In the Name of Malfoy

by Blizzardpaw

Summary:

Scorpius Malfoy knows how the world sees him. A Malfoy. A stain on the Ministry. A reminder of the war he had no part in. He keeps his head down, does his job, and ignores the whispers - until the day he stumbles on something dangerous.

A string of missing artifacts. Patterns in the archives no one else sees. When Scorpius tries to raise the alarm, he's met with ridicule and suspicion. But someone has noticed his work - just not the people he hoped for.

Dragged from his home and put on public trial, Scorpius finds himself at the mercy of a world that has already decided his guilt. The Ministry wants nothing to do with him, his father is powerless to intervene, and Albus Potter - his best friend, closest ally - can't save him from what's coming.

Because Scorpius isn't just a Malfoy. He's the son of Voldemort, or so the whispers say. And there are those who would see him punished for it - or worse, claimed.

Chapter 1: Treading Water

Scorpius Malfoy leaned closer to the file sitting on his desk, comparing a small image to one that he found in a long forgotten tome. His jaw clenched as he set quill to parchment to add a small note beneath the image. 

Pushing his chair out, Scorpius shut the book and stacked it on top of his ever-growing pile of texts on ward dispelling magical artifacts. Needing a break from his reclusive desk, he grabbed a stack of the books to return them to their homes. 

Scorpius’s desk sat in a secluded corner of the Ministry of Magic Archives. His current task was documenting the historic and current locations and uses of a variety of magical artifacts. He had been working on this report for just over a week and the finishing touches were proving tedious and exhausting, though Scorpius was exhilarated by his findings. He had discovered a pattern of artifacts that have gone missing over the past 24 months and he was certain this pattern was worth exploring. Maybe this report might prove his value to the Ministry.

Carrying the tomes from his desk to the large circular chamber of the Archives, Scorpius left the safety of his alcove. The Archives are surprisingly busy. The documents recorded are valuable to all departments in the Ministry. Scorpius always felt exposed whenever he didn’t have his desk to hide behind.

As he entered the bustling heart of the Archives, Scorpius pulled the books a little tighter to his chest. His eyes flickered nervously at some of the larger desks belonging to his colleagues, hoping they were vacant. His hopes were quickly dashed as Emmett Cattermole looked up from his reading to stare at Scorpius as he approached.  

Scorpius could feel his heartbeat against the leather cover of the book pressed against his chest. Emmett glanced across his desk at Bridget before settling his gaze back on Scorpius. Though his anxiety was rising, he continued walking, trying to avert his eyes from his coworkers, praying they let him pass.

“Hey, Malfoy.” Emmett sneered and watched Scorpius’s face intensely, clearly waiting for a response. 

“I’m just-just returning these.” Scorpius shrugged his shoulders, raising the pile of tomes for Emmett and Bridget to see. Scorpius slowed his pace, but continued walking, desperate to avoid confrontation.

Before Scorpius could get away, Emmett stood up and grabbed one of the tomes stacked in Scorpius’s arms. Emmett flipped through it, while Scorpius anxiously glanced around, considering abandoning that book with Emmett.

“Looking for some family heirlooms, are we?” Emmett mused, pointing at the cover of the book. Scorpius furrowed his brow as he read the title “ Veins of Malevolence: A Treatise on the Origins and Applications of Dark Artefacts. ” Scorpius sighed as he gave Emmett a resigned look.

“I’m just doing my job. Can I have that back? I have a lot to do.” Scorpius tried to hide the waver in his voice. He pushed the books away from his chest to give Emmett space to put the book on top of the pile. Emmett took another look at the tome before slamming it on top of the other books with far more force than necessary. Scorpius stumbled, but managed to catch his balance. Emmett immediately returned to his reading, but not before giving Bridget a smirk from across the desk.

Scorpius quickly adjusted his book stack and continued his journey to the shelves. Crouching down, Scorpius found the section he was looking for and slid the books into place one by one. He brushed his hands on his pants and moved to stand up-

“Malfoy!” A shrill voice called out and Scorpius recoiled, grabbing the shelf in front of him for support. He turned to look at the source and saw Geraldine, a senior archivist, staring down at him through her thick glasses. Scorpius took a moment to stand, which seemed to irritate the older woman in front of him.

“Malfoy, you are late with your catalogue updates,” She scowled before adding, “again.” Scorpius squinted, recalling the assigned task that he pushed to the side. His artifact report had been eating up most of his time, that he forewent some of his usual duties.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Ms. Pritchard.” Scorpius gestured towards the tomes he just reshelved. “I was working on cross-referencing the missing artifacts list and must have lost track of-”

“Excuses.” Geraldine barked. She eyed the books on the bottom shelf with an appraising look. “We are not paying you to chase paranoid fantasies. If you are late one more time, I will be forced to report you to Cecilia. Am I understood, Malfoy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Scorpius said just louder than a whisper, bowing his head and averting eye contact instinctively. His superior seemed content with this response and spun around to leave. Scorpius watched her turn down a row of books and released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Scorpius nearly sprinted back to his desk, regretting ever leaving for a break. He settled into his chair, resting his arms on his desk and nestling his head on his arms. He closed his eyes and took a few moments to himself before seeing the unfinished report laying next to him. They had a staff meeting this afternoon and he planned to present his findings, so completing the report was a top priority.

He opened the folder and his eyes settled on the image of an artifact he labeled just a few minutes ago. Scorpius set to work with proofreading and finalizing some previously drafted sections. After a couple hours, he felt confident that this will be the best report he’s ever submitted. He checked the time. He still had three hours before the meeting. 

Opening his satchel that hung on the back of his chair, he grabbed his small lunch bag. The desk was small and full of important documents, so Scorpius set off to the break room to have a bite to eat before practicing his presentation. 

Scorpius was grateful that he managed to make it into the break room unscathed. He took a moment to look through the window at the atrium of the Ministry. He thought briefly about Albus and how he may be somewhere down there, unless he was sent out for an investigation. 

After a few moments, Scorpius settled into a chair by a table tucked into the corner of the room. He focused on his sandwich and started brainstorming how to convince his colleagues that his report was founded and he had plenty of evidence. He didn’t notice a group of clerks that sat down at the other side of the room. 

Scorpius was snapped out of his planning when he heard a ripple of laughter at the now full table. His eyes ventured over to the table, but did not move his head to look in their direction. Two of them sent him a fleeting glance, now aware that he was watching them.

One of them craned their neck to look at Scorpius before speaking, “I hear Potter just received a commendation a few weeks back. He’s been making some great progress in that Dark Mark case the other Aurors have been trying to crack for months. I can’t believe he’s only a couple years out of Hogwarts.” 

Scorpius recalled how excited Albus was to tell Scorpius that he was formally recognized by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Scorpius celebrated with Albus, proud of how he has worked so hard to build a name for himself. Once Albus went to bed that night, Scorpius sat in the bathroom alone, knowing any achievement he may earn would pale in comparison to Albus’s.

“I just pulled some old records for that case the other day. Seems he’s been thinking outside the box,” another one of the clerks added, pulling Scorpius from his memory.

“Malfoy!” One of the clerks exclaimed and the entire table turned to face him. Scorpius’s breath caught in his throat and he lifted his head to look in their direction.

“Don’t you think Potter has been such a boon to the Ministry?” The group stared at Malfoy, clearly expecting an answer.

“Oh, yeah, he’s been doing a great job.” Scorpius responds quietly, fearing this was not the end of the interrogation.

“He’ll be head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in the next decade, I reckon. Where will you end up, Malfoy?” The clerk could not contain his smile as he watched Scorpius desperately try to escape the conversation, starting to pack up his half eaten lunch.

“Azkaban, if he’s lucky.” One of the other clerks jeered, which the rest of the group found very amusing. They watched Scorpius like a pack of hyenas as he zipped up his lunch bag and slid out of his chair.

“Potter will get sick of him soon. Haven’t the faintest idea why he puts up with him.” One of the clerks whispered to their group, clearly intending it to be loud enough for Scorpius to hear as he walked towards the exit of the break room. Scorpius stopped and nearly turned around, but he thought better and kept walking. He heard the giggles of the group grow quieter as Scorpius returned to his desk. 

Scorpius opened the report and was tempted to tear it into shreds. His work felt so meaningless when he thought about Albus fighting the Dark Arts everyday while he read old books and filed paperwork. Nonetheless, this report was his best chance at making a difference. Scorpius knows with certainty that this pattern of missing artifacts means something. 

The next couple hours fly by as Scorpius prepares for the meeting. Meetings fill him with a sense of dread as he is forced to interact with colleagues that do not respect nor like him. Any idea he has raised is shot down, so he has fallen into a habit of staying silent during meetings.

Checking the time for the twelfth time in the past ten minutes, Scorpius stands and grabs his report, trying to hype himself up for his coming presentation. A sense of doubt was settled in his gut, but he tried to push it down, hoping his well supported report would speak for itself. 

Scorpius made his way to the conference room, noting the empty desks of his colleagues. They must have reported for the meeting early.

The murmur of voices emanated from the conference center as Scorpius neared the open door. He was gripping the folder holding his report like a life line as he crossed the threshold. The eyes of his colleagues felt like lasers as Scorpius found his usual seat at the very end of the table. Thankfully, they quickly found him boring enough to resume their previous conversations. 

The voices grew louder as the conference room filled up. Afternoon meetings always buzzed with the anticipation of wrapping up the work day. Scorpius noticed Emmett glancing between him and the report his hands were resting on. Emmett caught Scorpius’s eyes and raised his eyebrows inquisitively. 

Before Emmett managed to ask any questions, Cecilia Spindle breezed into the room and took her place at the front of the table. 

Cecilia, the Head of Archival Management, had a commanding presence that silenced the room as she set her notes in front of her. The room’s attention snapped to her in an instant. Though she was never outright cruel to Scorpius, she certainly never expressed any warmth.

With a flick of her wand, the agenda scrawled itself across the enchanted chalkboard behind her. There was nothing unusual about the topics of the day, just a focus on archival security measures and departmental reports.

“We will be discussing updated security measures that the Ministry plans to use to reinforce the safety of the archives. The floor will then be open to those who have relevant reports to present to the department.” Cecilia sharply said, punctuated by the scratching of quills as the attendees started note taking.

Scorpius was repeating what he planned to say like a mantra. He hoped someone would share the meeting minutes, since he did not hear a word about future security measures. His hands absently flicked through the parchment in front of him as he waited for his opportunity to speak.

“With that wrapped up,” Cecilia clapped her hands together, “we open the floor to any updates the department should know about.”

Several colleagues rambled on with their routine reports. There was a new classification system, adjustments on some of the spells used to preserve ancient parchment scrolls, and new guidelines on sending sensitive information through Ministry Memos.

There were a few moments of silence after the group was cautioned to avoid declassifying information with paper airplanes that culminated in that familiar buzz of anticipation. Scorpius knew this was his last chance to speak up and it was quickly slipping away.

“Madame Spindle,” Scorpius’s voice seemed to surprise the entire room, including himself. “Before we move on, I have a report I would like to present.”

That buzz of excitement was sucked out of the room. A few colleagues exchanged amused looks before turning their attention to Scorpius. His ears ignored the whispered words around him.

Cecilia barely spared him a glance before looking back down at her notes. “Unless it pertains to our set agenda, Malfoy, I suggest you submit it through the proper channels.”

Scorpius glanced around the table. “It does pertain to the department! I’ve been tracking a pattern of missing artifacts - old magical relics. Over the past two years, I’ve counted at least five items with enchantments linked to ward-breaking magic that have disappeared from our records. I believe - I believe this warrants investigation. These artifacts in the wrong hands could be devastating to high-level magical protections. Protections not unlike the ones we use at the Ministry.”

The silence that followed made Scorpius question whether he was even speaking aloud. A loud scoff from a wizard sitting next to him confirmed that it was not, in fact, all in his head.

“Are we really concerned about a few missing paperweights?” Emmett chimed in after the silence was broken. “Trying to send the Aurors on a wild goose chase, so they ignore you for a few minutes, eh?”

Scorpius looked to Cecilia as the group chuckled lightly at his expense. Cecilia did not seem to notice the ridicule - or perhaps didn’t care - as she jotted notes down aimlessly.

Scorpius tried his hardest not to react as the comments continued, keeping his eyes forward, waiting for Cecilia to respond. “ Is that a report, or a confession?” “Of course Malfoy would know all about dark magic.” “Maybe we should ask his dad if he’s seen them.”

After an uncomfortably long time, Cecilia finally called the group back to attention with a clear of her throat. “Enough.” Cecilia finally met the gaze of Scorpius, her expression unreadable. “This department does not operate on conjecture, Malfoy. If you have concrete proof that these artifacts have been stolen for illicit use, I trust you will submit it to the proper authorities.” 

Scorpius moved to speak, but Cecilia waved her wand in a gesture implying she did not require his input. “That being said,” she continued, “this is not what you were assigned to work on. You work at this department as an archivist to manage records. I can see you are determined, so I will permit you to submit your report to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement tomorrow. The Aurors will do with it as they see fit. But let me be clear,” her eyes narrowed, “I do not appreciate time wasted on fruitless projects that interfere with your assigned duties.”

It was evident that she did not believe a word of the report, but the permission to submit it nonetheless was a small victory. Perhaps the Aurors would recognize the dangers these artifacts pose.

“Understood.” Scorpius responded, nodding stiffly.

The meeting swiftly resumed with some summarizing and closing remarks from Cecilia as she highlighted future projects that were to be assigned in the next few weeks. 

Throughout the final few minutes of the meeting, whispers were exchanged and Scorpius did not have to hear them to understand what they were saying. He was starting to dread the adjourning of the meeting since his colleagues would be free to share their thoughts away from the ears of Cecilia, not that she had intervened anyway.

Cecilia wrapped the meeting up with another wave of her wand, the agenda vanished, replaced with ‘Have a great evening!’ Chairs screeched against the floor as the group filed out of the room to start heading home.

Scorpius hesitated for a few moments, hoping some of his colleagues would pack up and leave before he walked back to his desk if he waited long enough.

The conference room was empty besides Scorpius and an intern that was still furiously taking notes. Scorpius stood up and peeked outside the door. He saw Emmett holding his bag, sitting on Bridget’s desk while she put a few folders into a drawer. Unfortunately, Emmett seemed to have been waiting to see Scorpius.

Steeling himself, Scorpius started walking towards his desk to get ready to leave. He gritted his teeth as he waited for the comments from Emmett. Most of his colleagues ignored the existence of Scorpius, some enjoyed making a few jokes at his expense, but Emmett was downright abusive. There were several Muggle-borns in his family, and Scorpius knew that much of the hatred Emmett held against him was a result of how their ancestors treated one another. Or moreso - how Scorpius’s ancestors treated Emmett’s. 

“Excited to see another one of your reports in the waste bin?” Emmett called out, hopping off the desk and prowling towards Scorpius. Bridget watched the scene with mild interest. She rarely participated in the ridicule, but certainly seemed to enjoy it.

“We’ll see.” Scorpius responded, holding his report defensively, concerned that Emmett might make a move to take it.

“I doubt even Potter will bother to crack open that folder.” Emmett nodded towards the file. “I doubt he trusts you any more than the rest of us. Why we trust a Death Eater with any work in the Ministry is beyond me.”

Scorpius flinched at the shrouded accusation. “You know that’s not true.” Scorpius’s voice was a desperate whisper. He had worked tirelessly to try to prove himself. What could he do to convince them?

Emmett took a step closer and Scorpius tensed. “You are so lucky,” he began, waiting for Scorpius to look at him, “that you have Potter protecting you. My aunt lost her life because of your people. My cousin lost his mother. And you get a cushy job at the Ministry.” He glanced back at Bridget, who seemed to understand her cue and got up from her desk to stand next to Emmett. Scorpius looked between them and the quickly emptying offices, now outnumbered, cornered, and soon to be alone.

“I - I wasn’t even alive during the Second Wizarding War. I haven’t hurt anyone.” Scorpius said quietly, knowing this defense meant nothing to the two in front of him.

“Maybe you weren’t alive, but it’s the only reason you are alive, isn’t it? You wouldn’t have been born without Voldemort? You and your family are filth. You won’t last much longer here, we will make sure of that.” Emmett’s voice lowered so only the three of them could hear.

“Potter’s influence is finite. The Ministry has worked very diligently with their reconciliation initiatives, but you’ll slip up. When you do, not even Potter will be able to cover for you. You don’t deserve him and you don’t deserve this.” Emmett gestured to the room around them, now worryingly vacant.

“I know you’re not as stupid as some of our colleagues like to believe, Malfoy.” Emmett spat his name out. “Just put that folder down, leave, and don’t come back tomorrow. That is the smartest option for you.” 

Bridget finally spoke up as she turned back to her desk, grabbing her purse. “You’re out of your depth, Malfoy. The Ministry’s a big place, and I count one ally in your corner. Cut your losses and play housewife with Potter.” 

Emmett watched as Bridget left without another word. He seemed satisfied with her addition. He rounded on Scorpius one last time, causing the smaller man to raise his right hand defensively. 

“Don’t come back. You won’t like what you find.” One final warning was given to Scorpius and Emmett followed Bridget out the door, leaving a panicked Scorpius to jog back to his desk.

Dropping the file, Scorpius leaned over the desk, one hand supporting him, the other clutching at his shirt near his chest. He let go of his shirt only to swipe at some of the sweat soaked hair clinging to his forehead. Suddenly nauseous, Scorpius dropped into a squat, taking measured breaths. 

He thought about reporting the threats. They had accused him of being a Death Eater. They had implied he was a relative of Voldemort. They threatened to have him fired. These had to be violations of…something. 

Scorpius doubted that any complaint he filed would be taken seriously. Why would the Ministry protect him? They have done nothing in the three years he’s held this position to stop his colleagues or supervisors from demeaning and humiliating him. Why would they start now? 

Standing up, Scorpius considered what to do. He could tell Albus. Albus would likely start kicking up a lot of dust. More people would think about Scorpius. No, Albus can’t know. He would pretend it didn’t happen. He would go home, and come back to work tomorrow. Surely, Emmett and Bridget wouldn’t risk their jobs to try to get Scorpius fired. They were empty threats - they had to be.

Scorpius tucked the file into his desk drawer and slung his satchel over his shoulder. He was positive that he looked like shit. He was sweating through his now wrinkled white dress shirt. He was sure that his face was flushed. He couldn’t go home quite yet looking like he was just accused of being a Death Eater.

Scorpius wandered out of the office and into the main atrium of the Ministry. Albus usually got off shift around an hour before Scorpius so it was rare they would run into each other. Scorpius followed a line of workers to the apparition area. When it was his turn, he imagined a street that was a few blocks from their apartment and felt the ground shift beneath him. When he lurched back onto solid ground, he was standing on a sidewalk lit by street lamps.

The chilled evening air cooled his feverish skin and he hoped he looked slightly better within the few minutes it would take him to walk to the apartment. Smoothing his hair excessively, he tried to look presentable. 

After a few short minutes, he was standing at the front door of the apartment. Albus would surely ask why he didn’t apparate inside or use the Floo Network to get home. Scorpius prepared for the onslaught of questioning. 

Unlocking the door and stepping in, Scorpius found Albus in the kitchen, looking unsurprisingly surprised. 

“Using the front door? How very Muggle of you.” Albus smiled as he put a kettle on. “Any particular reason?” 

“I needed a walk. Just to clear my head. I had a long day at work.” Scorpius tried to make his tone light. Albus studied Scorpius’s face and was clearly dissatisfied with what he found.

“Uh huh.” Albus hummed, expecting more information.

“We had that staff meeting today,” Scorpius continued, hint received. “That report I told you about, remember?” Albus nodded, pulling two mugs from the shelf. “Well, I presented at the meeting. You know I get nervous about those things. I’ll be submitting the report to your office tomorrow morning.” Scorpius hoped that Albus would buy his story of public speaking anxiety.

Albus turned his full attention to Scorpius. “Did your boss have anything else to say about it?” Albus was not convinced.

“Oh, well, they said that they didn’t really see the same pattern I did. I’m not so sure they believed me.” Scorpius was absolutely certain they didn’t believe him. “At least I have permission to escalate the report though.” 

Albus just watched Scorpius for a few long moments before replying. “That’s good. I’m sorry they dismissed it. My team will have a look tomorrow. You’ve been at it for weeks, I’m sure there’s something we can use.”

Something we can use. Scorpius knew Albus didn’t intend the backhanded compliment, but he couldn’t shake the feeling Albus agreed that his report was chasing shadows, that there were far better uses of Auror time than combing through Scorpius’s useless report.

“...Anything else you wanted to talk about?” Albus enquired, noticing how Scorpius hadn’t moved since the conversation started. 

“No!” Scorpius exclaimed just a tad too loudly and too quickly. “No,” he repeated in a more even tone, “nothing else. I just want a relaxing night.” Hoping he appeased Albus with his response, he went to find the honey to help finish the cups of tea. 

Albus watched him, but stayed silent, pouring the heated water and handing Scorpius his cup. They both settled on the sofa as they sipped and Scorpius was relieved when Albus started talking about his day.

Scorpius was only half listening, his brain exhausted. From what he did catch, Albus had a relatively uneventful day, which frustrated Albus, but was a relief for Scorpius. An eventful day as an Auror is a dangerous one.

“We have some of that leftover stew we could heat up.” Albus offered, noticing Scorpius struggling to keep up. “You should eat something,” he added.

Without a response from Scorpius, Albus grabbed the now empty cups and made his way to the kitchen. He dumped the stew into a pot on the stove. 

“You know, Scorpius, you can talk to me. I know you don’t have many friends at work. I can try to help you at the Ministry.” Even Albus knew many friends was a gross exaggeration. 

“It’s fine, Al. It’s just a job. They can’t all be as glamorous as yours.” Scorpius joked and felt the mood lighten immediately. Maybe he could navigate this minefield and avoid this conversation, at least for one day.

“If you say so.” Albus scooped a few cups of stew into two bowls and brought them to the table. “You know Granger has enacted all those anti-discrimination policies at the Ministry. If people aren’t following those, I’m sure she would want to know.” 

“Al…those policies are for ex-Death Eaters and wearers of the Dark Mark. I am neither.” The implication weighed heavily on Scorpius. Albus knew him better than anyone and still lumped Scorpius in with people who actually support Voldemort.

Albus was quick to respond, “I know! I know! I just think maybe those policies might still apply to some other situations. I’m just trying to help.” 

Scorpius clenched his jaw. Accidental implications. Subconscious slights. Unintentional insults. Scorpius is used to them from most sources, but they still sting coming from Albus.

“It’s not the same.” Scorpius said plainly. “Anyway, people just tend to ignore me. It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Scorpius started clearing the table and could tell that Albus was scrambling to find the words to remedy the new tension. Scorpius did appreciate the effort Albus took to understand his situation. He could see Albus already drafting an apology.

“Al, don’t worry about it.” Scorpius rested a hand on Albus’s shoulder. “I know what you meant. No harm done. Let’s get to bed.”

Scorpius could sense relief radiating off Albus. Albus nodded and they made their way to the bedroom together. 

Climbing into bed, Scorpius hoped that Albus had moved on and wouldn’t rehash the topics of the evening. Scorpius was not so confident that he could carry on pretending all was well.

“I trust you, Scorpius.” Albus pulled at Scorpius’s shoulder so the men were facing each other. “I trust you. We’ll be fine.” Settling deeper under the covers, Albus leaned forward to give Scorpius a peck on the lips before closing his eyes.

The rhythmic heavy breathing next to Scorpius made him jealous of the man that just fell asleep. Emmett’s words echoed through his brain, stopping any chance of sleep. Though he was certain he was not worth Emmett and Bridget risking their jobs, doubt clawed at his throat.

The night passed quicker than he expected, considering he spent most of it staring blindly at the ceiling. He felt Albus stretch next to him as light crept between the blinds.

Notes:

Thank you for the read! I have not posted any works in some time and I saw a production of the Cursed Child last week and was inspired to get back into writing. I enjoyed the show more than I thought I would and feel myself being drawn back into the Wizarding World. Hopefully you enjoyed the start of this work and I hope to continue working on it ASAP! It was a blast to write. I'm looking forward to abusing this Malfoy.

Chapter 2: The Weight of Scrutiny

Scorpius watched the slits of light slowly make their way across the ceiling when he felt Albus shift next to him. Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, exhausted from laying in bed all night, but relieved that the night had ended. He heard Emmett’s voice whenever he closed his eyes, even for just a moment. That moment of relief he just felt was fleeting, replaced with the dread of discovering if there were any truths in that voice.

A hand slithered around Scorpius’s waist. “Awake already?” Albus’s voice was thick with sleep as he moved to rest his head on Scorpius’s shoulder, eyes still closed.

Scorpius admired the scene before forcing a light tone. “Unfortunately.”

Albus hummed in response, pulling himself off Scorpius to sit up in bed. “Big day today. Planning on handing in that report first thing?” 

Propping himself up on his elbow, Scorpius turned so he faced Albus, who was cracking his neck. Scorpius gave a small ‘yeah’ in response. 

Albus dropped his hands and looked at Scorpius, green eyes sharp even in the dim light. “You don’t seem too thrilled.”

Scorpius forced a small, tense smile. “It’s a report. For work. Not a whole lot of thrill there.” He swung his legs off the side of the bed so his back was to Albus. He ran a hand through his platinum blonde hair before pressing his palms against his closed eyes.

Pushing himself out of bed, Scorpius stood up and turned back to Albus, who did not move. Albus’s gaze was appraising and his silence was louder than any accusation. Scorpius pressed his hands together, trying to find the right words to quell any tension. His futile effort was thankfully unnecessary as Albus hopped out of bed.

Smiling again, this time genuinely, Scorpius started to walk towards the kitchen to make breakfast while Albus showered. Scorpius had an extra hour in the mornings and enjoyed spending as much time with Albus as he could.

The morning routine was unremarkable. The coffee was brewed, the eggs scrambled, and showers taken. The aroma of breakfast was calming and familiar for Scorpius as the anxiety of the coming day was settling in his stomach. 

As Albus slipped his shoes on, Scorpius got up from the table to see him off. Scorpius adjusted Albus’s tie and handed him a small packed lunch bag.

Albus kissed him for the gesture and grabbed Scorpius’s upper arm. “You’ll let me know how it goes?” Albus asked, walking towards the fireplace. 

“Of course” Scorpius responded, focusing his attention towards the basin of Floo powder. 

Once again, deafening silence stretched between them. Scorpius finally looked at Albus and found a familiar look, one of disbelief. Instead of pushing the matter, Albus once again touched Scorpius’s arm, a grounding touch.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Just…don’t let them walk all over you. You deserve better.”

Scorpius once again didn’t have to fake his smile as he swallowed down a bitter laugh that threatened to rise. He doubted he would have any say in that particular matter. Scorpius resigned himself to nod numbly instead.

Seemingly pleased with this agreement, Albus scooped a handful of Floo powder, said the word ‘Ministry,’ and was engulfed in a plume of bright green flames. The flames vanished as quickly as they appeared, Albus along with them.

Without being under the watchful eye of his partner, Scorpius sighed and rested his face in his hands. Half of him desperately wished he had admitted everything to Albus, but that was of no consequence now. 

Scorpius cleaned the table, washed the dishes, and got himself dressed for work. He slid into his black dress pants and set to buttoning his white dress shirt. Opening his tie drawer, he reached towards a green tie with a diamond pattern. Scorpius hesitated, he tended to avoid wearing green, though it was his favorite color. Shaking his head, he grabbed the green tie and watched himself in the mirror as he tied it.

Once the tie was tightened, he stepped back, continuing to stare into the mirror. The white shirt and Slytherin green tie reminded him of his school uniform and he fondly remembered wearing just this at Hogwarts with Albus. Running his hand down the front of his shirt to smooth any wrinkles, Scorpius turned away from the mirror to collect his belongings into his satchel and get ready to leave. 

