think he wanted them to fall.
***
Scorpius rummaged through the nightstand, pawing past the detritus of years, looking for the letter. He knew he had left it in an old copy of Spellman’s Syllabary, but - something rolled out of the drawer, smashing on the floor.
It was a small glass vial. It had shattered on contact with the hard floor, but among the shards of glass there could just barely be seen smaller particles, perfectly clear. Scorpius scraped a few into his hand and lifted them to his nose.
Colourless. Odourless. Probably tasteless, but he certainly wasn’t checking. A poison as deadly as, and more indetectable than, the killing curse, lost to the centuries.
Scorpius scraped up the rest of the debris and apparated to the ministry, head spinning.
Lily met him at the Auror Department. “Merlin, Scorpius, what the hell happened to you? You look like shite.”
Scorpius glanced down at his hands, and realized with a shock that they were bleeding, probably from the glass shards. “It’s not important. Listen, Lily, you think my father was murdered, right?”
“Yes, but it’s impossible --”
“It’s not. Can we talk somewhere more private?” he added, realizing that more than a few aurors were craning out of their cubicles to look.
“Sure,” she said, pulling him into her cubicle and shoving him into a chair. “Explain, Malfoy.”
By way of an answer, he released the powder clenched in his fists.
“The hell is this?” she asked, leaning closer to inspect it. “Broken glass?”
“Partly,” he admitted, shoving the larger shards from the broken bottle aside. “But the rest is poison.”
“Scorpius, to have been responsible for your father’s death it would have to be completely indetectable.”
“It is,” Scorpius said hurriedly. “Odourless, tasteless, colourless - or it would be, but it’s a bit bloodstained at the moment.”
“… Right. I’d better take care of that,” Lily reached into a drawer of her desk and pulled out a roll of bandages. “But no such thing exists, Scorpius. I’ve looked all through the library here.”
“So have I,” Scorpius said, “and the Department of Mysteries’ library as well. Nothing - but I think … whoever did this must have hidden any books. I know that I read something of this when I was in Paris, of a powder exactly like this - I just can’t recall the name.”
“Where did you find this?” Lily asked, bandaging Scorpius’ scratched hands in a businesslike manner.
“… My nightstand,” Scorpius admitted.
“So, what, you’re accusing yourself? Or - oh, no, it couldn’t be,” Lily breathed, realization dawning. “Why the hell would she leave it in the nightstand?”
“I have no idea,” he sighed. “Probably - Merlin - probably she thought I would never find out.”
“Well, we can’t even question her if we don’t know it’s poison,” Lily said, pulling out her wand and muttering a simple incantation. The powder glowed a brighter red than Scorpius had ever seen before. “… Yeah, that’s poison. I’ll get a message to Finnegan, tell him to bring her here. We’ll question her under veritaserum.”
“Can’t I just -”
“No,” Lily insisted. “If we’re right, and it is Mary, she’d kill you as soon as look at you.”
“I can’t believe she would -”
“I can,” Lily said bluntly. “She’s not a particular good person, Scorpius. Her … reputation, you know.”
“What reputation?” Scorpius asked. “The Prophet didn’t seem to think she has one.”
“Merlin, I forgot how new you are around here,” Lily ran a hand back through her firey hair, looking acutely uncomfortable. “She … well, she’s said to have screwed nearly half of the Department, and a fair few from around the rest of the ministry, as well.”
“What about you?” Scorpius asked.
“Sorry?”
“Did you fuck her?”
“Merlin, no. I don’t do ugly slags,” Lily said, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, mate. Forgot she was your wife. If it turns out she had nothing to do with all this, you have official permission to hex me for that.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Scorpius shrugged. Everything was feeling numb again, but in a sharp, clear way, rather than the hazey dimness of the past few months. He simply didn’t care anymore. “I just want to see whoever killed him locked up.”
“They will be,” Lily assured him. A paper plane drifted down to her desk, and she unfolded it, brow furrowed. “Oh, hell. Seamus says she’s gone to the Scamander place; he needs back up - Scorpius? Shite.”
Scorpius had already disapparated, wand drawn.
***
He arrived at the tower to see Seamus Finnegan standing outside, wringing his hands and looking up at the sky, as if he thought a Deus ex Machina might fall out of it.
“Why the hell aren’t you in there?” Scorpius shouted, striding over.
“There’s some sort of ward up, I can’t use my wand. Malfoy, they’re using swords!”
“Yeah, and?” Scorpius rolled his eyes and pushed past the auror, into the tower.
It took him a moment to assess the scene. Lorcan was pressed against a bookcase, pince-nez sliding down his nose, and the edge of Mary’s rapier pressed flush against his throat. Lysander lay half on the floor, half on the chaise lounge, stunned or worse.
Then Scorpius was grabbing Lorcan’s discarded blade, leaping over the chaise lounge, grabbing Mary’s shoulder to whirl her around to face him. Her blade moved away from Lorcan’s throat to meet his, and all Scorpius could think of, now, was the clash of blade against blade, the thrust, the parry, the reprise, the retreat. He was vaguely aware of Lorcan shouting instructions like the teacher he was, and ignored him, pulling off a perfect passata-sotto, Mary’s blade swishing just over his head.
“I didn’t want it to be like this, you know, Scorpius,” Mary hissed. “You could simply have taken over your estate like a good little Malfoy, and everything would have been alright.”
“What - this wasn’t about my job, was it?”
“Of course it was about the job, idiot!” Mary snapped. “I was all set for promotion, and then you prance on in, a faggy little alchemist fresh out of training. The only course of action was quite clear.”
“What, to kill my father so that I would have to step down?! Merlin, you really are mental,” Scorpius said through clenched teeth, nearly getting a hit, before she leaned neatly away at the last second.