Deciding to use the fireplace as well, Scorpius grabbed a handful of the Floo powder and watched as those green flames danced before his eyes. When the flames dissipated, he was looking at the black tile of the Ministry. 

Scorpius had to duck to leave the fireplace and joined the procession of workers making their way to their respective departments. He stepped into one of the enchanted elevators and it hurtled its way through the Ministry, stopping abruptly as it reached the Archives. Scorpius did not acknowledge the other passengers of the elevator as he stepped off.

Arriving a few minutes earlier than usual, Scorpius took advantage of his fellow colleagues still getting themselves organized. He rushed to his desk and pulled out his report. Flicking through the pages of parchment, Scorpius confirmed that it was ready for submission. 

Making his way back to the elevator, he noticed several archivists starting to shuffle into the office and settle in. Getting back into the elevator, it plunged down to the second floor, the sharp movement forcing Scorpius to grab the handrail.

The Auror Headquarters was on the second floor. It certainly did not have the view of the atrium that the Archive had and lacked the elegant design. It was utilitarian, the air already thick with the smell of burnt coffee, and the occasional crackle of spells from the training rooms. As Scorpius pushed his way through the heavy wooden door leading to the main entrance, he felt the eyes of several Aurors on him. Conversations dipped in volume - just enough to remind Scorpius that he does not quite belong here.

Ignoring the newfound attention, he set his sights on the front desk, where a young secretary sat, enchanting a paper airplane with a message to be sent to another department in the Ministry. As Scorpius approached, he had to step to the side as the Memo whizzed by.

The secretary seemed to finally notice Scorpius and her expression was surprisingly warm. “Can I help you?”

Scorpius set the report on the desk carefully, as though it were exceptionally fragile. “I’m here to submit this to the Auror Department. It’s regarding a pattern of missing artifacts.” His hand kept touching the corner of the folder. “I’m from the Archives.” He added, hoping to improve his credibility.

The secretary moved to accept the report, but as she reached out, a man pushed himself between Scorpius and the desk, setting his heavy hand on top of the folder. It was a man Scorpius did not recognize and Scorpius stepped back defensively.

“Who gave you approval to conduct this research, Malfoy?” Of course the man knew his name. Scorpius’s hands twitched in desire to snatch the report out of this man’s grasp.

“Cecilia Spindle gave me permission to submit the findings.” Scorpius said as his eyes flicked between the secretary and this intruding man.

The man seemed irritated at the mention of Cecilia and lifted his hand from the report. He thumbed through the first few pages before sliding them back into the folder and reaching over the top of the front desk to grab a stamp reading ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ in aggressive red lettering. He slammed the stamp against the front of the folder and tucked it under his arm as he walked away.

Scorpius gave the secretary a panicked look as his report walked away. The secretary seemed unphased by this theft.

“That’s Ironwood. He’s an Auror.” She lowered her voice and leaned towards Scorpius. “Don’t take that personally, he’s pretty short with everyone.” Leaning back, she continued. “We’ll let you know if your findings are relevant to any ongoing investigations. Thanks for your help.” She smiled and nodded at Scorpius, signaling the end of their interaction.

Scorpius wanted to stand at this desk all day. This was one of the first people at the Ministry to just speak to him. What a remarkably normal interaction. Tearing himself away from the desk, he turned towards the door.

A group of assumed Aurors were gathered around a countertop with a coffee machine near the front of the office. As Scorpius neared, he overheard a part of a conversation, perhaps one he was meant to overhear. “That one’s Potter’s, right?” One of the group members exclaimed, trying to get the attention of his party. Scorpius kept his head down and walked a little faster.

He felt the group of people turn to face him, feeling his face flush and suddenly becoming aware of his heart beat. His eyes were tempted to catch a glance at the group, but he forced them to focus on the door ahead of him.

“What’s he doing here? Think he’d want to avoid any Aurors that weren’t actively protecting him.” A different voice scoffed dismissively. 

If the group continued their ridicule, Scorpius was blissfully unaware of it. He pulled open the door, successfully escaping what had the potential to be a tense interaction. With the report submitted, Scorpius returned to the Archives, which were now as active as usual. 

Returning to his desk, Scorpius rolled his shoulders as he sank into his chair, trying to shake off some of the anxiety the close encounter with the Aurors left him with. He found respite in the quiet, his lone desk providing him with much needed solitude.

Scorpius pulled a stack of files that was topped with a thin layer of dust toward him, flipping open the top ledger. Cataloguing was not a glamorous nor very stimulating task, but it was familiar and safe. 

Comparing lists of inventories sparked his research on recently missing artifacts, so he picked up where he left off. His eyes blurred as he squinted at the tiny cursive manuscript labeling each artifact with dates, classifications, locations, and uses. 

Most people would find this rather tedious, but Scorpius enjoyed the calm of his simple task. It was monotonous, but he took the opportunity to learn from these files and took pride in his attention to detail. Most importantly, this part of his job was done alone. He could faintly hear the rest of the Archives and was grateful that the desk no one else wanted was perfect for him.

Opening another entry, he read about a shipment of confiscated magical heirlooms, mainly enchanted jewelry, taken from various families. A few dates seemed to be misaligned, some of the artifacts being centuries old. Scorpius slid a correction slip between the dates, marking this page needed investigation.

He chewed his cheek as he worked, considering how he should have included one of these pieces of jewelry in his report. One of the rings could be used to reinforce magical wards, but it could also be used to tear holes in them. The chain of custody form for this ring was woefully incomplete and the latest inventory form did not include it amongst the documented artifacts. Jotting down the information about this artifact, Scorpius reassured himself that he would mention this ring if the Aurors were to ask if he had anything else to add.

“Malfoy.” The clipped voice of Cecilia startled Scorpius and his knee painfully connected with the underside of his desk. Scorpius looked up at Cecilia, who had invaded his sanctuary.

“My office. Now.” This was the only explanation provided for her intrusion. Scorpius expected her to take her leave and meet him in her office, but curiously, she seemed to be waiting on Scorpius to move.

Setting his quill down carefully, Scorpius nodded wordlessly. Dread settled in his stomach and he stood to follow Cecilia. He felt rather juvenile as he walked a half-step behind her through the office.

As they cut through the heart of the Archives, Scorpius’s colleagues did not make any effort to pretend they were not intrigued. Some that were standing made a point of stepping out of their path as if Scorpius carried something contagious. 

Cecilia slowed as they were nearing the halfway point to the office. Scorpius looked up from the ground just long enough to glance at her.

Any question he was about to ask was answered as two Aurors entered the Archives and took their places behind Scorpius. He watched them carefully from the corner of his eye.

They simply fell in line and Cecilia picked up the pace again. This wasn’t an arrest, it couldn’t be. There would not be this sort of spectacle for an arrest. They were here for another reason.

Scorpius knew these Aurors - Dawlish and Patel. Neither had ever been outright cruel towards Scorpius, though he knew they held no fondness for him. Patel was now looking at him rather like a stubborn stain she had tried to scrub off her desk.

As Cecilia neared her office, her gaze flickered back at the escort, looking past Scorpius and nodding to the Aurors. An acknowledgement? A signal?

The office was oddly quiet as most people set aside their work to watch this confrontation play out. Scorpius could hear murmurs and tried not to focus on them. He quite honestly did not care to learn what his colleagues had to say.

“You guys think Malfoy is getting a promotion?” Emmett’s voice sliced through the non-distinct whispers and replaced them with low chuckles. “Or maybe just a long vacation.” The amused murmurs resumed and Scorpius forced the voices to blend together. His growing fear needed no feeding. 

The procession neared the door to Cecilia’s office and Dawlish stepped forward to open the door. Cecilia walked through and Scorpius followed with some trepidation. Patel stayed on his heels and entered the office with Dawlish closing the door behind the four of them. The lock clicked, snapping Scorpius’s attention to Dawlish’s hand. 

Cecilia settled into her chair and the two Aurors remained standing near the door of the office. Scorpius shifted his weight awkwardly as his eyes flicked between the three people. He remains standing despite the chair in front of him, anxious about the two Aurors towering behind him.

“Malfoy,” Cecilia began, dragging Scorpius’s attention to her, “you’re here because there’s been a breach in security. Someone leaked sensitive information about the artifacts you were investigating. You were the only one with access to these files, up until a couple hours ago.” Her voice was cold and firm, with a mild tone of condescension. 

Scorpius suddenly found it hard to take a breath. He grabbed the back of the chair in front of him as he felt his heart racing and his mind whirling. He whipped his head towards the Aurors as though they may tell him they’re joking. Instead of comfort, he was met with subtle movements, the Aurors moving their hands closer to their wands in a practiced motion.

“I - I didn’t leak anything!” Scorpius couldn’t steady the waver in his voice. “I was trying to help, I found the pattern of missing artifacts, it seemed important.”

The panic in his voice and the way he kept frantically scanning the room seemed to continue to put the Aurors on edge. Patel took a small step forward and Dawlish stood a little taller, straightening his wand pocket. 

“Take a breath, Malfoy.” Dawlish advised, the drawl of his voice sounding similar to how one would calm a dog he was trying to catch. Scorpius certainly did feel like a cornered dog.

Cecilia sighed, seemingly annoyed by Scorpius’s fear. “Malfoy, you see how this looks. You’re a smart kid. Tell us what happened.” 

Scorpius gaped at her. “Nothing happened!” He flinched away from the Aurors as the words came out more aggressively than intended. “Nothing happened.” He repeated evenly, staring at the ground by the Aurors’ feet, waiting for movement.

“Then who do you think leaked the details on those missing artifacts?” Cecilia was setting Scorpius up with a trap. His mouth went dry as he looked at the Aurors. They were the only ones who also had official permission to open the report. Blaming Aurors for treason in front of Aurors without hard evidence would be playing a very dangerous game. One Scorpius was not interested in.

“I don’t know.” A quiet answer was all he could give, shaking his head. It was the truth, but everyone else in this room knew his guilt before asking a single question.

Cecilia stared at him, clearly waiting for more information that Scorpius couldn’t give. The Aurors still stood at attention, watching Scorpius’s hands closely. He was making a very deliberate effort to keep them on the back of the chair, giving the Aurors no reason to move.

Patel stepped forward, causing Scorpius to take a small step back. “Just remember, if you do know anything about this, anything at all, lying right here will only make it worse.” She explained, that same tone of condescension laced through her words.

Scorpius was struggling to form words. He resorted to just staring at each of the three people in the room in turn. It was clear his lack of response was frustrating the group. He could feel the weight of the accusation, of the situation, settling on him like a noose tightening around his neck. The Aurors remained still and watchful. Cecilia's expression was more difficult to read - she had perfected the poker face.

Leaning back in her chair and tapping a finger on her desk, Cecilia explained, “Here’s the problem, Scorpius. You tell us you didn’t leak the report. Fine. But the fact stands, someone did. Right now, no one else looks as guilty as you.”

Looking guilty was apparently an unfortunate skill Scorpius had inherited. “Do you have any proof?” Scorpius’s strained voice inquired.

Patel scoffed, “No proof yet. Only a matter of time though.” Scorpius felt a small part of that weight lift. Maybe there was still hope for them to believe his innocence. 

“No, we don’t have enough proof.” Cecilia’s voice sounded defeated. “But tell me Malfoy - why should I let you keep your job when problems just seem to follow you around. You’re a liability. Why should I keep putting my department at risk?”

No matter how meticulous and focused the reports Scorpius submitted were, his supervisors always managed to find the most miniscule error, a misaligned title, a crooked image, a stray drop of ink on an otherwise pristine piece of parchment. These mistakes were being used to threaten his job.

“Please.” Scorpius was immediately disgusted by his own timid voice. He straightened his stance and swallowed before continuing. “Madam Spindle, you’ve just told me that you can’t prove I’ve leaked the report. Surely my other mistakes aren’t grounds for dismissal?” There was a twinge of hope, of confidence in his question.

Cecilia sighed before responding. “Unfortunately, you’re right. Firing you would cause more problems than you have created. Discrimination cases, wrongful dismissal, I haven’t time for those burdens. That said, if I keep you on while we investigate, we still need to show the department and the Ministry that there are consequences for mistakes.”

Scorpius would keep his job, but there would be a price to pay. Choosing to stay silent, Scorpius let Cecilia continue.

“The department is already demanding we fire you, though that is hardly different than any other Thursday.” She chuckled darkly at her own joke. “We need to show them that allowing you to keep your job is not a show of weakness on my part, but an act of kindness, of mercy.”

Scorpius fought the urge to roll his eyes as Cecilia explained how she planned to quell the anger of the department. The bureaucracy of it all made him nauseous. “What’s this consequence, then?” He asked, noticing the pause in Cecilia’s monologue.

Cecilia smiled at Scorpius’s engagement. “A public apology. In front of your colleagues, myself, and these Aurors. You’ll admit that you were careless, that your report was mishandled, and that you regret the distraction this has caused the Ministry. You’ll promise to be more responsible in the future.” 

A very carefully worded admission of guilt. The department would see right through these perfectly crafted words and hear ‘I, Scorpius Malfoy, betrayed the Ministry and will be keeping my position because I’m willing to grovel.’

“And if I refuse?” Scorpius asked, a hint of defiance in his voice. There was a small chance Cecilia feared firing him so much that he had some negotiation power.

That defiance shattered as the two Aurors stepped forward in unison, a strangely choreographed threat. Scorpius felt his hand twitch again as it was tempted to reach for his wand.

Cecilia hummed a sound of disdain before coldly laying out the stakes. “Then we will assume you have something to hide. And we will act accordingly.”

Scorpius looked back at the two Aurors. The threat lingered as Scorpius considered his options, none of which were all too appealing.

“...Fine.” Scorpius’s reluctant voice finally whispered. 

Cecilia’s smile returned, sickeningly sweet and poisonous. “Good. The department meeting is in twenty minutes. Be ready.” 

Clapping her hands together, Cecilia stood from her chair and walked pointedly around Scorpius. Dawlish opened the door and Cecilia walked through. Scorpius didn’t move, but Dawlish made a dramatic effort to close the door quickly behind her, leaving Scorpius alone with the Aurors.

Scorpius was still awkwardly standing behind one of the chairs, bracing himself on its back. Patel walked forward and placed her hand on Scorpius’s shoulder. The touch was gentle, but the circumstances buckled Scorpius’s knees in an attempt to flinch away.

The sudden movement attracted the attention of Dawlish, who grabbed Scorpius’s upper arm and pulled him back into a standing position. His hand lingered on Scorpius’s arm.

“Relax, Malfoy.” Dawlish used that same hushed tone again. “We’re going to help you to the conference room.” 

There was a sinking feeling in Scorpius’s stomach as he thought about the department watching him get marched across the offices by Aurors. This was a part of the statement Cecilia wanted to make. She wanted the whole department to know that Scorpius had to choose between begging and facing the wrath of Aurors.

Scorpius pulled slightly away from Dawlish’s grasp, not to try to escape it, but to remind Dawlish of the grip he held on the smaller man. “I can walk on my own, thanks.” Scorpius said as he tugged lightly.

The grip tightened wordlessly and Patel opened the door. Dawlish gave Scorpius’s arm a harsh pull to signal it was time to walk. The conference room was thankfully close to Cecilia’s office.

Once in the main Archives office, Scorpius could see his colleagues shuffling their way to the conference room. They stopped to watch Scorpius being marched by Aurors, one of which was refusing to let go of his right arm. 

Having felt his fair share of humiliation in this office, Scorpius thought he would be used to it by now, but he felt that familiar heat flush his face and focused his eyes on the floor.

When they reach the conference room, the Aurors don’t step back. Patel grabbed a chair from the table and wheeled it to the front of the room. Dawlish used Scorpius’s right arm to lead him to the chair and pushed him into it with far more force than necessary.

The two Aurors then stood just behind the chair. Scorpius felt exposed. He was on display, framed by their presence, like a criminal waiting for sentencing. 

Colleagues began to flood into the conference room, with varied expressions. Some looked confused, others curious, and a select few looked amused, clearly excited to see the next events unfold.

As more eyes settled on Scorpius, he grew more uncomfortable. He grabbed the arms of his chair and shifted, trying to curl in on himself. He felt the firm hand of Dawlish rest on his shoulder, a silent reminder, and Scorpius fell still, well aware that the audience saw the unspoken threat. They remained in this position until Cecilia entered the room several minutes later. The hand withdrew from his shoulder.

Cecilia took her time settling in, flipping through a folder of documents. The room was abuzz with a different sense of excitement than their afternoon meetings usually have. 

Cecilia finally looked up, scanning the gathered employees before offering a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I know you’re all very busy, but certain issues have arisen that require immediate attention.”

Her eyes flicked briefly to Scorpius before she continued, voice smooth but laced with something colder. “As many of you are aware, our department has been tasked with handling sensitive information regarding artifact security. It has come to my attention that some of this information has made its way outside this office - unauthorized.”

There were some quiet gasps from the audience and a few heads turned to look at Scorpius.

Cecilia folded her hands neatly on the table. “Now, I want to be perfectly clear. We value diligence. We value integrity. And above all, we value loyalty to the Ministry.” A pause, just long enough to let the weight of her words settle. “When someone jeopardizes that loyalty, even unintentionally, it calls into question whether they truly belong here.”

She turned fully towards Scorpius now, tilting her head slightly. “Malfoy, since you were the one handling this particular report, and since it is your name attached to the information now circulating outside this department, I felt it was only fair to give you the opportunity to address your colleagues. I’m sure they’re as eager as I am to hear how this… mistake… occurred.”

The room was deathly silent, and Cecilia was absolutely correct, Scorpius’s colleagues did look exceptionally eager to hear what he had to say.

Scorpius swallowed hard, hands still clenched on the arms of the chair. They didn’t want an apology. They wanted an admission of guilt and a desperate plea to keep his job. Scorpius could feel the presence of the Aurors looming over him.

“I - “ His voice caught. “I take full responsibility for any… any misunderstanding regarding my report. It was never my intention to break protocol or to cause any disruption to the department’s work.”

Cecilia watched him carefully, her signature unreadable expression worn. She didn’t react to his words, no nodding of approval nor movement to signify Scorpius had accomplished the task. She left him to flounder under his own words.

The first comment came from the back of the room. “That’s a roundabout way of saying ‘I’m sorry,’ Malfoy.”

“Yeah, you sound more upset about this ‘misunderstanding’ than putting Ministry secrets in danger.” Another voice chimed in.

“Go on, then,” a third voice jeered. “If you take responsibility, say it. Say ‘I’m sorry for jeopardizing the work of this department.’”

Excited whispers rippled through the room. The moment stretched out uncomfortably long. Scorpius looked to Cecilia, hoping she would stop this onslaught, but she was merely watching. Scorpius forced an exhale through his nose.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice quiet. “I’m sorry for jeopardizing the work of this department.”

“You don’t sound sorry.” Voices continued to bounce off the walls.

“Well, he never does, does he?”

“I wish those Aurors would make him sorry.” This voice caught Scorpius’s attention and he once again looked to an apathetic Cecilia. She seemed perfectly content letting her employees hurl veiled threats at Scorpius.

Another voice cut through the noise. “You know,” it was Emmett’s, he leaned back in his chair once he realized he had Scorpius’s attention. “You know, if you really wanted to prove your loyalty, you’d tell us exactly who you were working with when this information got out. Who else did you talk to about the report? Protecting someone?”

A calculated accusation. An effective one based on the murmurs of agreement. The others now shared the desire for Scorpius to answer this burning question.

It was Bridget who spoke up this time, a surprising change from her usual silent observation. “Of course he won’t say. Protecting Death Eaters is only a good look in Azkaban.”

Scorpius flinched at the mention of both Death Eaters and Azkaban. The murmurs of agreement amplified and several people were now shouting accusations, all blending together, none comprehendible.

“Enough.” Cecilia finally said, though there was no real authority behind the word. The energy in the room slowly died down and the focus now fell on her. “Malfoy, I trust you understand the severity of the situation?”

Dawlish’s hand was back on his shoulder, and Scorpius filled with shame as the entire room watched him recoil from the sudden touch. He forced himself to nod. “Yes, ma’am.” His voice was hushed and lacked any of the defiance it had in Cecilia’s office.

“Then I’m sure you’ll do everything in your power to ensure that nothing like this happens again.” Cecilia opened her palms towards Scorpius, encouraging a response.

Scorpius nodded again, stiffly.

“Say it.” Cecilia’s voice was sharp. “Say that you understand this department has been more than generous in allowing you to continue working here, and that you will not take that generosity for granted again.”

Scorpius stared at her. He grappled with this demand. This was it, his final show of submission. He could be done with this if he just said the words.

His mouth felt numb as he forced out the words. “I understand that this department has been more than generous in allowing me to work here, and I will not take that generosity for granted again.”

He heard a snort from someone in the room. Someone else muttered “pathetic.”

Cecilia finally nodded. “Then I believe we can put this matter behind us. Dismissed.”

Scorpius watched as the line of employees filtered out of the room. Emmett made an effort to slow his walk as he passed Scorpius, a smug grin on his face, confirming some of Scorpius’s suspicions.

Oddly, the hand on Scorpius’s shoulder remained even after Cecilia excused herself from the room. The grip tightened suddenly, forcing Scorpius to stand and face the two Aurors. They were uncomfortably close, and Scorpius backed away until the back of his legs hit the table.

Dawlish squeezed Scorpius’s arm. “Do you understand how thin the ice beneath you is?” His voice was quiet, but dangerous. “If we find a single scrap of evidence that you were at all involved with this leak,” he moved even closer to Scorpius, towering over him, “you’ll regret ever setting foot in the Ministry.” 

Scorpius forced himself to not react, focusing on breathing, holding the edge of the table with both hands.

“I’m willing to bet he already regrets working here.” Patel joined in, though staying a few paces behind Dawlish. “You’ve always known any mistake here will cost you everything, not just your job.” 

“We’ll be continuing our investigation.” Dawlish explained while adjusting Scorpius’s tie. “You will know when we find something concrete. Potter won’t be able to swoop in and save his Malfoy then. No second chances. You’ll get a grand tour of the Malfoy’s home away from home.”

Knowing his best defense right now was to not defend himself at all, Scorpius fixed his gaze once again on the Aurors’ shoes.

Dawlish grabbed Scorpius’s other arm, now terrifyingly in control of the smaller man. Scorpius couldn’t stop his reaction as he futilely tried to shove the other man off. Dawlish only tightened his grip until Scorpius relaxed.

Patel stepped forward and whispered, “If you were smart Malfoy, you’d quit. Walk away before someone makes sure you don’t have a choice.”

The words were threatening, but there was just a shred of a warning that left Scorpius conflicted about Patel’s intentions.

“Get back to work.” Dawlish nearly lifted Scorpius off his feet as he shoved the smaller man towards the exit of the conference room. “Before we decide we need to have another talk.”

Scorpius didn’t need to be told twice and left without a word. The grip Dawlish had on his arms lingered, the show of power obvious and effective. 

Leaving the conference room, Scorpius re-enters the main chamber of the Archives. All eyes shifted to him and he picked up the pace as he tried making his way to his alcove.

Emmett was missing from his desk, but Bridget took her opportunity to intercept Scorpius in his stead. 

“You look like you’ve been through it, Malfoy,” she mused, walking a few steps alongside Scorpius. “Those Aurors really put you through the wringer, didn’t they?”

Scorpius was nearly jogging at this point, knowing how many ears were listening to this interaction. He desperately did not need any more fuel added to these flames.

“It must be exhausting being you.” Bridget was slowing down, allowing Scorpius to make his escape. “You’re always one step from losing everything.” She called after him.

Scorpius was so close to his desk. There was nothing Scorpius needed more than a few moments to himself. Overwhelmed and terrified, he turned the corner to his secluded sanctuary and felt his stomach drop.

Emmett was sitting on his desk, flipping through a random file. He noticed Scorpius approach and dropped the file unceremoniously, hopping off the desk to greet the other man.

“You leaked my report.” Scorpius accused, fighting through his panic to continue to advance on Emmett.

Barking out a laugh, Emmett tilted his head. “You should be thanking me. That’s the most attention a report you write is ever going to get.”

Scorpius’s hands were clenched tight at his side as he moved closer to Emmett, resisting the urge to swing. “You nearly lost me my job. You humiliated me. You made me beg for my job, in front of everyone.”

Emmett’s grin only widened. “I did, didn’t I?” He absentmindedly shuffled a few more files on Scorpius’s desk. “And you did such a good job of it, too. Real convincing. Almost felt bad for you.” He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping. “Almost.”

Holding his ground, Scorpius didn’t step back as Emmett entered his space. “Why?” Scorpius asked.

“Why?” Emmett echoed mockingly, rolling his eyes dramatically. “You know exactly why. Someone like you - someone with your name - shouldn’t be walking around here like you belong. You don’t get to sit here, nice and comfortable, playing the dutiful Ministry worker while the rest of us are cleaning up the mess your kind left behind.”

Scorpius swallowed his retort. He had participated in this song and dance more times than he could count. Emmett wouldn't listen to any of his defenses. 

Emmett seemed pleased at Scorpius’s silence. “What? No clever comeback? No righteous little speech about how you’re ‘not like them’?” He tsked, shaking his head. “You still don’t get it, do you? Walk away, Malfoy. Leave.”

Feeling his patience snap, Scorpius exhaled sharply. “You’re a coward.” Scorpius looked Emmett in the eye. His shit-eating grin faltered, for just a heartbeat.

“You had to lie your way into proving to the Ministry I am a threat.” Scorpius continued. “You knew you couldn’t take me down any other way. You’re just a common rat.” He spat that last word into Emmett’s face.

Emmett’s posture shifted, his amusement turning sharp and dangerous. He slowly, robotically, closed the small distance between the two men. Scorpius fought the need to step back.

“Careful now, Malfoy.” Emmett’s quiet voice was nearly whispering in Scorpius’s ear. “You need to learn when you’ve lost. Stand down. Keep pushing, and you’ll find out exactly how far I’m willing to go.”

Leaning back to observe Scorpius’s face, Emmett clapped a hand on Scorpius’s shoulder, imitating the Auror’s dominance. Scorpius hoped his flinch was imperceivable. 

Without another word, Emmett let his hand drop and pushed past Scorpius, leaving the other man alone at his desk. 

Scorpius pulled out his chair and collapsed in it, resting his head in his hands. He loosened his tie, suddenly aware of how hard it was to breathe. Faintly, he noticed he was trembling, the adrenaline starting to wear off. 

Grabbing a quill, Scorpius intended to write Albus a Memo to update him on how absolutely abysmally his report submission went. Dipping the quill in ink, he hovered it above the parchment, finding it hard to summarize the afternoon’s events. He thought of the look of pity Albus would wear when he saw him next. He dropped the quill, the black ink spreading into the clean parchment.

Trying to find a semblance of normalcy, Scorpius opened the file he was looking at just this morning. The ledger. The inventory. All he had to do was keep his head down for two more short hours and he could go home.

Scorpius threw out the sullied piece of parchment and scratched a few notes on the inventory form. The scratching of the quill was loud. Too loud. It echoed off the bookshelves and Scorpius was certain the entire office could hear him write. 

His thoughts were constantly pulling him back into the conference room, back to the humiliation of sitting in front of his colleagues while they berated him, back to Cecilia’s cold dismissal of his dignity. No one stopped it. No one ever would. 

Scorpius swallowed hard and dipped his quill back into the inkwell, his grip too tight, his writing jagged. His supervisors would surely make him rewrite these notes. His unsteady hands searched through the records, the familiar work somewhat comforting. Every few moments, his eyes flicked towards the doorway to his office, half-expecting Emmett to come back.

Another breath, another line written.

Just keep working. Keep your head down.

The final hours crept by, dragging the weight of the day with them. By the time he reached the final sprint of his shift, Scorpius was exhausted, and not just from the severe lack of sleep the night before. 

It was time. He was ready to go home. Scorpius delayed leaving his office for 17 minutes longer than usual. Standing near the entryway to his little alcove, he strained his ears for any sound of his colleagues. It seemed quiet.

Slinging his satchel on his shoulder, he cautiously stepped out of the safety he found at his desk. His eyes darted around the Archive chamber, and he was relieved to find it nearly empty. While his colleagues enjoyed the spectacle of him being ridiculed, they were not willing to stay late to see it.

Avoiding eye contact with the colleagues that stuck around, he walked briskly to the elevators. He heard whispering and felt eyes boring into him, but forced his legs to keep moving.

Scorpius made it to one of the Floo fireplaces and was never so happy to see those green flames consume him. When they died, he was standing in the living room, Albus smiling at him from the kitchen. 

The relief of being home nearly sent Scorpius sprawling across the rug as be tripped on the edge of the fireplace. He hopped over to Albus and returned his smile in earnest.

“You’re late.” Albus said plainly, straightening Scorpius’s shirt. “Again.” There was a hint of suspicion in his voice.

Considering how we would explain the day’s events, Scorpius delayed. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse and his fingers pulled at the strap of his satchel.

Albus grabbed Scorpius’s fidgeting hand before stating, “Something happened.” It was not a question. 

Scorpius tried swallowing that lump in his throat again. “There was a -” He exhaled sharply, clenching his teeth together. “They think I leaked my report.”

Confused, Albus led Scorpius by the hand to the kitchen table, encouraging the anxious man to sit. “Tell me.” He coaxed.

Forcing himself to meet Albus’s gaze, Scorpius explained. “They think I sent it outside the Ministry, leaked it to Merlin knows who. I didn’t, Albus. I swear.” His voice wavered as he knew a small part of Albus may not believe him. He hated how desperate he sounded. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Albus stared at him, his green eyes searching, and Scorpius’s stomach twisted. He had to believe him. Albus couldn’t think… wouldn’t think he was capable of this.

Letting out a sigh, Albus leaned his head back. “I know you didn’t.” Albus squeezed Scorpius’s hand. “What did they do?”

Scorpius looked at the wood grain on the table. “Humiliated me. Made me beg to keep my job in front of everyone. And then -” He felt the panic of being left in the room with Patel and Dawlish. “The Aurors, they’re going to keep investigating me.”

Albus shuffled closer, trying to get Scorpius to look at him. “Did they threaten you?”

“Not outright.” Scorpius admitted, his voice a whisper. “Not the Aurors anyway.”

The grip Albus had on Scorpius’s hand tightened, almost painfully. “What does that mean?” Albus’s voice now raised. 

Trying to subtly slip his hand out of Albus’s grip, Scorpius saw the anger in Albus’s face as he waited for a response. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” Scorpius used his other hand to brush some hair away from his face. 

“No, tell me.” Albus’s voice sharpened, volume continuing to rise. “Who threatened you? What did they say?” 

Scorpius shifted in his chair, feeling the familiar panic in his chest. “Albus, don’t -”

Albus stood quickly, the chair he was sitting on loudly announcing this movement. “They don’t get to do this to you.” 

“They do.” Scorpius snapped back. “No one’s going to stop them.” He looked pointedly at Albus.

“What do they say?” Albus clenched his fist as he started pacing around the kitchen.

Scorpius hesitated. He was careful in deciding which interactions to reveal. “It’s mainly for laughs.” Albus shook his head, not buying Scorpius’s attempt to downplay.

“Alright.” Scorpius inhaled slowly. “Lots of comments about how I belong in… Azkaban, how I’m just following the family legacy.” Scorpius paused as he waited for Albus to respond. When none came, he continued. “They joke that the only reason I’m not in Azkaban and the only reason I’ve a job is that you’re protecting me.” 

The anger in Albus’s face softened, and he rubbed his temples as he looked at the ceiling.

“They say they’re just waiting for me to mess up.” Scorpius furrowed his brow as he considered some of the more recent comments. “They’ve recently been saying that not even you will be able to protect me soon.” 

Albus must have noticed the slight change in Scorpius’s expression. “Were those comments unusual?” 

“Yeah.” Scorpius chewed his cheek as he recalled the veiled threats. “Yeah, I think one of my colleagues may have leaked the report. They keep making specific comments about how I won’t be at the Ministry much longer, about how even your power has a limit.”

Stopping in his tracks, Albus turned to face Scorpius. “Who leaked the report?”

“I - I don’t know.” Scorpius lied, seeing Emmett’s smug grin. “It’s just a hunch.” Scorpius shrugged. 

Albus eyed him cautiously, knowing Scorpius was withholding information, but being well aware that if he continued to pry, the other man would stop sharing. 

“We’ll figure it out, Scorpius.” Albus kept his voice controlled, trying not to upset Scorpius with more yelling. “I know you don’t want to talk about this, but I promise we’ll find who leaked the report. They won’t touch you.” 

A few minutes of silence ticked by. Scorpius was exhausted and this conversation was draining him of the remnants of energy he had left.

“I’m going to bed, Al.” Scorpius stood. “It’s been a long day, and I just really need some sleep.” 

Albus watched wordlessly as Scorpius left the kitchen. He had always struggled with finding the right words to help Scorpius. 

As Scorpius slid between the sheets, he couldn’t help but feel appreciative of Albus. He was also exceptionally appreciative that tomorrow was Friday, marking just one more shift before two euphoric days of freedom from the oppression of the Ministry.  

Thankfully, Scorpius’s exhaustion was heavier than the anxiety festering in his stomach and it took just a few minutes to slip into much needed blissful unconsciousness. 

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I meant to upload sooner, but Kingdom Come Deliverance 2 came out and it slurped up all my free time. Hopefully you enjoy the second chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chapter 3: Damnation

Notes:

Thank you again for reading! I wanted to forewarn you that many of the tags I have on this work begin in this chapter. Please read through them and be sure you are comfortable with continuing. I welcome all comments and feedback!

Scorpius stirred first, looking at the familiar slices of light filtering into their bedroom. Before any thoughts of the coming day crossed his mind, Scorpius turned his attention to a still sleeping Albus. He looked so calm, so peaceful, and Scorpius wished that never had to change.

Without opening his eyes, Albus shifted and mumbled, “Can I help you?”

Scorpius let out an exhale as a laugh. “What gave me away?”

Cracking an eye open, Albus smirked as he reached out and pulled Scorpius closer to him by the hem of his shirt. “You’re not as sneaky as you might think.”

Scorpius relaxed, allowing himself to be pulled in, pressing his forehead against Albus’s. “I could stay here forever,” he breathed out, submitting himself to Albus’s embrace.

“Tempting offer.” Albus hummed. “But I think the Ministry might object to you skipping work indefinitely.”

Tensing at the mention of the Ministry, Scorpius felt the weight of his responsibilities creeping in at the edges of his thoughts, threatening to invade this perfect fantasy. “Would they even notice?”

Albus pinched his side to show his disapproval, making Scorpius squirm in his arms. “Don’t say that. Of course they would.”

A retort was quickly swallowed. Scorpius didn’t want to ruin this idyllic moment. His colleagues would notice him missing. They wouldn’t notice the lack of reports nor the cataloguing left incomplete. They would notice their missing punching bag, the lack of their convenient whipping boy. 

Sensing Scorpius’s hesitation, Albus shifted onto his side, propping himself up on his right elbow. “Hey,” he said gently, brushing Scorpius’s cheek with his left hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

Nodding along with the lie, Scorpius forced a smile. “Yeah. I know.”

Albus cradled his face for a few moments longer before he returned Scorpius’s smile, bright and unwavering. “You don’t have to worry so much. People will realize you had nothing to do with the file leak. Just… take it one step at a time. Don’t let them get under your skin.”

“Easier said than done.” Scorpius leaned into Albus’s touch.

“I know,” Albus admitted with a sigh, running his hand through Scorpius’s hair. “But you don’t have anything to prove. The investigation will turn up nothing. Just get through the day, and when it’s over, come home to me.”

A fraction of the dread clasped around Scorpius’s heart dissipated. “That’s a nice thought.” It might just be nice enough to get him through the presumably tortuous day.

Albus felt Scorpius relax. “Then hold onto it.” He gently held the back of Scorpius’s neck. “And if you get overwhelmed, just breathe. Think about something else, about being somewhere else. Think about me, right here next to you, if you want.”

“Oh?” Scorpius challenged, raising his eyebrows and smirking. “Taking up the mantle of the Chosen One, are we? Just a tad self-centered to assume I would be thinking of you .”

Grinning even wider, Albus reached behind his head to grab his pillow. He swung it at Scorpius lightly, hitting the other man on the head. Scorpius laughed brightly, adjusting his now tousled blond hair. 

Instead of retaliating, Scorpius leaned over and pressed his lips against Albus’s. The warmth of Albus’s touch, the softness in his voice - it was enough to make Scorpius believe, just for a little while, that things might be okay.

Albus was the one to break the kiss, accented by a whine of displeasure from Scorpius. “Up and at ‘em.” He patted Scorpius’s upper thigh as he stood up and stretched. 

The morning progressed as expected. Scorpius was cleaning up the dishes from breakfast when Albus started putting on his black robes.

“I should go, but -” Albus hesitated for a beat before striding over to Scorpius from behind, his hands settling lightly on the smaller man’s waist.

Scorpius’s heart skipped a beat. He turned his head and watched Albus behind him from the corner of his eye. “But?” He coaxed.

Albus’s grip tightened before he hugged Scorpius, his arms wrapping around Scorpius’s chest, his face nuzzling Scorpius’s neck. “I needed one more moment with you.”

Face reddening, Scorpius took advantage of this moment to appreciate the safety he felt as he pushed his back into Albus’s chest. Slowly, he started untangling himself from Albus’s embrace. “You’d better get going.” Scorpius’s voice was low and he coughed out a nervous laugh as he turned around to face Albus. “Or you’ll be even later than expected.”

Humming in satisfaction, Albus took the hint and dropped his arms. He looked Scorpius up and down with hungry eyes, much to the embarrassment of the other man.

Albus smirked and slung his bag over his shoulder. “We’ll pick up where we left off tonight.” He laughed as he heard an indignant grunt from Scorpius.

“Right then.” Scorpius started walking to the fireplace, clearing his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Looking forward to it.” He added, giving Albus a sideways glance. 

Stepping into the fireplace, Albus took Scorpius’s hand. He guided the man towards him and planted another kiss on his lips. “I love you,” Albus whispered softly as they parted.

Scorpius held Albus’s gaze. “I love you, too.”

Albus grabbed a handful of Floo powder and raised his hand. “Until tonight.” He winked and threw the powder at his feet, requesting the Ministry and vanishing in a flourish.

Scorpius stood in front of the fireplace for several more minutes, clinging onto the quiet magic of the moments he shared with Albus this morning. 

With a deep inhale, Scorpius turned away from the fireplace and continued cleaning the kitchen, feeling the ghost of Albus’s touch. He smiled to himself, thinking about the next time he would see Albus.

The kitchen clean, Scorpius selected his tie. A thin silver tie that Albus fawned over, claiming it complimented Scorpius’s grey eyes. 

Checking the time, Scorpius realized he was ready for work and didn’t have to leave for upwards of 30 minutes. He sat awkwardly at the kitchen table, leg bouncing nervously as he waited, trying to focus on an article in the Daily Prophet about some new scandal.

Unable to relax, Scorpius decided to leave for work early and take a short walk before facing the day. Perhaps a few extra minutes with some fresh air would help relieve some of the dread.

More often than not, Scorpius forewent a robe, but the crisp morning air encouraged him to button his jet-black robe around himself before apparating a few blocks from the Ministry.

A quiet crack signaled Scorpius’s arrival on a side street just a few minutes away from the Ministry. The Muggles whizzed by in their cars, commuting to work just as Scorpius was. One Muggle was getting into her car as Scorpius walked by and she offered a brisk smile and nod that Scorpius returned. A whole world of people had not a clue who he was. 

The walk was effective with clearing his head as Scorpius watched people bustling about. It was comforting in a strange way to see life carrying on, not taking any notice of him. He could effortlessly blend into the background.

A gust of wind blew and Scorpius pulled his robe tighter. He set his jaw as he prepared himself. He wouldn’t let them walk all over him. Not today. He would stand up, defend himself. He had nothing to hide.

Nearing the Ministry’s outer plaza, he started noticing more witches and wizards than Muggles. No one seemed to take much interest in him. The golden glow of the grand entrance shimmered ahead, its looming presence both reassuring and suffocating. 

Scorpius paused in the center of the plaza, taking a moment to steel himself. A not so quiet voice in his head was urging him to turn back, just go home. Crossing the threshold into the Ministry suddenly felt oppressive, smothering. He almost laughed to himself, brushing away the thought. It was just another day, he wasn’t stepping into a war zone.

He rolled his shoulders and shook out his hands as he started walking towards the entrance. He barely made it five steps before an authoritative voice sliced through the morning air.

“Scorpius Malfoy.”

Something in the tone made Scorpius’s stomach twist. He turned to the source and saw three people dressed neatly in Auror robes marching towards him, their movements sharp and efficient.

“Yes?” He kept his voice even, straightening his posture as they approached.

The tallest of the three, a broad-shouldered man with close-cropped hair, flashed a Ministry badge too quickly for Scorpius to properly examine it. “You’re needed for questioning. Come with us.”

Scorpius stared at them. He didn’t recognize any of them. Alongside the tall man was a shorter, stout man with shoulder length black hair, and a woman with red hair in an up-do who kept glancing around at onlookers who had started to gather.

Swallowing, Scorpius looked back at the man who had spoken. “Questioning? What -”

“Not here.” The woman hissed, her tone edged with impatience. “We’ll discuss it at the office.” She looked from her companions to the bystanders.

Most of the onlookers simply slowed their pace for a few moments before moving on, bored with the lack of action. One older witch seemed to be hesitating a little longer, lingering with interest, her brow furrowed.

Scorpius took a small step back, trying to create some distance between himself and the three Aurors. “I wasn’t informed of anything. Is it about the file? Is there a warrant?”

“We are following procedure, Malfoy.” The shorter Auror took a step forward, closing the recently created space and grabbed Scorpius’s right forearm - not aggressively, but firmly enough that it wasn’t a request. “Let’s not make a scene.” He added in a hushed voice.

The older witch seemed to disapprove of the physical intervention and stepped forward. “Excuse me.” She stated clearly and loudly. “What division are you with?” Her eyes narrowed, revealing her suspicion.

The tallest Auror filled the space between Scorpius and the witch. “Auror Division Three. Ministry business, ma’am.”

Her lips thinned as she considered the answer. “And what is it you’re doing with this young man?” She gestured to Scorpius, still in the grasp of the Auror. “It sounded like you were planning to interrogate him, no? Division Three doesn’t handle interrogations.”

Scorpius watched the Aurors glance at each other, communicating something without speaking. The Auror with the red hair stepped forward sharply.

“And yet, here we are.” She said shortly. “Are you interested in coming with us as well? Interfering with official Ministry business?” She cocked her head mockingly as the older witch hesitated. “I thought not. Move along. We are doing our jobs and I suggest you do the same.”

The older witch appeared unconvinced as she eyed the way the Auror was holding Scorpius, but backed down. She took one final look at each of the three Aurors, studying them for a moment, and continued on her way into the Ministry.

Scorpius craned his neck to watch her leave, hoping she might still come to his rescue. Her suspicion made his heart race. She all but confirmed that something wasn’t quite right.

Surprisingly, the grip on his arm disappeared and Scorpius turned his attention to the Aurors in front of him. The short Auror gestured to Scorpius. “Let’s go.” 

Assuming he was to be escorted to the Auror Office, Scorpius turned to the entrance of the Ministry. He had not yet taken a step before another hand was on his arm, this time a harder grip, more than a warning. 

The hand belonged to the tallest Auror and he easily pulled Scorpius towards him. “Not that way.” 

Confused, Scorpius instinctively tried to free his arm. “You said we were going to the office? Shouldn’t we go in?” Scorpius noticed the trio watching bystanders as they tried to discreetly continue their tug of war with his arm.

“We’ll go the long way. Through the back entrance.” The tall Auror held his death grip and Scorpius had no choice but to follow. 

The Aurors guided him to the edge of the plaza. The voices of the bystanders became louder and a few cast curious looks as Scorpius was steered away from the Ministry by Aurors. They walked alongside the outer walls of the Ministry for a block.

Every few moments, Scorpius would test the grip. “I have the right to -” He began.

“You have the right to shut the fuck up and walk.” A hard squeeze from the tall Auror emphasized his point.

The street was rapidly growing quieter. The morning bustle was fading. The towering Ministry entrance was slipping further and further behind. 

Scorpius gave another experimental twist. “I - I want proof of identity. Let me -”

He was cut off by a laugh from the tall Auror. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

They neared the end of the block that the Ministry sat on and the Aurors continued walking straight, into a small secluded alley. Scorpius’s head whipped around to the Ministry, desperate to catch the attention of anyone with his yell of, “HELP!”

The red headed Auror shoved Scorpius roughly against the brick wall of the building in the alley, pressing her hand against his mouth. He aimed a kick at her knee that landed and she crumpled to the filthy ground. Scorpius took advantage of his opportunity and started running. He made it only a few strides before the familiar hand caught his arm.

“Let me go!” He hissed between gritted teeth, pulling against the grip so hard his shoulder strained. 

“Easy now,” the tall man cooed, not letting up on his ironclad grip. “Wouldn’t want you breaking anything before we even get started.”

It felt as though Scorpius’s blood had turned to ice. “This isn’t protocol.” The tall Auror took the momentary hesitation from Scorpius to manhandle Scorpius so he was pinned with his back against the wall. “You’re not Aurors.” He breathed out, watching each one.

The tall man had his left hand planted on Scorpius’s chest, pinning him effortlessly to the wall. The woman was casting protective charms around the alley, Fidelius and Muffliato. The short man was pacing up and down the alley.

The woman smiled at Scorpius once she had finished isolating them from the outside world. “Took you long enough to figure that out.” Scorpius noticed the grip on her wand tighten, but she kept it at her side.

The sight of a wand rejuvenated Scorpius’s struggle. If he could just reach his wand, he could escape. He was well practiced in dueling, a skill that both the Potters and his father guessed he would find helpful. 

Scorpius tried to discreetly snake his right hand into his robe, cursing how many pockets were sewn inside. The short man caught the movement and slapped Scorpius’s hand before tightly grabbing his wrist. Scorpius lurched, trying to dislodge the hands restraining him.

The shorter man didn’t seem to be bothered by their victim’s struggling. “Would you guys stop messing around? Let’s just take him in and be done with it.”

The helpless man absolutely did not like the sound of that. Take him where? He tried kicking out again, but it seems his attackers learned their lesson and shuffled their legs out of range.

The tall man pulled his wand out, holding it at eye level, watching Scorpius’s face closely. Scorpius’s eyes flicked between the man’s face and the wand. He pressed his body even closer to the wall, in a futile attempt to escape the weapon.

Scorpius clenched his fists as the wand aimed at his chest. “Please.” It was the second day in a row he had resorted to begging. “Let me go.”

The armed man didn’t acknowledge Scorpius, but turned to look at the shorter man, wand still trained on the pinned man. “What’s the rush, my friend? We’ve got a real Death Eater on our hands. Seems logical we take every precaution.” 

Flinching at being called a Death Eater, Scorpius kept his eyes on the wand, fearing that his retort would not be appreciated.

The red head chimed in. “He’s right. Can’t be too careful. We all know how slippery Malfoys are. They always seem to conveniently escape their punishment.”

With exaggerated slowness, she approached Scorpius. She nodded to the men holding him and they seemed to understand their cue as they wrenched Scorpius away from the wall only to turn him so he was facing the wall. The taller man engulfed Scorpius from behind, grabbing his slim wrists and pressing his hands against the wall. It felt like a sick recreation of his embrace with Albus just an hour earlier as he felt the heavy man leaning against his back. 

The weight was lifted and Scorpius felt the cold wood of a wand under his chin, forcing him to meet the gaze of the tall man. “Stay.” He commanded, pressing his wand lightly into Scorpius’s neck before moving it back a couple inches.

Scorpius jumped at the touch of the red head. She was slowly moving her hands down Scorpius’s sides, searching him. The touch was foreign and made him nauseous.

The touch felt like fire and he couldn’t take it. “I’ve only got my wand. There’s nothing else -” 

“Shut up.” The woman yanked the wand out of his robe’s pocket and took a few moments to admire it, twirling it between her fingers. “You were going to use this against us?” She whispered in his ear, brushing his own wand against his face.

Scorpius felt his face burn at the mockingly intimate gesture. His eyes pricked with tears and he kept his head down, praying they didn’t notice. He feared any ounce of weakness would be preyed on.

The woman leaned over to hand the tall man the wand she just confiscated. They both looked at it for a moment and Scorpius saw his opening. He pushed himself off the wall and prepared to sprint. He had barely managed to move before a fist collided with his gut.

A silent gasp was all Scorpius managed as the air left his lungs and he dropped to his knees, using his right arm to support himself against the wall.

“What did I say?” The tall man hauled Scorpius back into a standing position by his shirt collar. “I told you to stay, did I not?” He pressed Scorpius back against the wall, his hand still balled in his shirt.

Scorpius’s hands shot up to pull at the one holding him, still trying to catch his breath. He saw the woman smiling and the shorter man looking mildly annoyed.

The hand started applying pressure to his sternum. “Did I tell you to stay?” The tall man snarled.

Realizing it was not a rhetorical question, Scorpius nodded. “You did.” Scorpius wheezed out, when the hand remained unmoved. 

He was released. Scorpius nearly collapsed. He was terrified. He was hurting. He was confused. “Who are you?” He managed, his hands rubbing his chest, trying to sooth it.

“Not for you to know, yet.” The woman spat. “We were in the middle of something. Turn around.” She spun her finger in a circle, indicating that she wanted Scorpius in the same position, bracing himself against the wall.

“Why are you doing this?” Scorpius ignored the request, focusing on gathering information. They thought he was a Death Eater. They clearly were not fond of his family. 

“Merlin’s beard, let’s just get him back to the boss.” The short man finally interjected, throwing his arms in the air.

The woman smiled venomously. “We’ll take him when we’re ready. There’s no rush. In fact, we have all day. We aren’t expected until tonight.” She looked to the tall man, who was also grinning.

The short, impatient man huffed and sat down against the wall opposite of Scorpius. Scorpius liked his chances a lot more against only two adversaries. A tiny blossom of hope bloomed in his chest.

A wand was back at his throat, his own wand. “You heard the lady. Turn around.” Scorpius thought his best odds relied on him waiting for another golden opportunity. He would play along in the meantime. 

Scorpius held his hands up in resignation and turned around, pressing his hands against the brick. When he did, he felt a pair of hands tugging at his robe. He moved his hands to aid them in pulling it off, concerned about the consequences if he resisted.

Pressing his hands back against the wall, he felt the cold morning air bite him through his thin dress shirt. He didn’t realize how much he had been sweating, but his white shirt was nearly drenched.

“Stressed about something, Malfoy?” The woman asked, in a mockingly concerned voice. He saw his robe thrown to the sitting man, who set to searching all the pockets.

The woman carried on with her search, though it seemed entirely unnecessary seeing as his shirt was nearly translucent. Her hands lingered on his chest, before sliding down to his stomach. Scorpius sucked in a breath as a hand brushed against the skin just above his belt buckle.

“Spread your legs.” The tall man demanded with a tone of amusement, as though struggling to keep a straight face. Scorpius shot him a challenging look, unwilling to be a participant in his own humiliation again.

The man smiled again, raking his eyes across Scorpius. The vulnerable man suddenly regretted his brief moment of defiance as the back of his neck was grasped and his face collided with the brick. His vision blurred for a moment and he felt the warmth of blood slip down his face.

Scorpius did not have to be told to spread his legs as he had done so anyway to catch his balance. He reached up to touch his face and hissed in pain as he felt a gash near his right eyebrow. 

Distracted by his newly acquired wound, Scorpius recoiled when he felt hands grasp his ankle as the woman continued her search. Forcing himself to relax, he stilled himself. She patted down both ankles and calves before standing up, laughing quietly to herself.

Feeling hands reach around to feel the front pockets of his pants, Scorpius shifted his hips out of their range. “Stay.” The voice reminded Scorpius to allow this violation or else.

Scorpius reluctantly moved back into position. The woman once again lingered sickeningly close to intimate touches. Scorpius nearly gagged when she deliberately rubbed her hand across the zipper of his pants. The tears in his eyes now threatened to fall.

The woman backed away, clearly satisfied with her completed search. Scorpius remained still, waiting, fearing retaliation if he shifted. 

“Fuck me, he already done fighting back?” The man holding his wand nudged Scorpius’s shoulder, as though prodding him to do something. Scorpius lazily leaned against the wall with his eyes to the floor, not wanting his tormentors to see his fear and pain.

The short man stood up. “Let’s see that cut. He’s bleeding. Might need to stitch that up.” The woman rolled her eyes, clearly unconcerned about the bloody man in front of her.

The taller man grabbed Scorpius’s hair and pulled his head up so the other man could investigate. Scorpius couldn’t stop his eyes from glancing at the three people as his wound was studied.

“He’s crying.” The tall man stated with a snort of laughter. “We’ve made a Death Eater cry. We’ve only been with him for what, like 20 minutes?” He leaned in close to Scorpius’s face. “Look what the Malfoy name has been reduced to. What would your father say, or your grandparents, if they saw you like this?” He taunted.

Scorpius clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, trying to compose himself. Taking a deep breath, his attackers noticed it hitch.

“He’s scared.” The woman started speaking and Scorpius’s eyes followed her. “No one’s here to protect you, are they? Not your daddy and there’s no Potter in sight.” She caressed his cheek and he tried jerking his head away, but the grip on his hair stopped him. He yelped.

“Why are you doing this?” Scorpius whispered, his eyes darting between each face. “Let me go. Please. I’ll just - I’ll go home. I won’t tell anyone.” He was tripping over his words, unsure what could convince them to free him.

The short man let out an annoyed groan. “Are you guys done playing with your food? I’m starting to feel bad for him.” He gestured to Scorpius’s face. “And you guys are going to be responsible for cleaning him up, not me.”

The woman waved him off. “Yeah, yeah.” She said sarcastically. “We can take him in. We’ve still got time later and we need to give him the grand tour.”

Scorpius started shaking his head as they closed in on him. “No, no please. Don’t take me. I won’t tell.” He tried backing away from the three, but they continued to advance, ignoring his pleas.

Cornered, terrified, and unarmed, Scorpius swung his right fist towards the tall man, whose hand was still tangled in Scorpius’s hair. It connected with his jaw and Scorpius felt the shock from the impact shoot up his arm. His hair was released and the man was crumbling, roaring in pain.

His golden opportunity was now . Ignoring the radiating pain from his hand, he pushed off the wall and ran. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears and his body trembled with adrenaline. For a moment, he wondered if his heart might explode.

Shoes pounding against pavement, Scorpius sprinted to the mouth of the alley, wildly scanning the area for anyone. He knew he couldn’t fight all three of them. He couldn’t outrun them unarmed. His only hope was someone rescuing him.

The street was woefully empty. Scorpius screamed nonetheless, unsure if he had even made it beyond the Muffliato barrier. He only needed one person, one good samaritan, preferably not a Muggle.

Standing in the middle of the street, he hesitated, the adrenaline unfortunately interfering with his ability to remember directions. Distantly, he heard someone yell, “Incarcerous!”