“And I’ll happily kill your lovely little boyfriend as well, if you’re so keen to see me in Azkaban.”
“Never mind Azkaban, Mary, I’d like to see you dead. Unless you want me to send you back to where you were two years ago - unemployed in Greenland!” Scorpius added. Something in the thrill of the fight made him want to provoke her, to push her mindless rage past its limit. “Now tell me what the hell that poison was, before I slit your throat.”
“Iocaine powder,” she smirked. “Odorless, tasteless, and dissolves instantly in liquid - probably the deadliest poison ever known to wizardkind. Like the killing curse, but with no magical signature to be traced.”
“The tea?” Scorpius asked.
She laughed. “No, no. I had to be able to stick around, make sure he died, you know. Paralyzing lipgloss to the cheek, followed by iocaine powder directly into the mouth. I must tell you, he was quite cheery until the powder took effect. I think he liked me.”
“Paralyzing lipgloss? Classy,” Scorpius snapped, ducking under her rapier. “Where the hell did you get the iocaine? I thought the last remaining supply disappeared before Flamel’s death.”
“The last in Britain,” Mary smirked. “But iocaine comes from Australia, and as everyone knows, Australia is entirely peopled with criminals. It wasn’t too difficult to find an Australian who was willing to procure some for me.”
“And you destroyed all the books that mentioned it, of course. Truly, you have a dizzying intellect,” Scorpius said. Lysander was coming ‘round now, twitching slightly, and he tried to keep his focus on the madwoman he had married.
“I know, don’t I?”
And there, as she paused to gloat, was the opening. It would be so easy to just stab. But first, Scorpius felt instinctively, there was something that needed to be said.
“My name is Scorpius Malfoy. You killed my father. Prepare to die.”
Then he thrust the blade into her heart. It protruded there for a moment, quivering, as she stared down at it in shock, before falling back against the floor.
The Aurors chose this moment to rush in, all wielding swords that they didn’t look like they knew what to do with.
Ignoring them, as well as Lorcan’s heartfelt applause, Scorpius rushed to Lysander’s side. He seemed conscious, but unable to move, probably due to pain - a long, thin gash ran along his side, seeping into the neat white shirt.
“We need to get him to Saint Mungo’s,” Scorpius exclaimed, grabbing hold of the nearest Auror - who he recognized, a split second later, as Harry Potter. “Er … please.”
“… Right. Did you stab that woman?”
“Yeah,” Scorpius snapped, “but only because she was trying to stab me. Ask your daughter, she’ll explain. Listen, he’s bleeding, can we please get on with it?”
“But … with a sword?”
“Well, you used a sword to kill the basilisk, didn’t you?” Scorpius snapped, recalling one of his father’s old Hogwarts stories.
“Hm. Fair point.”
***
It took Scorpius a week to get to the hospital to see Lysander, not through any will of his own, but simply because he was horrendously busy. There were endless hours of questioning with the aurors - though Lorcan had already testified that the murder of Mary Morstan was pure self-defense, followed by the ridiculous post-mortem trial the ministry insisted upon, and of course the matter of finding a deceptively-mousy accountant named Smithers to manage the Malfoy holdings. When he finally made it to St. Mungo’s, Lysander was mending well, nearly ready to return home.
Scorpius gently pushed open the ward door, wielding an arrangment of baby’s breath and irises like a shield. Lysander was smiling up at him from the bed, glowing as beautifully as if he had never been nearly killed by a madwoman with a rapier.
“Scorpius,” he said brightly. “Are those for me?”
“Well, yes,” Scorpius said, handing them over. “I don’t usually make a habit of carrying boquets into hospital rooms if I don’t intend them for the patient.”
“I do love irises,” Lysander smiled. “They’re lovely. I’ll have Molly rustle up a vase for them. But first, sit! I would offer you a cup of tea, but they refused to let me have an electric kettle by my sickbed.”
“Well, now, that’s just ridiculous. How do they expect you to fulfill your Earl Grey addiction?” Scorpius laughed. “Who’s Molly?”
“One of the nurses.”
“Of course you’d learn the names of your nurses.”
“Well, I was a Hufflepuff … and she’s one of Lily’s cousins, so I already knew her.”
“Has Lily been by to visit you, yet?”
“Not once yet, actually,” Lysander replied. “She’s been busy with the whole Morstan debaucle, as well. Er … I’m sorry, Scorpius. About everything.”
“About what?” Scorpius said bitterly. “My wife murdering my father, stabbing you, and attempting to kill me as well until I ran her through with a sword? It’s nothing, Lysander, really.”
“I wasn’t exactly stabbed. More … slashed.”
“Either way, it still had me pretty fucking worried,” Scorpius muttered. “Lysander?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve thought about what you said, when we had tea that time. About … what you mean to me, and that.”
Lysander smiled tentatively. “And the verdict?”
“You mean absolutely nothing. You’re insignificant.”
“… I see. Well, in that case -”
Scorpius cut him off. “In the grand scheme of things, that is. The grand scheme in which I marry a pretty pureblooded blonde girl, and have one heir by her who I raise to be another in a neverending line of perfect little Malfoys, before never sleeping with her ever again. In that game, you’re less than a pawn. Nothing.
“But to me? To me, Lysander … you’re everything. Everything I want and need. It sounds horribly cliché, I know, but … love is cliché, I guess. And much more important than the plan my parents had for me.”
For a moment, Lysander was perfectly still, staring down at his hands, still clasping the irises in their gaudy paper wrapping. Then he leaned in, and it was like coming home - not home to the place you always went because it was the only place you knew, but home, home to the crumbling tower with hundreds of rare plants weaving themselves across its stones, where no one cared where you came from, and where time never passed because you were exactly where you wanted to be.
Since the invention of the kiss, there had been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.
The End