A thick rope wrapped itself around Scorpius’s right ankle, narrowly avoiding the left. He tried to keep running, but his leg was pulled out from under him. He caught himself with his forearms, painfully, but managed to avoid hitting his head on the pavement. 

Scorpius looked back at the three monsters he tried fleeing from. They were holding the end of the rope and reeling him in like a fish. He tried digging his heels into the ground and crawling away, but he was easily overpowered. His right arm painfully dragged against the street as he was roughly pulled. He kicked his legs out, trying to untie the rope, but it was well secured. He resorted to yelling, hoping someone would hear and see him being dragged across the street.

He was dragged back into the alley, arms and back raw with road rash. As the three descended on Scorpius, he clawed at them wildly, kicking and swinging, feeling some connections with flesh.

Backing off him, the three stood back up. Scorpius tried scooting away, but he didn’t make it far as the shorter man was standing on the rope still bound around his ankle. 

“What was that about having no fight left?” The short man laughed, pointing at the other man’s face, who was now sporting a newly forming bruise and a bloodied lip. 

The large man did not laugh. He stormed towards the supine man, who put his arms up defensively. Scorpius’s legs uselessly kicked against the ground, trying to scurry away. His mouth opened to beg, but before any words escaped him, the larger man grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him a few inches off the ground, and punched Scorpius in the jaw. Scorpius’s head hit the ground and his arms reflexively guarded his head from additional attacks.

“Woah, woah.” The short man stepped off the rope to stop the other man from winding up again. “He can’t take hits like that.” He gestured to the nearly unconscious Scorpius. “None of this matters if we kill him here.” The larger man dropped his hand and just stared at Scorpius.

Scorpius was blinking rapidly again, this time trying to clear the stars from his vision. His mouth was wet and tasted of metal. His ear was ringing. For some reason, it was more difficult to breathe and any movement made him nauseous. He tried to look up at the man, to brace for another attack, and the shifting of his head made him moan.

He felt a tugging at his right ankle, but he didn’t react. He just used his peripheral vision to keep the large man in his sights. He could tell the man wasn’t satisfied. The man squatted in front of Scorpius, making the man flinch into the ground. 

Scorpius was being rolled onto his stomach. The movement made him retch as it set his world spinning. Rough hands were forcing Scorpius’s arms to the small of his back. His limp body didn’t respond, didn’t let him pull away. He felt the rope chafing his wrists as they were tightly secured behind his back. 

Hands grasped at his upper arms and pulled, forcing Scorpius to stand. His legs refused to support him and he was dry heaving, unable to catch his breath. He was leaned against the wall, hands on his arms and back to keep him upright.

“You’ve given him a concussion.” The woman said, looking at Scorpius’s unfocused eyes. “Give him a few minutes. Apparating now will mess him right up.”

The woman was right. The thought of apparating nearly made Scorpius retch again. His head throbbed, the rope around his wrists reminded him of the pain in his hand, and he could still feel his diaphragm spasming from the strike to his abdomen.

He heard more voices, but his foggy brain couldn’t keep up. The constant noise was amplified in his muddy brain. He watched drops of blood hit the pavement as he struggled to lift his head.

After a few minutes, the nausea lessened, and Scorpius dared to look up. The three people were casually talking about their dinner plans as they held him. The juxtaposition almost made Scorpius laugh.

The short man noticed Scorpius’s movement. “Feeling better?” He asked in earnest. 

Scorpius blinked in surprise. He had the attention of all three people now as they waited for a response. Feeling better? No, Scorpius had in fact never felt worse. Even when he was held under the Cruciatus Curse years ago, he wasn’t suffering alone. Albus was there. The pain and terror he was feeling right now was unmatched.

The woman was snapping her fingers in his face, trying to elicit a response. The hands pulled him away from the wall, testing his ability to stand on his own.

“Talk to us, Malfoy.” The short man continued to seek out Scorpius’s condition. 

“Yeah, a little better.” His voice was small, raw. He did feel mildly stronger, his legs fully supporting him and he had regained the ability to move his head.

“First stop on the grand tour is the infirmary, thanks to you.” The short man gave the taller man an irritated glance. The tall man shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

All three of his attackers moved quickly, forming a circle with Scorpius. As they linked arms, Scorpius felt the familiar sensation of apparating. He felt himself being pulled and pushed in different directions. Not knowing the destination made it difficult for him to brace. He relaxed, trying not to resist being dragged through space.

The four of them hit solid ground with a familiar crack. The motion of the teleport left Scorpius dazed, and he dropped to his knees with a grunt. The three people let him drop, but kept their hands on his shoulders.

Regaining his senses, Scorpius examined his surroundings. Four other people were in the room, rising from a table they were sitting at to greet Scorpius’s party. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with humidity. The damp air smelt surprisingly pleasant, like burnt wood. Thick stone walls loomed around Scorpius and several reinforced iron doors littered the walls. Torches flickered in scones around the walls, casting elongated shadows. 

The four new faces were inching closer, forming a semi-circle around the newly-apparated group. Their postures were casual, their eyes sharp with anticipation.

One of the wizards, dressed in Muggle clothes, crouched in front of Scorpius. The red headed woman tangled her fingers in Scorpius’s hair to lift his head, forcing him to face this new person.

“Merlin, you’ve done a number on him.” The jean-wearing wizard laughed out, looking up at the three holding Scorpius captive. He caught sight of the tall wizard’s face, cheek bruised and lip split. “He do that?” The wizard enquired, still crouched by Scorpius.

The tall wizard, Scorpius’s nemesis, made a noise of disgust. “Yeah. Little shit tried to rabbit on us three times.” He pressed his fingers into the gash above Scorpius’s eyebrow. Scorpius yelped, trying to whip his head away, but the grip on his hair forced him to endure.

  The new group of people laughed. Scorpius’s mouth was dry. He tried swallowing down some of the panic. His wide eyes searched each person.

A woman with a large scar on her face was the next to speak up. “He’s awfully quiet now. Not already broken in, is he?” Scorpius’s eyes met her intense gaze for just a moment before he had to look away.

“Nah.” The red head pulled on Scorpius’s hair, forcing him to expose his neck. “He was feisty right until he took a fist to the dome. Think he’s just seeing stars right now.” Her other hand slipped under Scorpius’s shirt and rubbed soft circles against his collarbone. The touch made him shiver. “We did make him cry though.” She pulled again on his hair, forcing him to look up at her. “You cried for us, didn’t you, love?” 

Scorpius squirmed at being addressed directly. He gathered all the liquid he had in his mouth, mostly blood, and spat it at the face of the woman. The pink wad didn’t quite make it, but splattered onto her shoulder.

The jeers from the observing group made Scorpius immediately regret his small act of rebellion. “I - I’m sorry. Please, no.” He gasped out between labored breaths, not even sure what he was pleading against.

The grip from his hair was released and the red haired woman walked around Scorpius, so she was standing in front of him. “That was cute, darling.” She drawled out. “Don’t think I’ll forget about that any time soon.” She then turned her attention to one of the other wizards in the room and they started conversing.

The two men still holding Scorpius yanked his arms to signal it was time to stand. Scorpius was successful in kicking his feet under him and maintaining his balance as they hoisted him up. 

“He needs a pitstop at the infirmary. Get his head sorted so he doesn’t pass out at the meeting tonight.” The short man said, excusing them from the interaction. The new group nodded and returned to their tables as the two men escorted Scorpius through one of the iron doors.

As the door closed behind them, the clang of metal sent a shock wave through Scorpius’s brain. Each frantic beat of his heart sent a throb of pain into his head. His legs struggled to keep up with the men dragging him forward. 

The short hallway was lined with wooden doors and they came to a halt in front of one of them. The shorter man pushed open the door, and Scorpius was bombarded by the scent of antiseptic and herbs. The infirmary was small, two wooden cots pushed against the far wall and shelves lined with neatly arranged potions. A lone figure was sitting at a desk and glanced up from her work as the group entered.

The healer, perhaps in her forties, had tired eyes, but they softened when they landed on the bloodied man being dragged in front of her. Her hands stilled over a bundle of bandages, and for the briefest moment, she looked troubled.

“Another one?” she asked cooly, her gaze flicking between the men restraining Scorpius.

“Not just any ‘another one,’” the taller man sneered, twisting Scorpius’s arm to encourage him to take a step forward. “This one’s a Malfoy. ” There was pride in his voice and it was clear he expected a positive reaction.

The healer’s lips pressed into a thin line and she raised her eyebrows. “And?”

“And,” the stout man cut in, “he needs to stay conscious. Got knocked around a bit, but don’t patch him up too much. Just enough to keep him aware.”

The healer’s expression darkened, but she said nothing as she stepped forward. She gently tilted Scorpius’s chin up to inspect the wound near his temple. Her fingers were cool, steady - a stark contrast to the rough hands that inflicted the wounds. She tutted at the sluggish bleeding.

“Sit,” she ordered, her voice firm but not unkind.

Scorpius was unceremoniously pushed onto the cot, his legs buckling as they made contact. The healer was already holding a cloth, and started dabbing the gash. A sharp sting shot through his skull, and he flinched.

The healer pulled her hand back and waited for Scorpius to recover. “Hold still,” she murmured.

A faint warmth spread as she muttered a quiet incantation, the magic sinking into his skin, pulling at the torn flesh. The pain dulled, replaced with exhaustion. He relaxed into the touch of the healer.

The taller man was leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t get too comfortable, Malfoy. This is the nicest we’ll be to you.”

The healer shot him a glare. “You two can wait outside.”

The tall man rolled his eyes. “Fine. Keep him restrained though.” He warned, giving Scorpius another glance. “Oh, and if you strip him, put him back in that shirt. The bloodstains suit him.” The two men filtered out the door, closing it behind them.

The healer turned back to Scorpius. She worked methodically, but there was no urgency in her hands, no rush to finish and push him back into the nightmare waiting beyond the infirmary walls. If anything, it seemed like she was deliberately working slowly, frequently standing to fetch another bandage or a bottle of disinfectant.

After bandaging the wound on Scorpius’s head, she took a step back, appraising the young man. “Anything else hurt?” 

Scorpius was admittedly feeling significantly better after the light numbing incantation on his head was performed. “My… my hand and my chest.” His voice was hoarse and the words burned his throat.

The healer hummed, looking at his bound wrists. “I’m going to untie you to examine your hand.” She pressed lightly on Scorpius’s back to encourage him to lean forward to give her access to his binds. “Don’t try anything. I don’t want to hurt you.” The words felt honest.

With his hands freed, Scorpius felt immense relief. Though he was still trapped, the lack of restraints made him feel lighter. The healer was turning his right arm over in her hand. “Nothing concerning.” She mumbled. “You haven’t thrown many punches, have you?” She joked as she gave Scorpius his arm back.

“First one.” He replied quietly, flexing his hand.

“I can tell. I need to examine your chest. Can you unbutton your shirt?” She knelt in front of the cot, waiting for Scorpius to comply.

Scorpius reached for the button, trying to push it through the hole in the cloth. His right hand was slow to respond and both hands were trembling. The healer took both his hands in hers and pressed them into his lap. She unbuttoned his shirt for him and pulled the fabric away from his torso, unsticking the dried blood.

Her cool touch ghosted over his sternum and Scorpius recoiled, remembering the violating touch in the alley. The hands retreated and only returned when Scorpius’s breathing slowed again. They were soft, gently, pressing experimentally along his chest and abdomen.

“Nothing broken. You’ll be sore for some time though.” She pointed at the mottling of bruises marring his pale skin. She buttoned his shirt back up, not leaving him exposed any longer than necessary.

She turned her back on the unrestrained Scorpius, and returned with a cup. “You need to drink something.” She forced the cup into Scorpius’s shaking hands. He gulped the liquid down gratefully, noticing it was not just water. 

“A draught to help you get some sleep. They want you conscious tonight, you need rest before that.” Her voice strained a little, as though she despised the words she was saying. “Relax, Scorpius, lie back.” The use of his first name was surprising and it had a calming effect on him. He obeyed, sinking into the cot.

The kind treatment emboldened Scorpius. “Why am I here?” He asked quietly, his eyes searching hers for answers.

The healer shook her head, looking away from the desperate grey eyes. “You’re - you’re an example.” Her voice wavered. “They’re trying to prove that no one can get away with being a Death Eater sympathizer.” 

“But I’m not.” Scorpius wanted her to look at him, but she kept glancing around the room, uncomfortable.

“I know.” She said finally. “And I think most of them know, too.” She took his hand in hers, squeezing gently.

“Can you help me?” Scorpius asked, sitting up. 

The healer sighed, looking at Scorpius, pain clear in her eyes. “No. I can’t risk my safety, I can’t risk my family.” Scorpius wasn’t the only one trapped. She seemed ashamed of her answer. 

“Sleep now, Scorpius.” She touched his chest as he lowered himself into the cot. “Scorpius…” She seemed to be trying to find the words. Closing her eyes, she gave up and turned away, letting go of Scorpius’s hand. He reached out to her, but the potion seemed to be taking effect and his head was swimming again, though not unpleasantly. He felt the warmth of sleep encompass him.

He heard voices before he opened his eyes. The voice of the healer, the one that was gentle and soft with him, was now loud and firm. “He’s a kid! What are you thinking?”

A familiar voice responded, one of his captors. “He’s an adult. Just shut up and do your job. Don’t you dare question us.” His voice was dangerous, a clear threat.

There was a pause in the voices, and Scorpius only heard shuffling. The healer spoke up again, her voice more restrained. “Just be more careful with him. At this rate, he’ll be dead long before your great production.” 

A few people laughed. Scorpius cracked his eyes open. His three captors were in the room, along with two people he had never seen. The healer sat at her desk, holding a quill over a piece of parchment.

 “True enough.” Laughed the tall man, clearly unconcerned about Scorpius’s wellbeing. Scorpius’s heart stopped when he locked eyes with the man. His lips curled into a venomous smirk. “I see our guest of honor is awake.” He checked his watch dramatically. “Just in time, too.”

The two strangers approached the cot and Scorpius pushed himself up, scrambling against the wall. “Now, now.” Scorpius looked beyond the men advancing, at his tall captor. “Don’t try anything stupid.” He taunted.

The strangers stopped a few feet from the cot. “Stand up.” One of them growled, pointing to the floor between them. Scorpius slid off the cot, standing in the space provided, noticing how much better his head felt.

“Turn around.” The same voice growled. Scorpius’s throat made an involuntary noise that five people in the room found quite amusing. He slowly turned to face the cot, straining his neck to keep the strangers in his line of sight.

“Hands behind your back.” Another command. Scorpius hesitated, anxious about losing his only semblance of freedom. He saw the shadow of the tall man shift and he quickly complied, crossing his wrists at the small of his back.

“Good boy.” The tall man commented as one of the strangers snapped cold, metal handcuffs on the surrendering Scorpius.

The strangers spun Scorpius around and gave him a shove towards the door. They didn’t put their hands on him as Scorpius walked. The healer gave him one last pitiful glance before he left the room.

Scorpius walked the stony corridors with only light pushes to guide him. It was a labyrinth and Scorpius quickly gave up trying to mentally map their journey. They came to a large double door. Both strangers stood before it. One whispered an incantation, and the doors creaked open.

The room was designed just like the old Wizengamot trial rooms - dark stone walls, rows of elevated seats arranged in a circle, and a lone chair in the center, awaiting Scorpius. 

The seats were lined with witches and wizards, their conversations dying down with the creaking of the door, faces illuminated by flickering torchlight. Some leaned forward with eager expressions, others sat back with folded arms, silent but watchful. At the front of the room sat two figures in elegant chairs, set apart from the rest.

One was a man, well dressed, his dark robes immaculately tailored, his posture poised with an air of superiority. He was refined, every movement precise, as though he had prepared for this moment meticulously. His face bore no malice, only certainty and confidence.

Beside him, the woman was a stark contrast. Her posture was rigid, her expression fierce. Her robes were simpler, practical rather than elegant. Unlike the man, who carried himself with calm control, she radiated barely contained aggression, fingers twitching at the sight of Scorpius.

Scorpius’s escort pushed him into the chair and fanned out, finding their seats. He sat on the edge of it awkwardly, his bound hands preventing him from leaning against the back of the chair. He nervously glanced around at the watchful eyes, but his gaze was drawn to the two figures ahead of him.

The man spoke first. “You must be overwhelmed,” he said smoothly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Cassius Vale, the head of this organization.” He gestured around the chamber, as if expecting Scorpius to be impressed. “You have the privilege of being present before those who have dedicated themselves to restoring justice to the wizarding world.”

Scorpius remained silent, confident it was not expected for him to reply. 

Cassius smiled, unbothered. “And this,” he continued, turning slightly to indicate the woman beside him, “is Helena Stroud. She ensures that justice is carried out.”

Helena’s lips curled into a smirk. She looked down at Scorpius, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips. “I make sure filth like you gets what it deserves,” she said bluntly. Her voice was rough, sharp, carrying none of Cassius’s elegance. “You’re lucky we’re even bothering with formalities.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the audience and Scorpius’s panicked gaze swept across them. 

Cassius sent a fleeting glance towards Helena before raising a hand, silencing the room. “We are here because the Ministry has failed in its duties. It has allowed darkness to fester, hidden behind bureaucracy and empty words. We are the ones willing to do what is necessary.” His eyes locked onto Scorpius’s. “Surely, even you can understand that.”

Scorpius forced himself to hold Cassius’s gaze, though the weight of it made his skin crawl. “And what is it you think I’ve done?” He rasped, leaning forward a fraction of an inch.

Cassius clasped his hands together and replied, “That is precisely what we intend to discover. We believe in order, after all. You will stand trial in one week.” His voice was authoritative. “During this trial, you will be given the opportunity to answer for the crimes of your bloodline and prove whether you are worthy of mercy.”

Scorpius felt the nausea creep back into his stomach. “A trial?” He asked meekly, unable to form a more coherent sentence.

Looking pleased at his opportunity for more explanation, Cassius continued. “The trial will be held before our full council. We will examine your loyalties, your actions, and the undeniable stain of your heritage.” His voice carried an edge that pressed down on Scorpius like a heavy stone. 

Helena rolled her eyes. “The Ministry believes in second chances, rehabilitation. We do things differently here.”

Scorpius looked between the two. “And if I’m innocent?” He asked quietly, when he was finally able to catch his breath.

Helena snorted, but Cassius answered first. “Then you will be free,” he said simply.

Cassius must have noticed the doubt on Scorpius’s face, because he added, “You misunderstand us. We do not kill without reason. We are not Death Eaters, nor are we the Ministry. We are here to correct the failures of both.”

Scorpius’s vision blurred as the words settled. He no longer had to ask what would happen should he be found guilty. Helena seemed to notice Scorpius’s realization and smiled to herself. 

“One week, Malfoy.” The sound of Cassius saying his name pulled his attention back. “One week.” He repeated. “Make good use of it.”

Several people stood and started making their way to Scorpius, though his eyes were locked on the two leaders. Hands pulled him into a standing position. Cassius started making diligent notes on a scroll and Helena stood at the same time as Scorpius, watching him like a predator. He wondered for a moment if she intended to be a part of his escort, but Cassius grabbed her hand and pulled her back into her chair, without looking up from his notes. 

Scorpius was led from the chamber back into the maze of corridors. The double doors slammed behind him and his escort. The only person he recognized in his party was the red haired woman. After several twists and turns down narrow hallways, another door stood before them, one of the reinforced iron doors. The woman flicked her wand.

“Welcome home, Malfoy,” she said as she pushed the door open. 

The room was cold, cavernous, and barren - except for the cage in the center. It was no ordinary holding cell, no locked room with a cot in the corner. It was a true cage, thick iron bars forming a rectangular structure in the middle of the stone floor, completely exposed. Harsh, industrial lights hung above the cage, a spotlight. There were no walls to hide behind, no privacy. 

“Like it?” The woman sneered. “Figured you’d want the VIP treatment, considering your pedigree.”

Scorpius said nothing, his throat dry.

The woman grabbed his arm, her nails digging in hard enough to bruise. “Let’s give you the tour, then.”

She yanked him toward the cage, making a show of pointing out the details. “No bed - don’t want you getting too comfortable. Just a blanket. No sink, no toilet. There are lots of privileges you get to earn here.” 

Scorpius jerked away, but she had a firm grip on him and his restrained arms made his movement sluggish. She gave him a shove towards the open door of the cage.

“Get in.” 

For a brief, foolish moment, Scorpius hesitated, tempted to take a step back. 

The woman smiled. “Want me to help?”

She kicked the back of his knees and he stumbled forward, landing harshly on the unforgiving stone floor. He winced as the cuffs bit into his wrists, his arms trying to catch his fall. 

The woman followed him into the cage, circling the now kneeling man. His head swiveled, trying to keep her in his vision. “Naughty, naughty.” She crouched in front of him, brushing his sweat soaked hair from his face.

“Stop. Please.” Scorpius whispered, as the woman ran her hand through his hair.

“Only because you asked so nicely.” The woman stood up abruptly, surprising Scorpius. “Though don’t think I forgot about your disrespect earlier.” She walked behind Scorpius and grabbed the chain connecting his cuffs, straining his shoulders and forcing him to bend forward to accommodate. 

“You’ll sleep with these on tonight, I think.” She dropped his arms and he shuffled on his knees to face her. “I strongly recommend you learn to behave.” 

Scorpius opted to stay silent, watching the bars to his cage slam shut. The woman waved her wand at the lock and the click echoed through the empty room. “See you soon, love,” she mocked as she joined the rest of Scorpius’s escort leaving. The iron door slammed shut, and Scorpius was alone.

He didn’t move. The only sounds he could hear was the buzzing from the industrial light above him and the sound of his own panicked heart beat. 

After some time, Scorpius stood up, with some effort considering his restraints. He walked in a tight circle, testing the space he had been given. The crushing reality hit him, and he collapsed on the blanket, the only comfort in the room, letting out a sob. 

He was supposed to come home to Albus. He wondered what time it was. Was Albus worried yet? Was he looking for him? 

Scorpius’s arm was already going numb from laying on his side. His body spasmed with weak sobs. His head throbbed, his chest ached, his wrists were raw. He weakly called out for Albus, hoping that hearing his lover’s name would ground him in a way. Instead, he became disgusted with himself, pathetic, too weak to save himself. He curled his legs to his chest and couldn’t help but wonder if he deserved a guilty verdict.

Chapter 4: Fault Lines

Opening his eyes, Scorpius had no clue how long he had been laying on the blanket. His arms were numb, shoulders aching. The room was bitterly cold, and small trembles rippled through his body. 

Scorpius struggled as he tried sitting up. The shifting of his arms forced a hiss out of the restrained man as the numbness abruptly became pins and needles. He flexed his hands, trying to regain some sensation. 

The room around his cage was empty, which was a relief. Being alone was far preferable over whatever torment these fanatics had in store. This small mercy gave Scorpius the opportunity to think.

The thought of the trial sat in his stomach like a stone. He knew this trial wasn’t about him, not really. The accusations were aimed at his family, his name, the history written in blood long before he was even born. That was what mattered to them. Not who he was, not what he had done, but what they thought he represented .

Death Eater spawn. Son of the Dark Lord. The words had been spat at him before, behind his back, to his face, woven into the undercurrent of every whisper and wary glance. After years of honing his skills in pretending those accusations were nothing more than words, they had turned into something very real.

They planned to make an example of him, that’s what the healer said. The pit in Scorpius’s stomach deepened. This trial was a formality. He was guilty and the mirage of the trial would be just enough to justify whatever twisted sense of justice these people were seeking. 

The iron door screeched as it opened. Scorpius flinched, his metal cuffs clanging against the bars. The red haired woman walked in, flanked by two men. She narrowed her eyes at the caged man, and smiled sweetly.

Watching the three people approach, Scorpius kept himself pressed against the bars, on the farthest wall from the cage door. His chest rose and fell rapidly, revealing the panic coursing through him.

“Sleep well, darling?” The woman used a gentle voice, feigning tenderness. “Can’t imagine you were very comfortable. Poor thing.” She gave Scorpius a dramatic pout as she tapped her wand against the lock on his cage.

The woman took a step into his cage and Scorpius kicked out wildly as she approached. One kick connected with her shin and she shuffled back. Scorpius sucked in a quick breath as he waited for the anger, the punishment, the consequence. The woman smiled down at him again and clicked her tongue as though he were a misbehaving puppy.

The reaction scared Scorpius more than the physical punishment we faced in the alley for his defiance. He had expected her to strike him, maybe throw a hex. His legs stilled.

“Now, now.” She walked closer, trusting Scorpius was done lashing out. She didn’t crouch, forcing Scorpius to look up at her, making him feel small.

The woman reached down and pulled Scorpius up, the two men standing outside the cage grabbing his arms through the bars to help. He was now standing, back pressed against the bars.

She stepped into his personal space, so close that he could feel the heat radiating off her body, slightly pleasant in the frigid room. All sense of pleasantness evaporated as the woman stroked a hand lightly over his chest, the other hand reaching up to cup his face. A clang echoed through the room as the back of Scorpius’s head connected with metal in an effort to escape.

Scorpius was trapped. Trapped between the cold iron, and the inferno of the woman’s touch. He stopped breathing. His wide eyes focused fully on the woman in front of him.

Her hand pressed against his chest. “You’re so scared, honey.” Mock sympathy oozed from her voice. The hand at his face slid down his jaw and settled at the back of his neck. “No need, love. I’ll take good care of you.”

There was nothing Scorpius could do besides wait for this charade of intimacy to end. He felt sick, humiliated, disgusted. 

The hand at the back of his neck suddenly tightened and the woman moved her face towards Scorpius’s. He managed to wrench his head out of her control and turn it to the side. The woman let out an amused hum and planted a kiss on Scorpius’s jaw. 

One of the men still holding his arms laughed. “Don’t think you’re his type.”

The woman shot him a glare and the laughing ceased immediately. “He’ll come around.” She dragged her hands up and down his chest one last time before stepping back. Scorpius sighed with relief as her scalding touch left his skin.

Her eyes raked up and down Scorpius’s body as she stood back. Scorpius felt the urge to cover himself, though he was fully clothed. The look made him feel vulnerable. The woman raised her hand to her mouth, pressing her fingers to her lips in thought.

“He is cute,” She appraised before quickly adding, “for what he is.” Scorpius shivered, shame settling in his chest. “He just needs to get used to the touch of a woman. Though…” She trailed off a moment, looking darkly at Scorpius, considering her words. “I think you may have some experience with being a woman, seeing as I’m quite certain you are the woman in your fling with that Potter boy.” 

The laughing resumed. She didn’t stop it this time. The shame in Scorpius’s chest turned to fury as he pulled against the men holding his arms through the bars. “Don’t you ever talk about him.” Scorpius snarled, lunging at the woman, but unable to free himself from the men. “You don’t deserve to talk about him.” 

“Touchy, touchy.” The woman muttered, grinning as she watched the outcome of her provocation. “Tell me then, sweetie, what is it I do deserve?”

Scorpius felt a thousand insults, curses, threats ready themselves on the tip of his tongue, but he froze. This is what she wanted. She knew exactly where to prod to unwind him. Now the Death Eater spawn is lunging at an unarmed woman, hurling threats and curses at her. Scorpius cursed himself internally for so easily succumbing to her ploy, but remained silent. 

A flash of disappointment crossed the woman’s face, before her sickly sweet smile returned. “No matter.” She waved her hand and the men holding Scopius released him. She patted his cheek. “Smart boy.” She whispered, only audible to him.

She threaded her arm between Scorpius’s arm and torso and started walking him to the exit of the cage. “We’ll be spending plenty of time together.” She said cheerfully, and Scorpius glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “I think we should get to know one another a little better, don’t you?” She pulled Scorpius’s arm when he didn’t respond, making him groan as the cuffs sunk into already raw skin.

The woman seemed to pretend it was a noise of agreement as she continued. “My name is Rachel.” They continued to walk, arms linked. “I begged Cassius and Helena for the honor of being your keeper…handler…” Scorpius wondered if there were other words she wanted to use instead. “I’m responsible for you.” She leaned close, entwining her arm with his. “And I intend to make the very most of this opportunity. 

Scorpius shot Rachel a glance of disgust, but again chose to remain silent. The two walked on, followed closely by the two men, through the musty, winding halls.

They reached another iron door that was opened by one of the men and Scorpius recognized it as the room they had apparated into yesterday. There were two long tables lined with several witches and wizards eating breakfast together. They stopped abruptly as Scorpius, Rachel, and their entourage entered.

Scorpius felt a surge of fear as so many sets of eyes were suddenly focused on him. Rachel didn’t seem to notice and led Scorpius to the end of one of the long tables. The food smelled amazing and Scorpius couldn’t help but look at the offerings the others were enjoying. Eggs, bacon, and fried potatoes.

“Kneel.” A command forced Scorpius’s attention away from food and back to Rachel, so was pointing at the floor. “On your knees.” She repeated and the others in the room watched with predatory interest.

Knowing full well he would be kneeling momentarily with or without his participation, Scorpius slowly sunk to his knees. He stayed as tall as possible, not settling on his heels.

Rachel raised her eyebrows and looked at the table, presumably surprised by the show of obedience. “Good boy.” She murmured and stepped behind Scorpius. “Good boys get rewards.” There were hands pulling on his cuffs and Scorpius tried to recoil. Before he could move, the cuffs fell away.

Surprised, Scorpius investigated his newly freed wrists. They were irritated, smears of dried blood caked on his forearms and hands. He twisted his body, trying to keep Rachel in sight, not trusting that this was simply a reward for kneeling.

She didn’t react as Scorpius became reacquainted with the use of his arms. “Can someone make him a plate?” She asked, pointing towards the platters of breakfast on the table.

One wizard grabbed an empty plate and put a small helping of eggs, bacon, and potatoes on it before passing it down the table. The wizard sitting right in front of Scorpius held the plate out to Rachel, before pulling it back towards him. He spat on the plate and then passed it on to Rachel, who didn’t react to the offense. The rest of the table, however, found it most amusing.

Rachel crouched to put the plate on the floor in front of a kneeling Scorpius. When she stood, she ran her hand through his hair, before sliding it down his back in a non-verbal cue that he was released and could eat.

Scorpius watched warily, fearing there was a catch, something he had yet to do to earn the food, or a price he may pay later. He leaned forward cautiously, reaching his hand towards the food. Before he could touch it, the toes of a boot collided with his ribcage and he wheezed, confused eyes now staring up at Rachel.

“No hands.” She commanded, her expression neutral. The others in the room chuckled, anticipation building. Scorpius desperately glanced around the room, a small part of him hoping someone would object to this. A few members of the group seemed disinterested, averting their gaze from the kneeling man, but not intervening.

He may have been willing to overlook a wad of spit in his eggs, but being forced to eat off the floor on all fours was not yet a humiliation he intended to endure. Scorpius sat back on his heels, making it clear that he was refusing.

“Ungrateful.” One of the witches at the table muttered, to which the others agreed. “Not up to your standards, Malfoy?”

Scorpius rested his hands on his thighs and stared blankly at the plate. Rachel used her boot to nudge the plate towards him, the sound of ceramic against stone setting his teeth on edge.

A hand was in his hair, pushing his face towards the plate, forcing him to brace himself with his hands. “Eat.” The voice commanded, giving another harsh push before disappearing.

Now on all fours, Scorpius felt his face burn with shame. Though his position was vulnerable, it also brought him closer to the food and the smell of the bacon nearly made him cave.

He hovered over the food a few moments before regaining his resolve. “No.” He forced out through gritted teeth. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of eating like a dog. Hunger churned through his stomach, but it was not yet strong enough to dehumanize himself.

A boot kicked over the plate of food, spilling it onto the floor. “Suit yourself.” A voice said, giving Scorpius a few moments to stare at the wasted food.

“Not hungry, eh?” A voice called out, Scorpius still looking at the ground. “Make him useful then. Put him to work.” A few cheers echoed in the room.

Rachel laughed. “What a fantastic idea.” She crouched down next to Scorpius, who shied away from her. “Clean it up.” She demanded, all amusement sucked out of her voice. 

Scorpius looked from her to the overturned plate to the audience. He could feel it - could feel how much they wanted him to resist. They wanted to see the consequences, maybe participate in them.

A wand lazily rested on his shoulder. The gesture was simple, almost bored. The meaning was exceptionally clear.

Scorpius swallowed hard, throat dry. His muscles locked in place for an agonizing moment until he finally, slowly, reached out to the plate and righted it.

Mocking whistles and exaggerated applause rang out as he scooped the discarded food back on the plate. 

“There’s a good boy.” Exclaimed a voice that was not Rachel’s. Heat burned at the back of his neck as he worked. The stone floor was stained with grease, but the majority of the food was on the plate. He leaned back on his heels again and looked to Rachel for approval.

Rachel grabbed the plate and walked through a door, presumably the kitchen, leaving Scorpius with the group of strangers. He hated how we somehow felt more vulnerable without Rachel present, as though she would protect him. 

“Shame really. Thought it would be more fun to train a Malfoy. Potter’s got him whipped, I reckon.” A man’s voice said with a disappointed hum. 

Scorpius tensed at the mention of Albus. Refusing to look at the speaker, Scorpius stared down at his hands, hoping they would move on.

“I’ve wondered for years why a Malfoy and a Potter ended up together. It’s gotta be one of two things. Malfoy is using Potter to keep himself safe or Potter is only with Malfoy to keep him on a short leash.” A woman explained.

“It’s gotta be option two. There’s no way that one is manipulating a Potter.” Another man argued as several people chuckled. “I’ll bet Harry Potter gave his son the task of keeping a watch on him since Draco slipped right through the fingers of the Ministry.”

Scorpius could feel the eyes on him. His heart ached as he thought about Albus. What if Albus started suspecting that Scorpius had done something wrong? What if Albus believed the other Aurors were right about him?

No, Albus wouldn’t think that. Would he?

Rachel walked back through the door and Scorpius felt a twisted sense of relief. Maybe they were going to a different room now, one where these people were not. When he finally looked at her, she was carrying an array of cleaning supplies.

“You’ll be cleaning our common area.” Rachel explained, holding out the broom and various rags and cleaning solutions. Scorpius’s relief dissipated. 

He stood slowly, hesitant as to whether this was appropriate. He wasn’t kicked or punched when he rose, so he walked over to Rachel and accepted the supplies. The audience was starting to stand and disperse, leaving messes at the table. Rachel nodded to the tables wordlessly.

The morning stretched on in a haze of silent labor and stifled humiliation. Scorpius cycled from one menial task to another - sweeping the floor, scrubbing out old stains from the table, fetching a cup of water for Rachel only for her to tip it onto the floor. His hands ached, wrists sore from where the cuffs had rested, his back tight from bending over for too long.

Rachel watched him. Occasionally, another stranger would sit in the room and watch. Every time he moved, every time he so much as sighed, there was someone ready with a smirk, a taunt, or an order just sharp enough to dissuade any pause in the work.

It was lunchtime and several people lined the tables once more. Rachel shoved a pile of plates into Scorpius’s hands, insinuating that he was to serve. Clenching his jaw and avoiding eye contact, Scorpius set a plate in front of each witch and wizard.

When he placed the final plate, the wizard seated there grabbed Scorpius’s wrist. Scorpius didn’t pull away, but made a small noise of surprise. 

“Maybe we should keep you on after the trial. Seems like you’ve found something you’re good at.” He threw Scorpius’s arm back at him as laughter rippled through the group, casual and cruel.

Another voice chimed in. “What do you think, Malfoy? Feel like turning your wand in for an apron? You could serve us for real - make up for all the damage your bloodline’s done.” 

It was the way they spoke about him like he wasn’t even a person, like he wasn’t standing right there, that made something snap.

“You’re all delusional,” he muttered before he could stop himself, barely above a breath.

The room went silent.

Then - “What was that?”

The speaker was the same man who had first mocked him, his amusement gone in an instant. His chair scraped against the floor as he stood, the sound sharp enough to make Scorpius tense.

“Go on, Malfoy,” he pressed, stepping forward, voice quiet but brimming with something dangerous. “Say it again.”

Scorpius felt his pulse thrum. He wanted to step back, but held his ground. The others at 

the table were watching, all of them waiting, expectant. Anything that wasn’t doubling down would be perceived as weakness.

“I said -” He tried to keep his voice steady. “I said you’re delusional. What you’re doing here, how is it any better than the people you hate?”

The words barely left his lips before pain exploded across his cheek, sharp and blinding. The man had struck him - fast and brutal, with the casual ease of someone who had done it before. Scorpius staggered, the impact knocking him off balance. 

Someone whistled. “Oh, that was a good one.”

A hand gripped his jaw, forcing his face up. His vision swam as he locked eyes with the man who had hit him. There was no anger in them - just satisfaction, like he’d been waiting for an excuse.

“You don’t get to talk back, Malfoy,” he said, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. “You don’t get to talk at all unless we say so.”

Scorpius wrenched away, his heart hammering, but he didn’t say another word. He couldn’t - not without making it worse.

“That’s more like it,” the man sneered, giving his cheek a condescending pat before pushing Scorpius away from him.

Laughter followed Scorpius as he retreated away from the table to watch them eat. His cheek was throbbing. He knew the sting wouldn’t last - bruises always faded, skin always healed - but the humiliation lingered, raw and festering.

They wanted him to fight back. They were just waiting for an excuse. Scorpius had to stop giving them one, right? But then, then he would have to give in, lose himself in following the orders of these fanatics. No, no, he had to fight. Fighting was going to hurt, but submitting would only confirm the beliefs these freaks held.

The afternoon passed similarly to the morning. Scorpius had to pick his battles. There were a few jeers and taunts as he continued cleaning, but he was able to bite down a response. These comments were not worth it.

He was again on duty serving dinner. It was a stew that smelled absolutely divine, reminding him of a dinner he recently ate with Albus. He had not been offered food since that morning and was tempted to steal a few morsels of meat. 

Scorpius was clearing the table after dinner and the common area was busier than it had been all day. Witches and wizards were lounging, snacking on sweets and having drinks. They threw verbal jabs at Scorpius every so often.

“Did you see how quick he hopped to cleaning this time? He’s learning.”

“A Malfoy with a work ethic. Wonders never cease.”

“Give it another few days, and he’ll be asking to lick our boots clean.”

Laughter rang through the room, scraping against Scorpius’s nerves. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.

The moment came when one of them - a broad shouldered man with a sneering mouth - muttered, “Guess Potter’s not here to hold your hand anymore, huh?”

Scorpius exhaled sharply, his restraint crackling. “You think Albus would stand for any of this?” he snapped before he could stop himself. His voice carried through the open space. “Albus Potter is a good man. Don’t you dare drag him down.”

The laughter faltered. Silence slowly settled in the room.

The man’s expression darkened. “That so?”

Scorpius’s heart pounded, but he lifted his chin. “He fights fair too. Doesn’t use tricks like you do.” His voice was even, surprising himself.

The moment stretched. For a second, Scorpius thought maybe - just maybe - 

Then the blow came, fast and brutal again. A wand flick, an unspoken incantation, and pain flared through his ribs like fire.

Scorpius gasped, his knees buckling. He caught himself before he hit the ground, but he was doubled over, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps.

Hands grabbed him - too many to fight. They dragged him upright, forcing his arms behind his back.

Scorpius thrashed, but the grip didn’t loosen. Someone yanked his head back, baring his throat, forcing him to look ahead. He glanced at Rachel, who was sitting in a chair, sipping from a glass.

The sneering man smirked. “You keep running your mouth, Malfoy,” he said, tipping Scorpius’s chin up like he was inspecting a particularly disappointing pet. “But you’re forgetting - you’re not anyone anymore.”

Scorpius heard a jingling sound to his left and tried to find the source, but the hand holding his head was strong.

“Don’t worry, Malfoy.” The man smirked again, this time when he looked in the direction of the sound. “We are well practiced in the art of discipline.”

A man walked in front of Scorpius, and the source of the sound was revealed to be the metal buckle of a thick leather belt. The man holding the belt let it swing in front of Scorpius like a pendulum.

He suddenly turned to Rachel and held out the terrifying piece of leather to her. “He’s all yours, if you’d like.” She smiled and accepted the belt with a nod.

She approached the incapacitated man, idly wrapping the belt around her hand. “Let him go.” The hands around him released, but no one stepped away from him. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” She stretched the belt out in front of her. “You just can’t keep yourself out of trouble.” Rachel traced the leather of the belt along Scorpius’s collarbone.

“Shirt. Off.” She flicked the top button of Scorpius’s dress shirt for emphasis and took a step back, eyes hungry.

Scorpius’s hands twitched. He glanced sideways and saw the audience watching, excited, impatient. He moved his hands to the top button and Rachel nodded enthusiastically. Scorpius was slow to unbutton the shirt, his hands trembling and a small part of him hoped he wouldn’t have to follow through if enough time passed. 

Rachel was watching his hands like a hawk. She laughed as he struggled with the final buttons. She gently batted his hands away and finished the job. Helping Scorpius slide the shirt off his shoulders, she made a point to brush her hand against as much skin as possible.

She stepped back and admired the now shirtless Scorpius. His chest and abdomen were heavily bruised. His muscles twitched randomly, revealing the adrenaline coursing through him. She made a noise in the back of her throat that made Scorpius cross his arms in front of him in an attempt to reserve his modesty. 

“To the wall here.” She pointed at a wall devoid of any decor. “You remember the position from yesterday, right love?” Scorpius felt the very familiar burn of shame as he remembered the vulnerable position he held as she searched him.

Scorpius walked to the wall, and pressed both palms against it, leaning on them. He straightened his back and set his feet shoulder width apart.

A bark of laughter made him wince. “Merlin, what did you do to him yesterday? He even spreads his legs for you?” 

Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he craned his neck to try to look at Rachel. She was purposely standing to one side, so he was able to see her. She ran a hand down his back, dragging her nails across his skin. Scorpius arched his back away from the touch as someone in the crowd wolf whistled.

“Now, darling,” Rachel began and Scorpius looked her in the eye. “We will start light. We already know you can’t take much. I’ll give you five lashes, plus one with the buckle.” She held up the metal end for Scorpius to see. His eyes left hers to stare at the cruel instrument.

She stepped behind him, out of view, and Scorpius panicked. His heart felt like it was making a valiant effort to escape his chest and his lungs started demanding more air than he could provide. His body was hot - too hot - he was overheating. He needed water - please -

“One!” The pain was sudden, feeling as though a knife just sliced across his back between his shoulder blades. He gasped in surprise, his whole body screaming to move, to run, to do anything to escape this -

“Two!” His lower back was on fire now. His already hot flesh felt as though it had just been seared. Sweat was dripping down his face and he was panting, unable to catch his breath feeling lightheaded - 

“Three!” He opened his mouth to cry out but no sound came. The pain was in his upper back, alarmingly close to his neck. It made his skin feel tight, he wanted to rip it off, claw his way out of it -

“Four!” The belt struck with a dull thud, different from the signature slap of it hitting flesh. It had hit his fully clothed rear, not causing much pain, but apparently amusing the crowd as they cheered and whistled.

“Five!” The final lash of leather struck perpendicular to the first, his skin reminding him of the existing trauma. He yelped and shifted his legs as his balance faltered. Tears were freely falling down his face.

“Prepare yourself.” Rachel’s voice reminded him of the final strike. The metal. His body trembled waiting for the pain. He recoiled at every miniscule noise in the room. He tried to steady his breathing as he -

The metal struck his right shoulder blade, pushing his body forward against the wall. A sob was pulled from his mouth as he attempted to remain standing. The shock from the hit crept all the way down his right arm. 

The pain suddenly amplified, sudden pressure on the fresh wound, and Scorpius cried out, causing him to cough. Rachel walked into his peripheral vision, blood on the tip of two of her fingers. Holding Scorpius’s pained gaze, she slipped the bloodied fingers into her open mouth, letting Scorpius see her tongue dance around them, before pulling them out clean with a satisfied hum. Scorpius leaned forward and dry heaved. 

Disgusted, Scorpius kept his head down and watched Rachel through the corner of his eye. She was leaning back, admiring the fresh welts on Scopius’s pale back. The sting from the belt was already subsiding, but his shoulder throbbed. The crowd was still watching with some interest, a few members returning to their seats and resuming their conversations, others closing in around Scorpius and Rachel, clearly anticipating more action.

“Stand up straight.” Rachel whispered. Scorpius pushed his hands away from the wall and straightened his back, much to the alarm of his shoulder. When he faced Rachel, he saw his bloodstained shirt in her hands. She seemed reluctant to hand it to him. Slowly, she held it out to him and - 

“This isn’t right.” An uneasy voice rang out through the room. Scorpius forgot all about the shirt as he quickly turned to see who spoke. The entire room followed suit. The speaker was a young man, wearing Muggle clothes, sweatpants and a hoodie, standing next to one of the tables.

“This isn’t what we do.” The man continued and a few noises of disagreement could be heard. Ignoring those, the man continued. “We don’t have proof, we haven’t had the trial yet. This isn’t who we are.” He seemed more emboldened the longer he had the floor.

Another man spoke up, older, with a salt and pepper beard and wearing well-worn robes. “Proof?” His voice had an air of authority. “We have proof. A tainted bloodline, a recent scandal with the Ministry. Look at him.” He gestured at Scorpius. “We have common sense.” The older man took a few steps towards the younger man.

“That’s proof?!” The younger man took a few steps towards Scorpius, which caused the wounded wizard to press his fresh wound against the wall, unappreciative of the sudden attention.

“No Dark Mark.” The man grabbed Scorpius’s left wrist and raised his arm to the room. “No eyewitness accounts, no Pensieve memories involving him, no documented correspondence with dark witches or wizards.” He dropped Scorpius’s wrist, which he pulled tightly to his chest.

The young man stalked over to a woman. “And you,” he began, pointing to the woman, “used Priori Incantatem on his wand. What did you find?” The woman didn’t answer, so the man continued. “Nothing. No Unforgivables. In fact, very few spells cast altogether recently. It would almost seem like your victim was merely living a rather normal life, not shadowing as a Death Eater.” 

Scorpius could feel the tension crackle in the air. A small group whispered amongst themselves, and Scorpius caught them nodding at the man’s final statement. The majority of the group, however, booed and shook their heads in disbelief. 

The bearded man continued to advance on the young man. “No proof, huh?” His voice was edged with frustration. “No documentation of correspondence? He was raised by a Death Eater.” His voice grew louder. “Do you honestly believe that Scorpius Malfoy grew up untouched by that legacy? We know what the Malfoys are. You know what the Malfoy are. If the Ministry had any spine, they’d have done this years ago.”

The crowd seemed to agree more with these words. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. The young man looked unconvinced, throwing his hands in the air to emphasize his irritation. 

It was Rachel who spoke next, addressing the crowd, but throwing glances at the young man. “You must admit it feels good, turning the tables.” She rested her hand on Scorpius’s bare chest, causing a sharp inhale from him. “We get to do to him what his kind did to us. We’ve all lost people, that’s why we’re here. To make them ,” she pushed Scorpius against the wall with her hand still on his chest, “feel just an ounce of the pain, suffering, and fear we all endured. Our loved ones endured.”

She considered Scorpius for a moment, watching her hand rise and fall with his panicked breaths. “And even if this one is being honest, perhaps Draco deserves to know how it feels to lose a son anyway.” The crowd cheered even louder. Scorpius’s hands were clenched, trying to resist the urge - the need - to shove this woman to the ground, to run until his legs gave out, to scream until his throat was torn. 

The bearded man waved her words away. “This isn’t about pain, about revenge.” He now advanced on Rachel. “This is about justice. Someone has to pay for what we’ve lost, but we shouldn’t enjoy it. We are called to carry out the law of nature, nothing more.” 

A few group members rolled their eyes, their bored response revealing this to not be the first time they’ve heard this speech. The young man sprung back up.

“Yes!” He exclaimed. “That’s why I’m here. We were to fight back against dark witches and wizards that managed to avoid punishment. The ones who snitched or hid or claimed they were coerced. I wanted to fight, not,” he gestured to Scorpius vaguely, his expression souring, “torture some poor office worker who shares an unfortunate resemblance to one of the very people I’m talking about.”

The bearded man looked at the ceiling and sighed, annoyance clear. “This is how we fight.” He said plainly. “We make an example of this Malfoy, show that we have not forgiven them for their transgressions. This is our show of force. The Ministry has made the Malfoys untouchable, pardoned. We prove they are very, very touchable and people stop pretending to coexist with their type. People will believe in what we do, that we deserve justice. And his kind,” he pointed to Scorpius with aggression, “will finally reap what they have sown.” The room trembled with excitement and the young man shook his head with a shrug before sitting down.

The room sensed the shift, as the tension turned to celebration, their beliefs reinforced by the bearded man’s rousing speech. Scorpius felt as though he had just been lashed again, the sting of disappointment and false hope fresh. He knew it was naive, but a small part of him hoped against all odds that this one voice could have called the others to reason.

The members of the group dispersed, returning to their conversations and refreshments, smiling and laughing. The young man grouped with those that had seemed to agree with his speech and it seemed they were making an effort not to look at Scorpius.

“I guess you found yourself a defense attorney.” Rachel laughed out as she noticed Scorpius looking at the man who had questioned his treatment. “Smart kid, like you. Young though. Too young to have lived through the devastation your kind caused. His grandmother never recovered from a duel she had with a Death Eater. That Death Eater didn’t fight fair .” She purred in Scorpius’s ear. 

“His story is unremarkable.” Rachel continued, gesturing to the bustling room. “Everyone here has a similar story. I have one, too.” She suddenly gripped Scorpius’s shoulders, pulling him close to her, looking him in the eye.

“My husband was an excellent potioneer. We were attacked in our shop by Death Eaters, looking to recruit him. He refused. I watched my husband be tortured to death. They let me live, to spread the message, one I believe your father was quite familiar with. Join or die. My husband was brave and strong, he chose to die rather than be a tool for Voldemort to use to commit his atrocities. He chose the right option.” Rachel’s gaze was intense, but her tone for once felt genuine, not dripping with false sympathy or condescension. 

Looking at him expectantly, Scorpius realized that Rachel was waiting for his response. What was she expecting? Surely he wasn’t meant to defend his father, maybe even not to defend himself. 

“I’m - “ Scorpius swallowed. “I’m sorry.” He breathed out, fear preventing him from speaking any louder. “Your husband seemed - seems like a noble man.” He desperately searched Rachel’s eyes, waiting to see the rage, sure this was not the script he was meant to follow.

Instead, she sighed, putting her hand on Scorpius’s shoulder and rubbing small circles on his skin with her thumb. The touch made Scorpius’s stomach flip, but he didn’t move, knowing he was in a volatile situation.

“He was.” She nodded. “I’ve never known a better man.” Her eyes looked past Scorpius for a few moments before locking with his eyes again, this time her gaze terrifyingly familiar, now ice cold and unforgiving.

“And when I look at you,” her left hand tightened on his shoulder, “I see those people. I see them looking down on us. Seeing us as less than human. Laughing as we suffered and cried and begged for mercy.” Her right hand reached into her pocket and returned with a wand. Scorpius cocked his head warily and his eyes flicked anxiously between Rachel’s face and her wand.

“Ah, there it is.” Rachel shuddered out, her voice almost a moan. “It’s your turn to be scared of us, of me . It’s your turn to suffer and cry and beg for mercy and it’s my turn to watch and laugh.” She pressed her wand against Scorpius’s throat, studying his face.

Scorpius lifted his chin to try to alleviate the pressure from the wand. It pressed harder, digging into the soft flesh. Trying not to react, Scorpius held his breath.

“Go on then,” Rachel cooed. “ Beg. ” The simple command was accented by a sharp jab of her wand. Scorpius wildly glanced around the room, willing someone to come to his aid. A group sat near Scorpius and Rachel put down their drinks to watch, but didn’t rise.

“ Diffindo. ” Rachel whispered, tracing her wand along Scorpius’s collarbone, leaving a thin, red slice in its wake. Scorpius hissed as the cut was exposed to the cold air. It wasn’t a deep cut, but the exhaustion and panic heightened the intensity of the pain.

Rachel’s wand snaked its way down Scorpius’s bare chest and stomach, settling against the bare skin between his navel and his pants. Scorpius felt his hair stand on end as the wand tip danced across his skin, occasionally tapping his belt buckle.

“ Beg. ” The command came again. 

“ Please. ” Scorpius breathed out, Rachel’s intimidation proving effective. “Please, stop.” 

Rachel licked her lips. “Stop what?” She smirked, drinking in the power.

“Stop - stop hurting me.” Scorpius felt weak, pathetic. “Don’t hurt me.” He added, disgusted with himself.

The wand slid back up his body, settling back under his chin. “See?” Rachel taunted. “You’re good at it. Too bad it won’t be quite enough to save you.” The wand was gone, as was the hand on Scorpius’s shoulder. Rachel stepped away, leaving Scorpius standing against the wall, bleeding lightly and desperately working to catch his breath. 

He was left awkwardly, standing against the wall, shirtless and vulnerable as Rachel left to grab herself a mug. She joined a table and started engaging enthusiastically with the conversation. 

They had left him alone, or at least alone as he could be in a room full of people who wanted to see him hurt, or worse. He was at least no longer the center of attention. No one was speaking to him, no one was ordering him to move or kneel or eat. For a moment, he was nothing more than a silent figure against the backdrop of their celebration, a ghost haunting at the edge of their revelry.

The voices of group members filled the space, easy and unbothered, laughing and debating as if they had not just watched a man beg for mercy after being whipped with a belt.

Conversations seemed to pick up where they left off, groups calling for justice, some blood, and others throwing concerned looks at Scorpius.

The young idealist continued trying to rally support at his table and Scorpius heard more talk of proof and evidence. While he seemed to have the attention of a handful of young witches and wizards, most in the room rolled their eyes and ignored them.

Scorpius kept his eyes forward, watching them without looking at them. He felt hollowed out. His fingers twitched, itching to wrap around his wand, anything to defend himself with. 

His stomach twisted as Rachel met his eyes from across the room. She strode over to Scorpius and wordlessly grabbed his right arm, pulling him towards one of the doors. Scorpius understood the command and allowed Rachel to lead him through the door. Their footsteps echoed through the empty hallways and Scorpius continued to look ahead, avoiding giving Rachel any reactions.

They reached the cavernous room with his cage. Before he stepped in, Rachel made a noise as though she was thinking. Scorpius watched her dangle his bloodstained shirt as though it was some rare, delicate thing. 

“You must be cold,” she mused with false concern. “Would you like it back?”

Scorpius knew better than to respond, waiting for the catch, a trick.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You only have to ask nicely.”

Still, Scorpius said nothing.

Her head tilted, relaxed face amused. “Or perhaps,” she continued, “you’d prefer to earn it.”

Scorpius clenched his jaw. He refused to ask what she meant, refused to give her that satisfaction.

She stepped even closer, until he could feel her breath against his skin. “All you have to do is kneel,” she whispered. “Kneel and kiss the ground under my feet. Show me you have learned your place.”

A fresh wave of disgust curled in Scorpius’s chest, but he willed himself to stay still, to hold her gaze without flinching.

After a long pause, a stand off, Scorpius shook his head. “Keep it.” His voice was hoarse, raw, but firm.

The shirt was lazily thrown over her shoulder as Rachel smirked, once again raking her eyes over a vulnerable Scorpius. “Suit yourself,” she said, ushering Scorpius into his cell with a wave of her arm. 

Tapping her wand against the lock, it clicked into place. Rachel leaned against the bars for another moment before sighing. “Sweet dreams,” she purred with a dramatic wink.

Scorpius said nothing in response and watched her leave, iron door clanking shut. He wrapped his arms around him, icy skin meeting icy skin. Scorpius couldn’t help but wonder if the humiliation would have been worth the comfort.

Exhaling shakily, Scorpius sank onto the thin blanket, wrapping it around himself and laying on his side, curling into himself. His body ached, the threads of the blanket catching on his shoulder wound. His stomach gnawed at itself with hunger. But he ignored it all. He wouldn’t break - not tonight.

Exhaustion pulled at him, and soon, despite the bitter cold, despite the pain, despite the terror, sleep took him.

Notes:

Thank you once more for reading! I am having such a great time writing this, and I am hoping you have a good time reading it!

Chapter 5: Tenuous Ties

Scorpius woke to the dull ache of his body protesting every move. As he shifted, his back and shoulder sent fresh waves of soreness. The stone floor of the cage had done him no favors, and the bruises from yesterday’s belting had settled deep. He barely registered the murmur of voices beyond the bars - chatting easily, as if ignorant that they were holding a man prisoner in a cage.

The clang of metal snapped him fully awake. The cage door swung open, revealing his handler and two men he had grown vaguely familiar with. Their chatter stopped as they took in the sight of Scorpius sitting on the ground, wrapped in his thin blanket. 

Scorpius had but a moment to brace himself before the two men yanked Scorpius up by his arms, the blanket slipping, revealing his bare torso, purple and blue. He was shoved unceremoniously out of the cage, tripping over the ledge where the door juts from the ground.

“Stand up.” Rachel said, halting the two men from scooping Scorpius up from the floor. 

Scorpius first shifted to his knees and then pushed off from the floor, his back screaming as the skin was stretched. A small hiss escaped his clenched teeth.

“Good boy. You can walk yourself, I trust?” The question was aimed at the two men who had immediately moved to manhandle Scorpius again.

Uncomfortably appreciative, Scorpius nodded. He followed Rachel through the iron door, every so often glancing back at the two men who stalked behind them. 

Reaching the common room, Scorpius felt his stomach clench at the smell of breakfast. It was the same spread as yesterday. There was already a full plate of food on the floor where he had been forced to kneel yesterday. 

Rachel led her party to the end of the same table, looking at Scorpius expectantly. He was trying to avoid looking at the food, smelling the food, and hearing the clinking of silverware. They were all reminders of how long it had been since Scorpius had eaten. 

“I’m not hungry.” His hoarse voice was quiet, the lie painful. He set his jaw and stared directly at Rachel.

“Don’t worry,” a voice called out from the table, “he’ll be licking crumbs off the floor before his week is up.” 

Rachel nodded slowly, picking the plate up off the floor without another word. She set it on the table with a smirk.

“You had such a promising start to your morning.” She shook her head. “No matter. Let’s get you started on your tasks for the day.”

“Give him here.” A loud voice called out, this one familiar, drawing Scorpius’s attention. It was one of the fake Aurors sent to kidnap him, the tall one. His jaw was still bruised, strangely not mended. Scorpius stiffened at the request, his eyes shifting to Rachel without moving his head.

“He owes me a sincere apology.” The man continued, gesturing to his face. “Put me through a whole lot of trouble, he did.”

Watching Rachel, Scorpius was silently begging that she had other ideas, somewhere else they had to be. She leaned towards the tall man, examining the bruise. She tutted and shook her head, glancing at Scorpius. “Quite the hit.” She commented. “It seems you do owe him an apology.”

The tall man grinned, the same smile he had watching Rachel violate him in the alley. Scorpius’s blood ran cold as the man stood, clearing the distance between the two of them in a few steps.

“Two options, Malfoy.” The man started, and Scorpius fought the flinch. “One, you apologize for hitting your better, on your knees like a good servant. You beg for my forgiveness. Or two,” the man touched Scorpius’s jaw, where he had been hit in the alley, “we continue where we left off.”

Once again, Scorpius looked to Rachel for respite, only to find her sitting backwards in a chair, leaning her arms against the back in interest. He considered his options, glancing around the room. They needed him, he would survive. He could endure.

“You’re not my better.” Scorpius responded, his voice weak, but his tone sharp and unwavering. He had expected an immediate reaction, perhaps pain, more taunts. Instead, the room remained still for a moment before the man let out a breathy laugh.

“I must admit, that was the option I was hoping you’d pick.” And then the first blow came.

A fist cracked against Scorpius’s cheek, sending him sprawling to the side. His vision blurred as he gasped for breath, the taste of iron flooding his mouth. A boot nudged his ribs, forcing him onto his back, the cold stone somewhat soothing against his fevered, adrenaline soaked skin.

The boot left his chest and was replaced by the man, straddling his hips as he climbed on top of Scorpius. The sudden weight made the smaller man cry out in shock, his arms weakly pushing at the thighs now pinning him beneath the stronger man.

Another blow snapped Scorpius’s head to the side, seeing a spatter of blood leave his lips, shiny crimson decorating the stone. He coughed lightly, feeling the blood leaking from his mouth, running down his cheeks, gathering at his sternum.

The man’s hand was at Scorpius’s throat. It squeezed, not hard, but enough that Scorpius knew cutting off his air supply would be a small task for the man. Scorpius clawed at the unmovable hand.

Smiling down at Scorpius, the man seemed pleased with his domination of the small, malnourished, wounded man. He squeezed just a bit harder, causing Scorpius’s legs to kick uselessly and rejuvenating his clawing efforts. 

“That’s enough.” A voice commanded, and the grip loosened. Scorpius went limp, fearing any movement might launch another attack. The tall man laughed again before releasing Scorpius’s throat and climbing off him. 

Closing his eyes for a moment to focus on breathing, Scorpius could distantly hear laughter and the sounds of breakfast resuming as normal. 

A rag landed on his bare chest, causing him to reassess his surroundings. Rachel was standing over him, holding a bucket of water and pointing at the fresh bloodstains soaking into the stone.

“Clean up your mess.” She commanded, dropping the bucket, causing some water to slosh over the side. 

Scorpius rolled onto all fours, clutching the rag. He dipped it into the water before scrubbing at the stone, the blood easily lifting into the rag. As he worked, droplets of fresh blood kept falling from him, making the task take longer than it should have. 

He dipped the now red stained rag into the light pink water. The stone was wet, but clear of blood. Taking the opportunity, he swiped the rag over his face and chest, cleaning much of the now dried blood left. He sat back on his heels and noticed the bearded man who had spoken up yesterday was now standing in front of him.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” He began, making a point to look down at Scorpius. “We just need you to say it. Confession cleanses the soul. Deep down, you know you deserve to be punished.”

Scorpius said nothing as he looked up at the zealous man. 

Rachel chimed in next, still lounging casually on the chair. “You had a good life, didn’t you? The Ministry let you walk around as if you weren’t a danger to everyone. You had a partner, a bright future. If only he had been smart enough to turn you in before it came to this.”

Before he could think, Scorpius glared at her, gnashing his teeth to bite back a response.

“Albus Potter,” the bearded man continued, “Do you think he ever doubted you? Wondered, late at night, if his loyalty was misplaced? A proper wizard would have seen the truth. But instead, he let you fester.”

Scorpius’s jaw was aching from pressing his teeth together, stopping himself from digging himself into a deeper hole. He wouldn’t play into their hands. 

“I wonder what he’s thinking now,” Rachel mused. “Is he ashamed of you? Of himself? I suppose it doesn’t matter. Maybe he’s relieved to be rid of you.”

Scorpius glared at her again. “You don’t know him.” His voice was firm.

She smiled. “Neither do you. Not anymore.”

Waiting for the next strike, the pain to follow his defiance, Scorpius kept his eyes on Rachel. When nothing happened, he glanced back up at the zealot. The bearded man was walking away, clearly dissatisfied with the lack of confession.

After the taunts, after dragging Albus’s name through the dirt, he had simply…walked away. No further punishment, no forced labor, no demands. The group left Scorpius on his knees, stewing in his own mind.

They knew attacking Albus was a sore subject, they were baiting a response. While they got one, perhaps they were hoping for more. 

Albus was looking for him, surely he was. He would find him. Even Scorpius’s colleagues believed that Albus was a skilled Auror. He would have help too, perhaps even Minister Granger would be involved in his search. 

Albus would be here…right? What if - just for a second - Albus believed the lies these fanatics spouted?

The thought had been poison, curling inside Scorpius. It was slow and insidious, sinking into the places where doubt had already infested.

Albus had always defended him, always stood by his side. But what if this time was different? What if, in the face of all these accusations, with Scorpius missing without a trace, some small, quiet part of Albus wondered - what if they’re right?

It wouldn’t take much. A single moment of doubt. A voice in his ear - an Auror colleague, a superior - suggesting that maybe Scorpius had run. That maybe he had joined the very people he spent his life distancing himself from.

You knew what he was, Albus.

Scorpius evened his breathing. No. Albus wouldn’t think that. He wouldn’t.

But the fact that he had to consider the possibility made him feel sick. 

A chair scraped against the floor across the room. More hushed voices. Then, clearer now, the zealot’s sharp whisper.

“His name is enough to prove guilt, but a confession would convince the public tenfold.”

The public. Scorpius strained to hear more of this conversation.

Another voice, lower, uncertain. “But his name isn’t enough…or shouldn’t be. That’s why we always had evidence before.”

The response was dismissive. “This is a special case. They have big plans. Evidence doesn’t matter.”

Scorpius let out a slow breath, grounding himself. He turned his focus to Albus’s touch, the embrace they shared the morning before Scorpius landed in hell. He recalled Albus’s words, the trust he had in Scorpius, the final confession of love before leaving. This Albus would never give up on him.

A memory, sharp and vivid, surfaced through the fog of exhaustion.

Fifth year. Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The topic: magical dueling. Professor Fairchild had been pairing off students, and as usual, Scorpius had been left until the end. His opponent, a Ravenclaw boy, who had never bothered to hide his contempt, smirked as they took their places.

“This hardly seems fair, does it, Professor?” the boy had said, loud enough for the class to hear. “Malfoy doesn’t even have a real dueling stance. I’d have better competition from -” he gave an exaggerated pause, “- Potter’s shadow over there.”

A few chuckles, students lowering their wands to listen. Scorpius had kept his expression blank, used to it by then. He had been about to raise his wand and get it over with when Albus had stood, scraping his chair back hard enough to make everyone turn.

“Funny,” Albus had said, his voice sharp, “I was just thinking the same thing. If you were half as good as you think you are, you wouldn’t need to rely on cheap insults.”

The amusement in the room died instantly. Even Fairchild hadn’t interrupted.

The Ravenclaw’s face darkened. “Just stating facts.”

Albus scoffed. “Right. Facts. Like how Scorpius ranked higher than you in last term’s spellwork assessment? Or how he actually reads beyond the assigned material?” He tilted his head. “Maybe the real reason you don’t want to duel him is because you’re scared he’ll embarrass you.”

The boy had gone red, and before the professor could intervene, he had whipped his wand up, ready to cast something - only for Scorpius to beat him to it. A swift Expelliarmus , wand flying from the Ravenclaw’s hand.

The class had gone silent.

Albus had smiled, pleased. “See? Potter’s shadow can handle himself just fine.”

Scorpius exhaled, regretting never telling Albus how much it meant to him when Albus defended him, and stood by his side. Regret aside, Scorpius felt reinvigorated with his memory. It was evidence, proof that Albus wouldn’t abandon him now. That Albus would not give up on him.

Locked in his memories, forced to stay kneeling on the stone floor, time passed slowly. The group had largely ignored Scorpius throughout the course of the day, much to the relief of the exhausted man. 

The evening stretched on, and the common room emptied, one by one, until only a few stragglers remained, the tone of the evening different from the celebratory one last night. Scorpius knelt motionless, his body stiff from the hours of stillness, his mind dulled by exhaustion. The hunger gnawed at him, sharper now, twisting his stomach in painful knots. He had ignored it as long as he could, but with nothing else to focus on, it had begun to claw at him relentlessly.

A shadow loomed over him, and before he could react, a hand curled around his upper arm.

“Time for bed, darling,” a voice purred into his ear.

Scorpius barely suppressed a flinch. 

Rachel hauled him to his feet with ease, her grip deceptively strong. Scorpius bit back a wince as his sore muscles strained against the sudden movement.

They made their usual trek through the winding hallways. Rachel idly moved her free hand up and down Scorpius’s unclothed back. He shivered, and not just from the wintery air. 

“You did good today.” Rachel hummed as they walked. “Maybe that just earned you a reward tomorrow.” Scorpius didn’t want a reward, certainly nothing Rachel had to offer him. He grimaced as he considered what Rachel might decide to reward him with, likely to be something indistinguishable from a punishment.

Scorpius walked himself into the cage, and Rachel smiled, apparently pleased that she didn’t have to coax him in. She tapped the lock with her wand and spun around dramatically to leave, sweater fluttering behind her.

Rachel took a few steps before glancing back at Scorpius over her shoulder. “What?” She questioned. “No good night?” Her mocking voice taunted.

Lowering himself onto his blanket, Scorpius watched the woman theatrically ask for a good night wish. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at the ridiculousness of the situation. “No, Rachel.” His voice was light, almost jovial. “No good night. Don’t reckon it will be one.” He concluded by wrapping his bare torso in the thin blanket.

Rachel huffed before smiling, a strangely genuine smile, perhaps also seeing the twisted humor. She trotted off without another word, not trying to force Scorpius to kneel or beg or grovel for his rejection.

Surprised at the shockingly normal interaction, Scorpius raised his eyebrows as Rachel left. He shook his head as he laid on his side, feeling the cold of the stone floor seeping through the thin fabric of his blanket.

The shifting of his body made his stomach groan in protest, made his skin burn, his bones ache. Through the pain, exhaustion cut through, the constant fear draining him of all energy. He fell unconscious for what felt like mere minutes before he was dragged back into the waking world by the screeching of the iron door.

He pulled himself into a sitting position, still feeling the weight of exhaustion, never ending, settling in his chest, in his bones like an old wound.

Rachel was at his cage door again, as though no time had passed. “Good morning,” she said, voice light and airy.

Scorpius said nothing.

She tutted. “Rude. You’re lucky I promised you a treat last night.” Her eyes glinted with something unreadable. “You get a shower this morning.”

Scorpius blinked, his sluggish mind barely processing the words. A shower. Warm water. The sweat, dirt, and blood washed away. It had only been two days, but his skin felt sticky and his entire body aches for some semblance of cleanliness. 

The door was unlocked and Scorpius fell into step next to Rachel, trying not to reveal how relieved he was to have the opportunity to feel clean.

They entered what reminded Scorpius of locker room showers, rows of shower heads jutting out of white tile, with drains below each one. There were no curtains.

Rachel hoisted herself up onto a ledge and sat, arms folded, watching Scorpius expectantly. 

Scorpius frowned. “You’re not leaving?”

The glint in her eye returned. She gave him a knowing smile. “Why would I?”

Pressing his lips together in thought, Scorpius looked between her and the shower head. Of course she was going to make this as uncomfortable as possible.

He hesitated, every fiber of his being screamed at him to refuse, to resist, to preserve what little dignity he had left. But his body ached, his skin itched, and the thought of walking away after the hope of feeling clean was unbearable.

Stepping forward, he turned a silver knob and dodged the stream of water that aggressively shot out, slapping the tile next to his shoes. 

Scorpius kicked his shoes off, setting them against the wall. He pulled his socks off next, stuffing them into one of his shoes. He unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers. His hands lingered for just a moment before shoving them to the ground. He quickly folded them and put them next to his shoes. 

Standing in just his boxers, Scorpius tried not to look at Rachel. Maybe he could still preserve some dignity. He could shower without taking everything off. He moved to stand under the water until Rachel barked out a “no.”

Startled, Scorpius turned to look at her. She had hopped off the ledge and drew her wand, which Scorpius instinctively recoiled from.

“Strip.” She commanded, pointing her wand at his boxers. “Or we go to breakfast with no shower and you in your underwear.” 

Looking at the stream of water with desperation, Scorpius pulled at the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down slowly at first, before ripping them off quickly, getting the humiliation over with.

He heard Rachel return to her seat on the ledge humming in satisfaction, but he refused to acknowledge her. Scorpius moved under the warm water and felt bliss. He could forget where he was for just a moment as the water soothed his aching body, melted away the constant cold, and washed away the caked dried blood.

Scorpius stood for a few moments, eyes closed, feeling as close as he’d felt to human over the past two days. He let the water run through his hair, down his bruised back, slightly irritating his open wounds. He could stay here forever. He didn’t want this moment to end, didn’t want to return to reality, didn’t want -

A hand was gliding down his back before snaking back up and settling at the back of his neck. Scorpius froze, his hands clenched. 

“Good boy.” The sickening voice made his stomach curl, this time not from hunger. Another hand was at his chest, circling around his nipples, slowly trailing down his abdomen. He hissed and tried to pull away, the violating touch terrifying.

The hand at his neck tightened and the other hand froze, just above his navel. Scorpius’s breathing was ragged as he waited, silently begging, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Oh!” A deep voice reverberated through the tile covered room. The exploratory hand dropped, grazing over Scorpius’s thigh. Scorpius’s head snapped to the voice, belonging to a man who was carrying a stack of clothes and a towel. He was wearing a look of genuine surprise.

“Don’t mind us.” Rachel said, one hand still rubbing at the back of Scorpius’s neck. Scorpius stared helplessly at the man, hoping this intruder might intervene.

“Right.” He eyed the situation carefully as he set the clothes down. Scorpius felt another wave of shame as more eyes raked across his exposed body, watching Rachel’s show of faux intimacy. “You might want to head over for breakfast.” He said slowly, attention focused on Rachel. “There’ll be nothing but scraps left shortly.”

Rachel’s touch was gone and she backed away from Scorpius. “See you soon, love.” She cooed at him with a wink. Before she turned to leave, Scorpius watched her eyes drag across his body.

Scorpius watched the man who had entered cautiously. He didn’t say anything to Scorpius. He settled on the ledge and pulled out a piece of parchment that he studied, paying no mind to Scorpius, much to the nude man’s relief.

Another memory surfaced as Scorpius stood under the water, trying to block out Rachel’s gaze from moments before, trying to rinse away the ghost of her touch. His mind drifted, unbidden, to another time, another place -

A summer afternoon. Diagon Alley, bustling with shoppers. The air smelled of fresh parchment, roasting coffee, and warm bread from the bakery down the street. Albus had dragged Scorpius out that day, insisting they needed a break from work, from routine, from everything.

“Come on,” Albus had said, eyes glinting with mischief. “You spend all your time holed up in that dusty archive, and I spend all mine in an office full of paranoid Aurors. Let’s at least pretend we have social lives.”

They ended up in Flourish and Blotts, where Albus predictably got lost in the defense section, flipping through books with the same intense focus he gave to everything.

“This is it,” Albus declared finally, holding up a thick tome. “This is the one.”

It was a text about some obscure dueling technique that he had subjected Scorpius to a lecture about a few nights prior. Scorpius smiled, watching with fondness as Albus studied the tome while waiting in line at the counter, excitedly scouring a page.

Left alone for a few moments, Scorpius wandered the aisles, skimming book spines absentmindedly. He didn’t notice the man until he spoke.

“Didn’t expect to see one of them in here.”

Scorpius stiffened. Slowly, he turned.

The man was in his late fifties, his robes crisp and well-maintained, though slightly outdated. His expression was one Scorpius knew too well - contempt carefully measured, just enough that he could claim innocence if challenged.

Scorpius exhaled evenly. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb, Malfoy. You know exactly what I mean.” The man stepped closer, tilting his head. “You’re a relic. A reminder of everything we had to fight to tear down. Strange, isn’t it? That they let you walk free after what your family did.”

Scorpius forced a smile. “I think you’ll find that’s not how justice works.” He tried turning away, but the man advanced on him.

“Justice,” the man repeated. “Funny thing, that. Some of us actually fought for it. Some of us lost people for it. But you - you just inherit your place in the world, don’t you?”

Taking a step back, Scorpius curled his fingers into his palm. “I don’t want trouble.”

“Oh, I know. You people never do, not when you’re alone.”

Before Scorpius could think of a response, another voice cut in - sharp, unwavering.

“Is there a problem here?”

Albus.

He was back, book in hand, eyes hard.

The man scoffed. “No problem. Just surprising to see a Malfoy here, that’s all. I’d have thought the company of his own kind would suit him better.”

Scorpius could see Albus’s knuckles turn white as he clenched the book. “Right, then,” he began, his voice even but edged with steel. “Perhaps it’s time you moved along. You’re not the good guy here, verbally assaulting a stranger.”

The man bristled. “I am a damn sight better than his lot. I fought in the war. I watched people die while his father -”

“ His father isn’t him ,” Albus snapped. “You’re just looking for someone to blame. You thought you found yourself an easy target, didn’t you?”

The man’s face twisted. “You’d do well to watch where you put your trust, Potter. Your father -”

“-would be disgusted by you,” Albus finished coldly. “Now leave .”

For a long moment, the man just stood there, eyes darting between them. Then, with a sneer, he turned on his heel and walked out.

Scorpius let out a slow breath. He should have been relieved.

But as Albus turned to him, expression softening, something twisted inside him.

“You alright?”

Scorpius nodded automatically. He should say thank you . He should be grateful. And he was .

But beneath the gratitude, there was something else. A quiet, gnawing frustration.

Albus had defended him, but he’d also been right . Scorpius was an easy target, he didn’t fight back, couldn’t. He had stood there, letting someone belittle him, knowing any move he made to defend himself was too dangerous, a Death Eater now fighting an ex-Auror in the bookshop. Defending himself was a battle he could never win. A battle Albus always chose to fight himself.

Scorpius splashed the warm water on his face, grunting as the cut on his forehead and split lip reminded him of their presence. He turned the water off, watching it swirl down the drain beneath his feet.

He turned to the man, who was still making an effort to avoid looking at Scorpius. The towel was hanging next to the stack of clothes. After quickly drying off, Scorpius got dressed. Now dressed in a clean pair of black sweatpants, sneakers, and a white t-shirt, Scorpius was thankful to no longer be stuck with his stiff dress clothes.

Scorpius’s hair was still damp as the man guided him into the common room. It clung to his forehead and he brushed it out of the way every few minutes.

The air in the common room was thick with the scent of roasted meat, a cruel contrast to the days of hunger gnawing at his stomach.

The wooden tables were filled with members of the group, talking and laughing, paying little attention to Scorpius as he was led to Rachel in his usual place at the end of one of the tables.

A plate was already on the floor, a generous portion of meat and bread. He was standing over a meal laid out on the floor like scraps for a dog. 

Rachel didn’t say anything, but looked at him expectantly. Scorpius swallowed hard. He was starving, but the humiliation of kneeling on the floor to eat like an animal - it made his skin crawl.

He knelt.

Rachel’s fingers trailed along his shoulder, a mockery of comfort. “That’s it.”

Forcing himself to lean forward, Scorpius put his hands on either side of the plate. He focused on the meal, ignoring the watchful gaze of his audience. Bending his arms, he lowered himself to the plate. He brushed the shame out of his mind as he chewed a piece of the roasted beef. Swallowing bite after bite, he could feel the rush of energy. He ate in peace, drowning everything out as he focused on his bliss.

As he neared the end of his meal, he leaned back for a moment, savoring a piece of bread, when he heard the voice of a man, the same man who had spit in his food just the other morning.

“Good to know he’s starting to learn where he belongs.”

Scorpius halted his feasting to look up at the man, still on all fours. The flood of energy the food gave Scorpius may have worked to his detriment as he was unable to bite back the response. “You know,” Scorpius started, not looking away from the man, “you and the Death Eaters should compare notes. I’m willing to bet more than a few Muggle-borns were fed meals just like this.”

The moment the words left his mouth, the room shifted. The air thickened, coiling tight with something volatile. A second of stillness - just long enough to see the way rage flared hot behind the eyes Scorpius’ were locked with.

Then he moved.

A right hook caught Scorpius in his already bruised jaw, snapping his head sideways. He barely had time to register it before another came, driving into his ribs and sending him stumbling back. He tried to catch himself, but hands shoved him forward, forcing him to the ground.  

Boots connected with his stomach, his back. The stone was smooth beneath his cheek, cold against the warmth seeping from his reopened split lip. He gritted his teeth against the pain, against the way his body screamed at him to stay down. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t be an easy target. 

Scorpius twisted, lashed out with his elbow, catching something solid - a shin, maybe. A curse spat above him. Then weight crashed down on his back, shoving him flat. A knee dug into his spine, pressing him into the floor.

He clawed at the stone, trying to find purchase to push himself up, or crawl away. He kicked wildly, feeling his leg hit flesh and another person grunted. The knee pushed down, making it difficult for Scorpius to take a breath.

Rough fingers wrapped around his right wrist, the arm that he had used to launch his counter attack. His arm was pulled behind him, an angle he could not find any leverage to yank free from.

“Think we’re no better than them, do you?” The man’s voice was breathless, shaking with something too sharp to be satisfaction. “No point in trying to change your mind. Let’s make sure you remember who you’re dealing with.”

The grip on his arm tightened. Scorpius tried thrashing one last time, but the man responded by wrenching his arm further back and up at an unnatural angle. 

The crack was deafening.

Fire erupted through his nerves, white-hot, searing. Scorpius heard a scream tearing through his own throat, but it felt distant, like it wasn’t his own. His body convulsed against the agony, his vision tunneling to red, black, nothing.

There were voices that were not his own. Someone shifted, taking a step forward. But no one stepped in. No one had stopped it.

The weight lifted off him at last, but the pain remained, clawing through him, dragging his breath ragged. The man exhaled heavily, like a beast that had finally been sated.

“Not so defiant now, are you?” he muttered, before stepping away.

Scorpius rolled onto his side, clutching his right arm against his chest. His forearm shifted in a way it had never moved before and Scorpius refused to look at it, not ready to face the damage. Muted sobs shook his body, as he avoided making noise, avoided any additional unnecessary attention.

Strong hands pulled him to his feet, none of which touched his right arm. As he was lifted, a molten spike of agony made him cry out. The hands supported him, their grip on him not cruel, only firm.

“He needs the healer.” A voice muttered close to Scorpius, one of the people keeping him standing. 

A scoff. “You heard what he said. He deserves worse.”

“Shut up,” another snapped. The owner of this voice made her way to Scorpius and joined those holding him upright.

He was led, almost carried, through the hallways. An iron door was opened and the familiar smell of antiseptics burned through Scorpius’s sinuses.

A surprised gasp. “Put him on the table.” The voice of the healer Scorpius had visited his first day here. Guided to the table, he was pushed onto it, gently, hands hovering around his right arm, protecting it.

“What happened?” The healer was looking at his arm, appraising it from all angles, but not yet touching it. She also took notice of the wounds scattered across his face.

“It was Knowles.” The same voice that suggested a healer responded. Scorpius lifted his head to see it was the same young wizard that had already questioned the treatment Scorpius had received. 

This seemed to answer the healer’s question as she looked back at Scorpius’s arm. “Tell him to be more careful. He’s lucky it looks to be a clean break.”

It was the woman who spoke up again, the one that snapped at Knowles. “You try telling him that. Probably just break the other arm for good measure.” She winced as she looked at the odd crook now visible in Scorpius’s arm.

The healer hummed, an even tone. She tried to lift Scorpius’s arm, to investigate the break, but the movement made Scorpius yelp and pull his mangled arm, his left hand pushing at the healer. 

She quickly let him go, and sighed, watching her patient catch his breath and hold his wounded arm to his chest. “I need you two to hold him down.” The healer gestured at the witch and wizard that carried him here.

The wizard hesitated. “Why not use a numbing spell? Or a potion? Something to dull the pain?” He offered, his grimace showing his clear displeasure for what was unfolding.

The healer shook her head solemnly. “Already used one potion on him and Helena was not happy. No treatment beyond what’s necessary to prevent further harm. Please,” she looked between the two others, “help him.”

The witch and wizard approached. The witch pinned his left arm to the table and the wizard rested his weight on Scorpius’s chest, preventing him from sitting up. The healer gave them a grateful nod before looking down at her patient.

“Scorpius.” She readied her hands to grab his arm. “I’ll be as quick as I can to set the break. Then, I’ll cast a spell to mend the bones. I’m -” she took a shaky breath, “I’m sorry. This will hurt.”

Without further notice, she grabbed his forearm, and Scorpius screamed as he felt his bones grind against one another, catching on bits of muscle and flesh as they were aligned. He tried pulling away, tried freeing either arm to protect himself, tried thrashing his shoulders to stop the pain. 

“ Brachio Emendum .” A strange popping sound and another wave of agony, a shock of pain, a bolt of lightning radiating from his forearm. Scorpius cried out again, tears flowing from his eyes, his mind blank besides his desperate thoughts to escape the pain.  

“Scorpius.” He heard a distant voice. The pain was starting to dull, his arm now throbbing with every beat of his heart. He blinked a few times, slowing his escape attempts, breathing steadying.

“Scorpius.” The voice repeated, and Scorpius’s eyes focused on the healer, leaning over him, studying his face, brows knit together in concern. 

He stilled on the table, his muscles relieved at the opportunity to relax. The hands that pinned him down slowly released him. 

“With us still, Scorpius?” The healer was still looking down at him, eyes raking over his body, looking for any distressing symptoms.

Not trusting himself to speak, throat raw from screaming, he offered a jerky nod. The healer breathed a small sigh of relief, but the concern still clouded her face.

Turning to the witch and wizard, her concern morphed to anger. “Do not make me do that again.” She ran her hands through her hair, exasperated. “I never agreed to -” she waved her arms, trying to summon the words she was looking for before gesturing at Scorpius, “- to this .”

“Eliza,” the wizard started, looking at the healer sympathetically. “We didn’t sign up for this either.” He glanced between the healer, Eliza, and the other witch nervously before lowering his voice. “What choice do we have now?”

The witch shot a glance over to Scorpius, who was watching the exchange mutely, still recovering from the procedure. “None.” She breathed out.

Eliza unrolled a bandage and tied the two ends together. She pulled on Scorpius’s back and he leaned forward. The tied part of the bandage was put over Scorpius’s head and his right arm was nestled inside it, forming a makeshift sling. 

“He needs rest now.” Eliza kept struggling to hold Scorpius’s gaze, looking away every so often, as though ashamed of the pain she had subjected him to. 

“We’ll take him to bed.” The wizard nodded, helping Scorpius rise to his feet, unsteady. He pulled Scorpius’s left arm around his neck to help support him as they walked.

Scorpius looked back at Eliza, who had started casting cleansing spells on the table. “Thank you.” His voice was raspy, and it hurt to use.

Eliza offered a weak smile, lowering her wand in defeat. “I did what I could.” She responded in a monotone voice. 

The witch and wizard silently escorted Scorpius to his cage. They lowered him gingerly to the blanket. 

They turned to leave, but Scorpius called out. “Wait,” his voice was quiet. The witch and wizard exchanged a quick glance before settling their focus back on Scorpius.

“What are you doing here?” He asked pointedly, much to the discomfort of the pair in front of him.

They looked at each other again, as though they both expected the other to answer. The witch shook her head eventually, signaling their refusal to answer the question.

“Well…thank you anyway.” Scorpius was slowly lowering himself onto his side, tucking his right arm protectively against his chest. 

A wand clicked against the lock and Scorpius was alone again. The dull ache from his arm was mellowing, but it felt brittle, as though it may snap again at the slightest bit of resistance.

Sleep came easy. He was clean, fully clothed, fed, and partially healed. He drifted into a dreamless sleep.

The clicking of the lock sent Scorpius barreling back awake. He pushed himself up, his right arm throbbing anew. The pair was back in his cage, the same witch and wizard who had cared for him. Disoriented, Scorpius pressed himself against the bars of the cage.

The wizard raised his hands in mock surrender. “We aren’t here to hurt you.”

Scorpius didn’t respond.

The witch shifted, glancing over her shoulder as if to make sure they were alone. “Come with us,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “We thought you could use a break.”

A break.

A test? A new game to play? Some type of manipulation tactic?

Scorpius’s fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over his lap. “Why?” 

The wizard shifted uncomfortably. “Haven’t you pieced it together? Not all of us agree with what’s happening here.”

Scorpius searched his face, looking for deception. There was nothing obvious - no smirk, no cruel glint in his eyes. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a great liar.

“And if I refuse?”

The witch looked uneasy. “Then we’ll leave you be.” She continued when Scorpius cocked his head. “No tricks, no punishments.”

Scorpius’s stomach clenched. He wanted to believe them. But he knew better than to trust kindness, not here.

He licked his lips, hesitating just a moment longer. Then, slowly, he shifted forward, dragging his aching body toward the open door.

The pair looked pleased and helped Scorpius to his feet yet again. They walked with him to the common room, a now unfortunately familiar walk.

When they arrived, there was a fire roaring in the fireplace, one of the long tables occupied by two people hunched over a game of Wizard’s Chess with a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. 

The wizard who had been a part of his escort gestured to the table and walked Scorpius to the bench. “Go on, eat. Have a cup of tea. You need it.”

Scorpius hesitated. This was different from kneeling in front of a jeering audience and licking food off the plate on the floor. This was an invitation. It unsettled him.

The witch who had accompanied them sat opposite him, her expression cautious but king. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” she said. “We just figured you might want a break from…everything.”

Scorpius glanced at the other two people. They were younger, like the two who invited him, but their demeanor was markedly different. One - a wiry man with sharp features - sat back in his chair, arms crossed, waiting for his opponent to make a move. The other, a woman with dark eyes, seemed equally detached, focusing on the board.

Slowly lowering himself onto the bench, Scorpius was tense. He wanted to eat, wanted to accept the civility they were offering, but couldn’t let himself believe this was purely an act of kindness.

The wizard poured a cup of tea before putting it in front of Scorpius and sitting on the bench next to him. Scorpius shakily picked the cup up, raising it to his lips, and cherishing the warmth running down his raw throat.

The witch leaned forward, as though excited by the opportunity to speak with Scorpius. “So…you worked in the Ministry, right?”

Scorpius looked across the table at her. “Yes.”

The wizard gave a small, almost sheepish smile. “In the archives, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Bet you saw a lot of interesting stuff,” the witch remarked, her tone light. “All those old records, the history of our people.”

Scorpius kept his expression neutral. He couldn’t tell if they were simply making conversation or leading him somewhere. “It wasn’t exactly thrilling work.”

One of the other two - the man - silent until now let out a quiet snort. “Could have been worse. You could’ve been an Auror.”

Scorpius didn’t reply. He knew better than to engage with that.

The wizard tried again, shifting the conversation. “You and Potter - Albus - you’ve been friends for a long time, haven’t you?”

Scorpius tensed, but nodded. “Since Hogwarts.”

The witch hummed. “Funny, isn’t it? The Malfoy heir and Harry Potter’s son. I don’t think anyone saw that coming.”

Scorpius kept his jaw tight, eyes staring down at the honey colored tea in his cup. Silence settled in the room for longer than was comfortable.

The wizard shifted in his seat, leaning back. “You were in Slytherin, right?” 

“Yes.” Scorpius glanced up from his cup at the wizard.

The witch smiled. “ I was in Ravenclaw. He -” she nodded toward the wizard “- was in Gryffindor. And them?” She jerked her head toward the other two members, who had been mostly silent. “Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. So that makes you the odd one out.”

Was that a joke or a reminder? He was also the only one sleeping in a cage, the only one eating off the floor, the only one currently nursing a broken arm for speaking up.

The wizard must have sensed his discomfort because he waved a hand dismissively. “Not that it means anything now. We all ended up in the same place anyway.”

The witch exhaled and stretched her arms above her head. “Merlin, I’d kill for a butterbeer right now. Haven’t had one in ages.”

The sudden change in topic caught Scorpius off guard. He blinked as she turned toward him with an easy grin. “You a fan?”

He hesitated, then shrugged with only his left shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“‘It’s fine?’” She gave an exaggerated gasp. “I should've known Slytherins have no taste.”

The wizard laughed. “Don’t listen to her. She’s just bitter that we never let her drink at work.”

“You make it sound like I have a problem,” she shot back.

“You do.”

Scorpius watched the exchange warily. It was easy, casual, ignorant to the fact that they were holding a prisoner at their table.

The witch turned back to him. “Alright then. What’s your drink of choice? Firewhiskey?”

“Tea,” Scorpius answered before thinking.

The wizard smirked. “That tracks.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scorpius asked, more out of curiosity than defensiveness.

The wizard looked excited to explain. “Just that you seem like the type. Quiet, serious. Bet you like those fancy blends.”

The corner of Scorpius’s lip twitched, threatening to smile. “Earl Grey.”

A groan came from the wizard, dramatic and amused. “I knew it.”

A comfortable lull settled between them, and the wizard eventually pointed at the Wizard’s Chess board. “You play? Fancy a game?”

The familiar question brought Scorpius somewhere else.

The warmth of the Potter household, the scent of spiced cider and pine, the low murmur of conversation in the next room. He had been sitting off to the side, eyes tracing the familiar board on the table - an old set, slightly worn at the edges, one of Ron Weasley’s past gifts to Harry.

“Fancy a game?”

Scorpius had startled at the voice, looking up to see Ron watching him. He hadn’t expected the offer.

Rn had always been civil, especially when Hermoine or Ginny were around, but Scorpius knew better than to mistake that for acceptance. There had been comments over the years - some subtle, some not. Little reminders that, despite Albus’s unwavering loyalty, Ron still saw something in Scorpius that made him hesitate.

Now, though, Ron was holding out a hand, waiting. Scorpius hesitated before nodding, throwing a quick glance towards the dining room where he knew Albus was with his parents and Hermoine.

They played in silence at first. Ron moved with a lazy confidence, watching as Scorpius took his time with every decision.

“You play like your father.”

Scorpius stiffened. “I -”

Ron waved a hand. “That wasn’t an insult.” He smirked. “Mostly.”

Instead of responding, Scorpius captured one of Ron’s bishops.

Ron let out a low whistle. “Alright, maybe not exactly like him.” He leaned back, studying Scorpius in a way that made him want to shrink under the weight of it.

“I ever tell you about when we were at Malfoy Manor?”

Scorpius’s stomach tightened. He shook his head.

Ron hummed. “Didn’t think so. No one really talks about it anymore. No reason to.” His voice was deceptively light, but his fingers clenched around his knight as he turned it in his palm. “Me, Harry, Hermoine - we were prisoners there. I’ve never felt so helpless, when they took Hermoine upstairs. When we heard her -” Ron’s voice trailed off.

Scorpius’s breath hitched. He knew the story, of course. But it was different, hearing it like this.

Ron moved a pawn forward, eyes sharp. “You know what sticks out in my memory? I remember Draco Malfoy standing there, watching. Doing nothing. I remember thinking, ‘If I get out of this, if I live, I’ll never forget that.’” He looked up at Scorpius, gaze steady. “And I didn’t.”

Scorpius swallowed, idly holding a rook.

Ron exhaled, shaking his head as if shaking off the memory. “He did lie for us, in the end. That probably saved our lives. I can admit that now. But at the time…” He trailed off again, frowning. “It was hard, you know? Seeing someone we’d gone to school with, someone who used to sneer at us in corridors, just - watch. Just stand there while we were fighting for our lives.”

Unsure how to respond, Scorpius watched the board.

Sighing, Ron rubbed a hand down his face. “Looking back, I get it. He was a kid. We all were. He was scared. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know what I would’ve done were I in his place.” His mouth pressed into a thin line. “But knowing that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

Uneasy silence followed.

Scorpius licked his lips. He knew he should say something. Maybe follow his usual script that he had nothing to do with Malfoy Manor, the war, Voldemort. But the words caught in his throat, and instead what tumbled out was -

“I’m sorry.”

Ron’s expression flickered - shock, then something closer to frustration. He sat forward abruptly, voice sharp. “Don’t.”

Flinching back, Scorpius sputtered, “I - I just meant -”

“I know what you meant,” Ron snapped. “And I’m telling you to stop.” He was gesturing with a knight he just captured. “You weren’t there. You didn’t do any of it. You don’t get to apologize for something that isn’t yours to own up to.” His voice dropped lower. “You’re your own person. I should’ve seen that a hell of a lot sooner.”

Scorpius stared at him, stunned into silence.

Ron huffed, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking a robe off. Then he nudged one of his pawns forward. “Your move.”

Slowly, Scorpius reached for his rook, studying the board carefully.

The game went on.

“Hello?” The voice of the wizard forced Scorpius to leave the flickering candlelight of the Potter home and back to his crushing reality of captivity. “Fancy a game?”

When Scorpius looked up at him, he noticed the Wizard’s Chess board had been slid between them. Scorpius looked between the wizard and the board cautiously, before nodding.

With his agreement, the chess pieces moved with a quiet clatter, their enchanted forms shifting across the board with sharp precise motions as they set themselves in the starting positions.

The wizard stretched his left arm across the board and extended his hand to Scorpius. “You should know your opponent. I’m Jonah.” Jerkily, Scorpius shook the other man’s hand.

The game progressed. Scorpius hovered his hand over a knight, fingers twitching in consideration.

Across from him, Jonah smirked as he leaned forward, tapping a finger idly against the table. “You play like someone who thinks too much.”

Scorpius raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look at Jonah. “That supposed to be an insult?”

“Observation.” He gestured toward the board. “You weigh every move like the entire game hinges on it. Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts.”

Scorpius let out a small breath of laughter. “My instincts aren’t always great.” 

“That why you hesitated to play?” Jonah tilted his head.

Wariness returning, Scorpius glanced up. Jonah’s expression was open, curious rather than probing. Still, something about the question - about all of this - felt like unfamiliar ground. 

He settled for a shrug. “Not many people ask me to play.”

Jonah hummed, watching the board. “Guessing people make a lot of assumptions about you.”

“Something like that.”

A moment passed before Jonah made his move, a bishop sliding into position. Then, after a beat of hesitation, he said, “I knew your father, in a way.”

Scorpius tensed.

Without looking up, Jonah continued. “Not personally,” he clarified. “But when I was a kid, I knew who he was. We all did.” His fingers tapped absently against the table. “People like me, we grew up hearing stories. Some of them true, some exaggerated, some probably outright lies.”

A well-practiced neutral expression was forced on Scorpius’s face. “And which ones did you believe?”

An exhale, thinking. “The worst of them, at first, Easier that way.”

Moving his queen, Scorpius was thankful for the distraction of the game as he avoided Jonah’s gaze. 

“Must have been strange, growing up with a father like that.” Jonah mused.

“I don’t really think about it.”

Jonah smirked, but didn’t push. Instead, he shifted his tone, more casual. “People say plenty about you too, you know.”

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Scorpius exhaled slowly. “Let me guess - Voldemort’s secret heir?”

“Oh, obviously,” Jonah laughed. “That’s a classic. But I’ve heard others. Like that you practice Occlumency with your dad. That you had to, growing up as a Malfoy.”

Finally, Scorpius looked up at Jonah, who just tilted his head, waiting.

“I don’t.” Scorpius reluctantly said.

The other man nodded, as though filing that information away. “Some say you were raised in a house full of Dark artifacts, like time turners. That you grew up with the old ways drilled into you.” He moved another piece, casual as ever. “Others say you and Albus Potter used to sneak into the Ministry - suppose he takes after his dad. You spent years looking through restricted documents, looking for - well, that part varies, depending on who’s telling the story.”

“And what do you believe?” Scorpius asked, irritation rising.

Jonah clicked his tongue a few times. “Not sure yet,” he admitted. “But I’d rather hear it from you.”

Scorpius moved his queen with more force than necessary. “Check.”

“Ah, but not mate.” Jonah turned his full attention to the board, seemingly for the first time since starting the game. He captured Scorpius’s queen with a rook he hadn’t noticed.

Giving a groan of frustration, Scorpius scanned the board, the tides quickly turning against him. His captured pieces were neatly lined up in front of Jonah.

“You see it, don’t you?” Jonah asked, almost kindly, as he idly toyed with Scorpius’s queen.

He did. No matter what move he made, Jonah had already won. Reluctantly, he tipped his own king over.

Wearing a subdued smirk, Jonah looked like he’d down the outcome long before they sat down. “Not bad,” he said, watching closely as Scorpius’s eyes darted across the board. “You think ahead. You play safe. But sometimes, you have to take a risk.”

Scorpius wasn’t sure if they were still talking about chess.

The others stood, stretching and murmuring goodbyes. The witch offered him a small, almost apologetic smile before slipping away with the rest.

Jonah was the last to move, waiting a beat before gesturing toward the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

“Oh, don’t trust me quite enough to walk myself back to my cage?” The sarcastic reply spilled out before Scorpius could stop it as he stood up. Instinctively, he flinched away from Jonah. 

The other wizard looked mildly disgusted, but didn’t say anything.

The walk back was quiet at first, Jonah moving at an unhurried pace, hands tucked into his pockets like they had all the time in the world. To him, maybe they did. To Scorpius, every moment stretched unbearably thin.

After a moment, Jonah glanced sideways at him. “You’re good at chess,” he said. “Better than I expected.”

Scorpius stared ahead. “I lost.”

“You held your own,” Jonah admitted. “You’re cautious. That’s a good trait.”

They reached the cage, and Jonah unlocked the door, pulling it open with a casual ease and made Scorpius’s skin crawl. He didn’t move.

Jonah tilted his head. “Something wrong?”

“What was this? Tonight, what happened?” The intentions of the man in front of him were concerningly convoluted. 

“Well,” Jonah started. “I like chess and good company and you looked like you were hurting for some good company.” He offered a smile. “It only made sense. And you did make for good company.”

Scorpius willed his legs to walk him into the cage, not wanting Jonah to have to force him. “That’s all this was?” 

“For now.” Jonah waved his wand at the lock and turned to leave. “Good night, Scorpius.” 

“Night.” Scorpius responded quietly and Jonah left, leaving Scorpius alone with his conflict.

Settling into his usual spot with his blanket, Scorpius pushed the night’s events out of his mind, looking forward to a few hours of solitude. He would have time to think, time to reflect tomorrow. Though Jonah concerned Scorpius, the sliver of belonging he felt that night brought peaceful sleep, not his usual sleep edged with panic and anxiety. 

Notes:

I promise the trial is coming soon, I just can't stop yapping. I wrote one memory and then really had a great time, so I decided to make a memory-oriented chapter. Perhaps more memories to come! I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 6: Unraveled

The now familiar metal screech served as Scorpius’s alarm clock. He cracked an eye open and saw Rachel approaching, unaccompanied by her usual lackeys. Shutting his eyes, he gave himself just a few more seconds of peace until the cage door was opened.

“Rise and shine,” Rachel’s voice was sing-songy. Scorpius made a non-distinct grunt in response as he stood up, supporting himself with his left arm, careful not to jostle his right. He noticed Rachel eyeing his sling dangerously and he pulled his arm tighter to his body, protective.

“Arm feeling better? You didn’t come by to say good night. I was worried about you.” Rachel asked with fake concern as the familiar trek to the common room commenced. 

Scorpius glanced at her, hesitant to respond. “Yeah, I wasn’t much in the mood for talking.” He said quickly.

Rachel hummed in response.

Entering the common room, a few heads turned in their direction, but the morning progressed, surprisingly uneventful. He was handed cleaning supplies once again, a task made much more tedious with the use of only one arm. No one struck him. No one humiliated him. He was given no extra attention beyond the occasional passing glance.

It was an eerie sort of reprieve - one he didn’t trust.

The feeling was one he was intimately familiar with - isolation. It seemed no matter the circumstances, Scorpius always found himself to be the shadow, just lingering on the edges, never truly belonging.

Even Albus, inclusive Albus, had a history of leaving Scorpius unheard, unseen. He remembered the summer he had begged his father to stay at the Potters’ for a week, after their sixth year. He and Albus had spent days lounging in the backyard, racing their brooms in lazy circles, and stealing sweets from Ginny’s stash. The house always felt warm, always filled with noise and movement, a stark contrast to the quiet, measured halls of Malfoy Manor.

But there had been moments, moments that reminded Scorpius he didn’t quite belong.

One evening, they’d all been sitting in the living room. James had been poring over an old Quidditch playbook, showing Albus a particular Chaser formation the Montrose Magpies had perfected. They’d both been deep in discussion, voices overlapping in excitement, James insisting that Albus was “too thick” to understand, and Albus snapping back that James was “just mad” he got kicked off Gryffindor’s team.

Scorpius had been there, curled up in one of the armchairs, listening. He’d always been more of a listener. But the conversation had pulled him in - the strategy was flawed, he was sure of it, and he knew exactly why.

So he spoke up. “Actually, that play leaves the right goalpost too exposed. If the Keeper dives too early -”

James kept talking over him, not even pausing. Albus didn’t notice.

Scorpius shut his mouth.

The moment passed. The conversation rolled forward without him, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. He stayed quiet, watching them laugh and argue, feeling something cold settle deep inside him.

It wasn’t cruel. James wasn’t trying to be dismissive. Neither was Albus. They just…didn’t think to listen. To notice the shadow on the outskirts of the conversation.

Isolation was an old friend. One that he found comforting when it meant that his blood would stay on the inside and his bones intact. 

The day carried on, lunch and eventually dinner being served. Scorpius kept quiet, kept working. He was successful in his attempts to avoid drawing attention. It seemed as though the group was distracted, like they had something more important to think about than their prisoner.

Scorpius watched Jonah whenever the fellow wizard was in the room. Jonah seemed to avoid eye contact, perhaps not wanting others to recognize their familiarity with one another. He had spoken up against Scorpius’s mistreatment, perhaps he didn’t want to endanger himself. 

As the day began coming to a close, Scorpius noticed he had not been offered food. Thankfully, he had plenty to eat the day before. Nonetheless, this strange change in habit was concerning. 

The common room was emptying and Rachel beckoned Scorpius to follow her. They returned to the cage.

“Almost ready for your big day?” Rachel asked as she tapped her wand on the lock. “Two days until your trial.” She let out a small giggle before turning to leave.

Scorpius had tried to push this trial out of his mind, tried believing, hoping he'd somehow get away before that week was up. Time crawled on, as did Scorpius’s doubt that he would escape his trial.

He settled on his blanket, catching himself glancing at the iron door. Jonah hadn’t given him any indication that he might visit tonight, but Scorpius couldn’t help but hope he might. 

As Scorpius was just about to call himself pathetic, the iron door screeched open again. Craning his neck, Scorpius caught sight of Jonah and had to stop himself from jumping with excitement.

Jonah knelt down by the cage, catching Scorpius's eye with a smile. “Evening, Malfoy,” he said easily, as if they were just two friends meeting up after a long day. Jonah then stood and tapped his wand against the lock.

Scorpius pushed himself upright. “Evening,” he echoed. He stretched his legs as he stepped out of the cage. Jonah lingered for a moment, studying Scorpius.

“Quiet day for you, huh?” Jonah finally said, starting their journey back to the common room.

Nodding, Scorpius followed Jonah through the dimly lit corridors. “I suppose. Felt a bit like no one noticed me. Not that I’m complaining…I don’t like when they notice me…but…”

Jonah hummed noncommittally. “You don’t sound thrilled about it.”

Scorpius hesitated. It was true. The silence had been a relief, but at the same time, it had been unsettling. “I just…” He frowned, unsure how to phrase it. “It seemed like everyone was preoccupied. I don’t know. It was different.”

Responding with a nod, Jonah turned a corner, leading Scorpius into the common room where the familiar group was waiting. 

“Oh,” Jonah said, “the woman that helped out yesterday,” he pointed to the witch that came to the infirmary. “That’s Nora.” 

Seeing Jonah and Scorpius arrive, the witch - Nora apparently - greeted them with a casual node, while the two others were still locked in conversation and only shot him a fleeting glance. Scorpius took his usual seat across from Jonah.

Jonah leaned back in his chair. “So, Scorpius, let’s relax tonight.” He propped his elbow on the table. “What was your favorite subject at Hogwarts?”

Scorpius blinked at the question, caught off guard by its normalcy. “Uh…Arithmancy, I suppose.”

Nora perked up. “Really? Bit of a numbers man, then?”

“I like the logic of it.” Scorpius gave a small shrug.

Jonah smirked. “See, I would have guessed Potions. You lot have a reputation for that.”

Tensing, Scorpius tried to look beyond the implications to answer evenly. “I’m not terrible at it, but I prefer subjects that have…clearer answers.”

A nod from Jonah was his only response as the wizard casually shifted gears. “What about Albus? His favorite?”

Scoffing before he could think, Scorpius responded quickly. “Defense Against the Dark Arts. Pretty sure that’s the only class Albus thought was offered at Hogwarts.”

Nora laughed lightly, and Jonah raised his eyebrows in understanding. “And your father?” Jonah continued. “What was his subject of choice?”

This question was not answered with the same ease as a flicker of discomfort shot through Scorpius. “I don’t know. We never talked about it.”

One of the quieter members, the man with sharp eyes, finally spoke. “You never asked? About your dad’s experience at school?”

Scorpius shook his head. “School wasn’t something my father reminisced about much.”

Jonah made a thoughtful noise. “I suppose that makes sense. Not exactly golden years for him.”

Standing, Jonah grabbed a board and set it between them. He reached to the two quiet members of their little group and stole a plate of pastries they had been snacking on. The man gave Jonah a glare, but didn’t say anything.

The chess board was setting itself up, pieces sliding into place with satisfying clicks. Scorpius accepted the offer of some type of danish from the plate and ate it hungrily while staring at the board.

They played a few turns wordlessly, Nora quietly cheering when Scorpius took a pawn from Jonah, his knight leaning over the side of its mount to slice it in half. There was another comfortable lull, the occasional clack of chess pieces and whispered advice from Nora.

The peace was broken as Nora leaned back, carefully examining Scorpius’s face. “So, what was it like growing up in Malfoy Manor?” Her voice was light, conversational, but there was a new quiet that fell over the room, one of anticipation.

Scorpius didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on the board. “Quiet,” he answered after a pause. 

“C’mon,” Nora groaned. “It had to be interesting. So much has happened in that house.”

Instead of responding, Scorpius slid his bishop across the board.

“Bet you had house-elves for everything,” the quiet watch remarked. “Did you ever have to do anything yourself?”

Scorpius stiffened slightly, fingers hovering over his next move. “We had help, yes,” he admitted, knowing anything else would sound like a lie. “But my parents weren’t…excessive about it.”

Jonah chuckled. “Scorpius, you don’t have to play humble. Your family’s loaded.”

When Scorpius glanced up, he found Jonah’s eyes boring into him. “Yeah, well…” Scorpius trailed off again, unsure. Jonah wasn’t wrong.

“Mm.” Jonah tapped his fingers against the table, considering. “Your father ever tell you stories about the war?”

Scorpius’s grip on his knight tightened. “Not many.”

“Really?” Nora raised a brow. “I’d have thought it was a big topic in your household.”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it.” Scorpius set a piece down, harder than he intended.

Jonah hummed, staring at the piece Scorpius just moved. “Probably for the best. I imagine it’s not exactly a source of pride.”

Scorpius didn’t respond.

Taking one of Scorpius’s bishops, Jonah continued. “What about before Hogwarts? Did you have tutors?”

Uncertainty settled in Scorpius’s chest, his heart rate picking up. “Some,” he admitted. 

“Any in particular?”

Oh, yeah, one for each of the Unforgivable Curses. The uncertainty in Scorpius pulsed. Jonah was fishing for something.

Scorpius forced a shrug. “Standard subjects. Charms and Potions mainly.”

A knight was smashed by a queen, the shards skittering across the table. “No private dueling lessons?”

“My father taught me to duel.” At this, Nora laughed like Scorpius had just told a joke. It stopped abruptly when Scorpius gave her a defensive glare.

“I’ll bet your family has some spells passed down, right?” Jonah kept prodding. 

The shift in conversation was undeniable. The slow but deliberate push in their questioning. He reached for a pawn, hesitating before moving it. “No secret spellbooks, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The quiet witch scoffed. “Come on, every old wizarding family has them. I’ll bet the Manor has a whole room full of artifacts like that.”

Scorpius swallowed. He could picture the Malfoy Manor archives clearly - the shadowy corridors, the weight of history pressing down. He thought of the books, the artifacts, the things his father had locked away. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

Jonah’s queen slid across the board, capturing a vulnerable knight. “That so?”

Nodding stiffly, Scorpius focused on the board, hoping the interrogation had ceased. It was evident they were prying for information, but to what end? 

“Your move.” Jonah’s voice almost made Scorpius jump, his mind quite far from the game in front of them. 

Reaching forward, Scorpius moved his queen, blundering, handing the game once again to Jonah on a silver platter. 

“Ah, bad luck,” Jonah reassured, knowing Scorpius could not hope to win. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Scorpius’s heart jumped to his throat, his time free from the cage quickly dwindling. The others took their cue and left, Nora patting Scorpius on the shoulder before joining the others. 

Jonah and Scorpius walked together, silent through the halls. Scorpius had a lot of questions for the other wizard, but feared that asking them might jeopardize the few moments of relaxation he allotted him. 

When they reached the cage, Scorpius stopped at the door, turning to face Jonah. “Why me?” Scorpius asked bluntly.

Turning his head to the side, Jonah narrowed his eyes at Scorpius, indicating a lack of understanding.

“Why am I here? I know you all have this grand idea of justice, but why me ?” Scorpius shifted nervously, concerned he had gone too far immediately after the words left his mouth.

Jonah considered him for a moment, eyes flicking between Scorpius’s. He sighed, slowly, buying more time. “I think you know the answer.” He said finally, giving Scorpius a light push into the cage before locking it.

It was the first time Jonah had been physical with Scorpius. He had ruined it, asked too many questions, the only person he knew wouldn’t hurt him just pushed him. 

“Jonah, wait.” Scorpius called out as Jonah breezed out of the room without another word. Scorpius felt the tears sliding down his face before he registered that he was crying. How could he have been so stupid ?! 

He clutched at his hair, pulling, hard enough for it to hurt. His one opportunity, he just had to push too far. A small sob escaped him, involuntary, and a fresh wave of self hatred and disgust tempted Scorpius to scream. 

Gingerly, he lowered himself into the blanket again. Maybe he could salvage things…he needed Jonah. He needed one person. One person who didn’t laugh when his arm was snapped or he was beaten with a belt or forced to eat on his knees. He couldn’t afford to lose that.

Apparently, he had fallen asleep since he was jolted awake by the screeching of his alarm clock as Rachel strolled up to his cage. Scorpius sat up, accidentally using his right arm to support himself, and winced at the pressure on his freshly mended bones.

Rachel walked him, without backup, to the common room wordlessly, a tight grip on her wand the only encouragement for Scorpius to stay in line. They entered the common room and there was little change in the atmosphere of the room.

Scorpius was led to the familiar spot where he was set to kneel previously. There was a light kick to his leg and Scorpius slowly shifted to his knees. 

Taking a step back, Rachel admired the kneeling man and took her place at a table to eat breakfast. There was no food on the floor in front of Scorpius, but he knew better than to ask.

The day carried on as usual, people making an effort to step around Scorpius. He was kneeling in the center of the room, on display, though few people seemed to notice or care. It was a strange mix of vulnerability and ignorance. They knew he was here, right where they wanted him, and felt no need to acknowledge him further.

It was not unlike one of his first lessons at Hogwarts. The professor - an older wizard with spectacles perched at the end of his nose - read down the list of students with practiced efficiency. Each name was called, acknowledged, and checked off. Then, the briefest of pauses.

“Scorpius…”

The hesitation was infinitesimal, barely a flicker in the professor’s voice, but in the silence that followed, it stretched long and thin, winding itself around Scorpius’s ribs. The professor cleared his throat.

“...Malfoy”

Scorpius raised his hand, as the others had done, but the professor’s eyes did not quite meet his. A quick nod, a flick of his quill against the parchment, and then - nothing.

Class began as usual, and yet, it was not usual. The professor did not glance Scorpius’s way, even when his hand hovered hesitantly in the air. He did not call on him, did not acknowledge his existence beyond that single, faltering roll call. It was almost a kindness - almost - but the other students noticed. They noticed how the professor’s gaze skimmed over him, how Scorpius was the only one left unspoken to, uncorrected, untouched by the easy rhythm of the lesson.

And in noticing, they too began to watch.

He kept his head down, willing himself to disappear into the ink stains on his parchment, into the deep grain of the wooden desk, into anything but the shape of himself in that classroom. He was being ignored, and yet he had never felt more conspicuous.

The weight in his chest was unfamiliar then, but he recognized it now, kneeling on the cold floor of the common room. The same quiet disdain. The same willful ignorance. 

They were watching. Fleeting glances, a witch brushing her leg against his back as she side steps him, a smirk when he finally meets a wizard’s eyes. 

The day creeped by slowly, Scorpius’s body aching from the stagnant position. The scent of the meals gnawing at his stomach. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. 

After dinner was served, Rachel approached him. She pulled him onto his feet quickly, with force that was surprising compared to her usual gentle touches. Scorpius stumbled as Rachel continued to push him down the corridors, the familiar ones leading to his solitary cage.

She had been uncharacteristically quiet of late. Her movements were jerky, stiff, as she pushed and pulled at Scorpius. Her breathing was shallow, excited? Nervous? 

When they reached the cage, she didn’t shove him inside. Grabbing Scorpius’s arm, she turned him to face her. The harsh light above them caught the sharp angles of her face, the intensity in her eyes. She was smiling, though there was something strained about it.

“You know,” she said, conversational, almost amused, “I am starting to wonder if you have any fight left in you.”

Scorpius didn’t answer.

“You’ve been such a good boy lately.” She surely noticed Scorpius tense at those words. “All it takes is some tea and a game of chess, huh?”

Heart sinking to his stomach, Scorpius felt his throat tighten. She knew. His brain scrambled to think of something, anything to say. Rachel’s smile widened as she watched panic settle in the man in front of her.

“I could tell. Helena or Knowles. They would destroy you.” She searched his face. “And it’s Jonah, isn’t it? I don’t even want to tell you what they’d do to him.” 

At the mention of Jonah, Scorpius clenched his fists. “Don’t…please don’t tell them about Jonah.” His voice was breathy.

“You like him?” Rachel mocked. “Show me how much.” She advanced on Scorpius, to which he retreated until he backed into the bars of the cage, trapping him again between the cold metal and Rachel’s warmth.

“You do something for me, I do something for you.” She casually started untying the sling at his neck. Once his right arm was freed, he used it to grab at one of the bars of the cage at his side.

“A bribe?” Scorpius whispered, trying to press his body into the bars, turning his head to avoid looking at her. 

“Something like that.” Rachel agreed, pulling her wand out and resting it on Scorpius’s chest. She let out a shaky breath as she watched the tip of her wand dance on his chest to the beat of his panicked heart.

“What do you want -” Scorpius was cut off as Rachel grabbed his sore jaw in a bruising grip and forced him to look at her. He felt the wand press against the side of his neck.

She held his face for a few moments, searching his eyes. Then, suddenly, she pressed her lips against his. Split lip aggravated, he groaned into the kiss and tried pulling away, the thrust of the wand into his throat giving him pause.

The kiss made him nauseous. It started slow, Rachel gradually increasing pressure against an unresponsive Scorpius. An exploratory tongue slid between his lips, sealed tight. It lapped at his torn skin, forcing a gasp from Scorpius, inviting the tongue to slip through his now parted lips.

Another jab from the wand read Scorpius’s mind as he considered biting. The alien tongue flicked its way through his mouth. It was weirdly cold and Scorpius had to fight the urge to gag. 

Much to Scorpius’s relief, the tongue retreated. Their lips almost separated before Rachel pressed her entire body against Scorpius’s, wrapping her right leg around his and moving her left hand from his face to brace herself against the bars. 

Pinned to the bars, Scorpius arched his back and bucked his hips in an attempt to force the woman off him. He was only successful in grinding his crotch into hers, and Rachel moaned against his lips. 

She pulled away from him, gulping in breaths, swiping that invasive tongue along her own lips. Her eyes raked over his body and he felt his body flush with shame. His hands clenched around the bars, reminding himself that this was to protect Jonah.

Rachel moved back, removing the pressure she was holding against Scorpius’s body, wand still trained on his chest. “Shirt off.” Came the command, her voice unsteady.

She wanted him to participate. She could have easily pulled his shirt off. Hands shaking, he reached for the hem of his shirt, and pulled it over his head, quickly, not wanting Rachel out of his sight for longer than necessary.

An appreciative hum was his reward. Rachel traced her fingers along his torso, grazing them along the cut she made on his collarbone, touching the yellowing bruises. Scorpius looked at the ceiling, tears pricking in his eyes, the invasive touch churning his stomach.

The hand exploring his body was replaced by a wand, digging into his sternum, not enough to hurt, but a constant reminder. The exploratory hand slid down his abdomen, hovering at the thin patch of hair above Scorpius’s waistband.

Scorpius couldn’t breath, the tension in his body stopping any muscles from moving. He was locked in place, forced to endure. “Stop…please.” He couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth as a couple fingers hooked under the waistband of his pants.

The fingers stayed. “Don’t care about your friend this much, hm?” Rachel cooed, shoving the wand under Scorpius’s chin, forcing him to look at her again. “I haven’t gotten what I want yet.” 

The hand retreated and Scorpius exhaled for what seemed like the first time in minutes. A sharp breath was quickly sucked in as Rachel cupped her hand against Scorpius’s crotch, squeezing threateningly. A low whimper encouraged another light squeeze.

A loud metallic screech would have made Scorpius jump, but he was held in place. His eyes followed the source of the noise and saw Jonah at the door, walking towards them slowly, missing the sense of urgency Scorpius would have expected.

Another wave of shame. Jonah was taking in the situation. A shirtless Scorpius pinned against the cage, a wand at his throat, a hand groping him, crying and whimpering. Why was he waiting so long to help?

Rachel was the first to speak. “Jonah, you have the worst timing.” Her face twisted into an amused smile, finally tearing her eyes from Scorpius. “Or maybe the best. Want to step in and help get him going?” Another noise escaped Scorpius as her grip tightened.

Jonah’s face remained alarmingly neutral as his gaze settled on his crotch. “Tempting,” was his response as he idly strolled to the other side of Scorpius, whose eyes followed him.

“He’s doing this for you, you know.” It sounded like Rachel was fighting back laughter.

“Doesn’t look like he’s doing much of anything.” Jonah commented flatly. “Wait,” he continued, “for me?” His face revealed amused confusion.

“I told him I’d rat you out. Your late night excursions.” She was absentmindedly dragging her wand up and down his neck, feeling the curve of his Adam’s apple. 

“I thought they’d kill you.” Scorpius breathed out, and both other people snapped their attention to him, as though forgetting he was in the room with them.

“Ah,” Jonah said coolly. “Very noble of him.” He was watching Scorpius with a foreign, measured look. This change in Jonah twisted the anxiety coiled tight around Scorpius’s heart.

The scene froze for a moment, a strange sort of stand off. “Almost done with him?” Jonah asked, voice edged with impatience. Scorpius was staring at him with pleading eyes, fearing this was giving Rachel permission to continue.

“Not really.” Rachel spat back. “As you can clearly see, we were just getting warmed up.” Scorpius tried swallowing, but his mouth was too dry and he made a small choking sound. 

Jonah’s eyes met Scorpius’s, sliding over to Rachel’s slowly, deliberately. His expression was painfully unreadable, focused and calculated. He shrugged before looking back at Scorpius.

“She’s not turning me in, Scorpius.” A smirk crossed his face as Rachel let out a frustrated grunt and squeezed. The pressure made Scorpius yelp, his knees buckling, his hands moving involuntarily to try to dislodge the offending hand.

Managing to wrench her hand off him, he stumbled to the side, Rachel’s wand following him as he stood near Jonah. He waited for the curse to come, the pain, but instead Rachel’s wand shifted to Jonah.

“You’re no fun.” She emphasized her point with a flourish in Jonah’s direction before stowing her wand. 

“You’ve got to be quicker, Rachel.” Jonah was smiling again, genuine. “You know what Cassius would say if he knew?”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he’d say he wished he got to him before me.” 

Another casual conversation, discussing the violation of the man standing in the room, as though he wasn’t a person.

“Right,” Jonah laughed. “He’s mine for the night. You’ll have to find a different time to play.” 

Annoyed, Rachel clicked her tongue. “He likes you.” She pointed at Jonah as she walked towards the door. “Don’t go breaking his heart.” Rachel disappeared with a wink.

After her departure, Scorpius recoiled from Jonah, confused by his change in demeanor. “Why didn’t you stop her?” He asked, bending down to grab his discarded shirt.

Jonah waited until the other man was dressed before responding. “I have a role I’m supposed to be playing. I can’t risk them thinking I’m not following along.” He was watching Scorpius’s face closely. “They’re already suspicious. I defended you once, remember?” He added.

“Do you think she’ll be back?” Scorpius was nervously glancing between Jonah and the door.

Sighing, Jonah started walking out of the room, expecting Scorpius to follow. “Almost assuredly.” He said evenly once they were in the corridors.

Scorpius let the words settle until they reached the common room, sitting in their usual seats. Jonah poured Scorpius a cup of tea and pushed it towards him and Nora greeted him with a warm smile. 

“What’s wrong?” Nora asked quickly, noticing Scorpius’s tension as he sat at the table, avoiding meeting her eyes.

“Rachel.” Jonah replied after some hesitation, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

Nora’s lips pressed together in a thin line. Her attention was now turned towards Jonah. “You saw? You let her?”

Exhaling through his nose, Jonah flopped his arm against the table. “I didn’t let anything. I just…” He shook his head. “I handled it.”

Scorpius looked up at him, and almost laughed - handled it .

Taking her seat next to Scorpius, Nora studied him for a moment. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” He responded quietly, truthfully. He took a sip of tea, holding the cup with two hands to steady it, hoping they would stop looking at him soon.

“I’m sorry.” Jonah said with some finality. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. It was a risk I couldn’t take.” He didn’t let Scorpius respond before setting up the board for chess, trying to move the conversation forward. Nora gave him one more sympathetic glance before turning her eyes towards the game.

The rhythmic sounds of the chess pieces filled the space between them, familiar. Scorpius tried focusing on the game, on where next to send his knight, but his skin was still crawling.

Jonah, seemingly content with the shift in atmosphere, leaned back. “So, tell me about Hogwarts,” he said, nudging a pawn forward. “I mean, I know all the stories, but I want to hear about what it was like for you.”

Scorpius eyed him cautiously, his fingers sliding along the edge of the table. An innocuous question, safe, but it still felt like a test.

“It was…Hogwarts.” He answered eventually, voice neutral. “I don’t know. It’s just school.”

Jonah huffed a quiet laugh. “Come on, that’s a rubbish answer. You’re saying you don’t have any fun memories there?”

Moving a bishop to get his turn over with, Scorpius glanced up at Jonah. “Albus,” he admitted. “Any memory worth remembering there is because of Albus.”

“I figured.” Jonah nodded. “Ever think about what would happen if he weren’t sorted into Slytherin?”

Frowning, Scorpius wondered why Jonah didn’t consider the possibility that Scorpius himself may not have been sorted into Slytherin. He didn’t have to wonder for long. He knew. “Not really. It wouldn’t matter what house we were in.”

Shrugging, Jonah studied Scorpius for a moment. “Guess that’s fair. People make a big deal out of houses, though. Not just in school, either.”

Scorpius silently moved a rook.

“What about your dad?” Jonah asked casually. “He must’ve had thoughts. Did he push Slytherin?”

Another mention of his father. “No,” he said carefully. “He never pushed anything like that.”

“Not the house, maybe, but…other things?”

He gave Jonah a sharp glance, but the other wizard was staring intently at the board, pretending not to notice Scorpius’s anger.

“What do you mean?” He forced his voice to stay calm, inquisitive.

A shrug was his answer. “I dunno. Just wondering. Your dad’s reputation and all.”

Scorpius rolled his shoulders back and sighed, choosing again not to respond.

Jonah’s fingers hovered over his queen, then he finally spoke, his tone still light, but carrying something heavier beneath.

“He still has the Mark, yeah?”

Not liking this line of questioning, Scorpius sent another sharp look Jonah’s way. “Yeah, obviously.” He said, his strained voice revealing his tension.

“Ever see it?”

He had. The Mark had faded, just slightly, but still harshly contrasted his father’s pale skin. His father carried the Mark, not with pride, not even with shame, but with a quiet kind of exhaustion, maybe resignation. 

“Kind of hard to miss,” was Scorpius’s response, showing his discomfort with the conversation.

The same uneasy silence fell between the group as the game wrapped up. Scorpius lost again, to his complete lack of surprise. The group started shuffling, readying themselves to leave and get to bed.

“Alright, Scorpius. Dream job. You can do anything. What is it?” Jonah prodded as they were walking the corridors. The question took Scorpius aback and he stared at Jonah for a few seconds, waiting for the punchline.

When he realized Jonah expected a response, he let out a small laugh. “Anything but the guy forced to wash his own blood off the floor?” 

Jonah didn’t laugh. In fact, the look he gave Scorpius bordered on annoyance. “No, Scorpius,” he scolded. “What would it be?”

Throwing his arms up, Scorpius sighed. “Forgive my nearsightedness,” Scorpius tried again. “Probably…I don’t know…I guess maybe a historian? Someone who tries to solve mysteries about our past.” His answer was hesitant, unsure.

Humming, Jonah nodded his head, as if it was all adding up. “You would say some boring shit like that.” He grinned and gave Scorpius a playful shove.

Scorpius felt his lips pull into an involuntary smile. “Oh?” He challenged, squaring up to Jonah. “And you’re so interesting, are you? What’s yours then?”

“Professional Wizard’s Chess player. I think I might already be one compared to your abysmal performance tonight.” Jonah laughed as he pulled open the iron door, the clanging sound tearing Scorpius away from the fleeting moment of joy, reminding him painfully of where he was.

Jonah noticed his shift in expression. He didn’t say anything, but reached for Scorpius’s hand. The other man took it gratefully and they walked hand-in-hand, only parting as Scorpius sat on his blanket.

“Thanks, Jonah.” Scorpius mumbled as his hand was released, pulling it to his chest.

A wand tapped the lock, and Jonah started to make his way to the exit. He turned back to Scorpius, mouth open, as though he wanted to say something, but he quickly turned his back to the cage and left.

Scorpius saw his discarded sling laying on the floor outside his cage and was swiftly reminded of Rachel. Great, a fresh type of dread to settle in his pit of a stomach, fester with his nausea, and tighten around his neck. 

He wrapped the blanket around him, sitting up, leaning into one of the corners of the cage. Time moved slowly, sleep not claiming him like it usually did. Perhaps he didn’t want sleep to come. Every minute he spent awake was a minute he managed to steal from Rachel. 

This, unfortunately, was not the first time Scorpius had been on the receiving end of…unwanted attention.

Albus had somehow convinced Scorpius to go out one night, to a club, loud and dirty. It made Scorpius anxious, but Albus shrugged it off, claiming anything that wasn’t their apartment made Scorpius anxious - which wasn’t wholly false.

Though reluctant, Scorpius watched Albus move through the crowd, Scorpius in tow, with easy confidence. He flashed smiles and exchanged all the right greetings. Scorpius, on the other hand, was tense, stiff, seemingly missing the script Albus was reading from.

“I’ll grab us drinks. Stay here.” 

Scorpius opened his mouth to protest, but Albus was already weaving through the crowd again. Trying to make himself small, unnoticeable, Scorpius pressed himself against the wall, eyes scanning the swarm, waiting to spot his familiar Albus.

“Haven’t seen you here before.”

A taller man, older, and far too close had stepped in front of Scorpius, interrupting his search. Scorpius gave a polite smile and a noncommittal shrug before sliding to his left down the wall. The man did not take the hint and simply took a step to follow Scorpius.

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart.”

His stomach turned. The man reached down to touch Scorpius’s arm and he pulled it out of reach. “I - I have a boyfriend,” was his defense, his voice thin.

“That’s what all the cute ones say.” 

The hand was reaching for his arm again and he couldn’t find any more words. His eyes were desperately combing the sea of people, trying to get the attention of anyone.

“He said no.”

It was Albus. Sharp, firm, no room for argument. The man took a step back immediately, eyes flicking between Albus and Scorpius with a smirk. He raised his hands and stalked off.

Albus’s eyes tracked him through the crowd and only turned back to Scorpius after he watched the man settle into a table at the far end of the club.

“Merlin, Scorp, why didn’t you hex him?” Albus took a sip of his drink as Scorpius set his down gently on a table they were standing next to.

“I just - didn’t know what to do,” Scorpius admitted, kicking at the wall with the back of his heel. “But it didn’t seem like he was worth wasting a hex on.”

Albus didn’t respond, but leaned against the wall next to Scorpius, joining him in his crowd study. Scorpius remembered the knot that tightened in his gut as he thought about what could have happened without Albus. Just add it to the list of times Albus played the knight in shining armor.

But Albus wasn’t here now. 

No one to swoop in and rescue him.

His thoughts of Albus had apparently passed the time. The iron door clanged and Scorpius didn’t have to look up to know who was approaching the cage. The familiar cadence of Rachel’s footsteps echoed in the barren room. The lock clicked and Rachel stepped into the cage.

When Scorpius finally met her gaze, she was smiling, a soft smile, almost absentminded, as though recalling something pleasant.

“Morning, love,” she murmured, crouching so she was eye level with him. She ran a hand through Scorpius’s hair and he almost - almost - managed not to flinch.

“Sleep well?” Her fingers trail down his cheek, settling on his jaw.

The nausea that has made its home in Scorpius’s gut stirred.

Rachel clicked her tongue and gripped his chin, forcing him to face her. “No need to be shy. After all, we started getting to know each other well last night, didn’t we?” Her voice was light, teasing, but her eyes were dark and searching.

“Let’s go.” She stood abruptly, dropping her hand.

Scorpius followed as they strolled through the corridors at a leisurely pace, Rachel humming idly. Every so often, he felt her gaze on him, as though she were waiting for a response, or a reaction of some kind.

He was led to the common room, where the energy had shifted. All heads whipped towards the door when Rachel and Scorpius entered and they watched as he knelt in his usual spot, at the end of one of the tables.

There was oddly no food on the tables and everyone in the room felt anxious, on edge. They were waiting for something. Scorpius noticed a few glancing at a closed door.

A closed door that opened.

Cassius and Helena entered with a presence that commanded attention. The chatter of the room dwindled as heads turned towards them. They stood just in front of the door they entered from, as though they didn’t want to be in the room.

Cassius surveyed the room with a critical eye before speaking. “Tomorrow, justice will be carried out.” His voice was smooth, certain, carrying the weight of inevitability. “I expect you all to be ready.”

The crowd shuffled, some nodded, others exchanged eager glances, and more than a few shot excited glances down to the kneeling man.  

Helena, standing at Cassius’s side, let her gaze drift lazily across the room before settling on Scorpius. Unlike Cassius’s calm authority, there was something amused in the way she looked at him. “It’s an important day for us all,” she said, her voice quieter, but no less potent. “Make sure you’re prepared.”

Before leaving, Cassius gave one final nod and followed Helena out the door. They had ignited a spark of excitement that spread through the room. It was a cacophony of laughter and conversation, all blending together as white noise for Scorpius. 

White noise as he leaned forward, bracing himself on all fours, struggling to take a breath, vision rimmed with black, sweat beads gathering on his forehead -

And then he saw it.

A wand.

Knowles had just sat at the edge of the table, his thighs eye level with Scorpius. In his pocket - 

A wand.

Scorpius scanned the room. People were locked in conversation. Eyes flicked to him, but only for a moment, before turning attention back to their discussion partners. 

The wand was hanging halfway out of Knowles pocket, unsecured. The heavy handle exposed, dislodged, teetering with every moment, threatening to fall to the floor.

It was within reach. He would have a few moments, one spell, maybe two, before over a dozen wands would be drawn. Cast and run. A golden opportunity.

With one fluid motion, he snatched the wand, his fingers tightening around the wood.

Gasps erupted around him, chairs scraped against the floor. More white noise.

“ Bombarda! ” He waved the wand at the table, but it groaned in protest, clearly not appreciating the new owner asking a task of it. The room was shifting, hands fumbling for wands.

“ BOMBARDA! ” Scorpius yelled louder, demanding the wand obey. The wooden table shattered into splinters, ceramic exploded, and sharp screams of pain sliced through the white noise. 

Run.

Scorpius through the door that Cassius and Helena had entered through. More corridors. They all looked the same. He gripped the wand impossibly tight and felt it grumble. His breath came in short, panicked bursts. Picking a direction, he didn’t think, just pushed himself forward.

His limbs quickly faltered, his speed slowing against his will. The hallways stretched endlessly. His lungs burned and his legs became lead as he rounded another corner.

As he moved, his left arm dragged along the wall, using the support to propel himself forward. Was he going in circles?

Another corner, looking identical to the last, another decision made with no second thoughts. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Scorpius could hear the clamboring of footsteps and shouts of the people giving chase. 

The flood of adrenaline forced his feet to pound against the stone floor faster, the shock radiating up his legs. There was an intersection, another blind choice to be made. The wall next to his head exploded as a spell collided with the stone.

Scorpius turned sharply, his hunting party had caught up. He was squeezing the wand so tightly he distantly wondered if he might snap it. 

“ Protego! ” The shield in front of Scorpius was summoned and deflected a spell wildly, it crackled against the ceiling.

Another spell whizzed past his head, whistling loudly. The wand was vibrating with irritation, seemingly frustrated as it was forced to hold a protection charm. 

Two spells collided with the shield at once and it cracked under the pressure. Scorpius dropped to one knee as he tried casting the spell again. The wand all but blew a raspberry at him in response, refusing to listen.

Aiming it in the general direction of his attackers, he tried a different tactic. “ Stupefy! ” The wand vibrated again, but with excitement, as the spell flew from its tip and three people dove away from its impact. It was not a surprise this was the wand that chose Knowles.

Without protection, Scorpius was hit with a disarming spell, his desperate attempt to keep a hold on the wand threw him backwards, hitting the wall behind him.

His right hand landed close to the wand and he tried recovering it, but a boot was stepping on his right wrist before he could move. The stolen wand was cruelly kicked away. He watched it roll, clattering, until Knowles bent down to pick it up. He appraised it, as though looking for damage.

Sprawled on the floor, right wrist pinned, Scorpius could only watch as the group surrounded him. Knowles moved to stand over him, aiming the now familiar wand at the supine man.

“Where did ya think you were gonna go?” His voice was edged with some amusement, but he saw the rage beneath it.

Scorpius couldn’t answer. He hadn’t gotten that far. He pulled uselessly at his arm.

As the others crowded in, their voices overlapped.

“Can’t believe he tried something like that.”

“Should’ve just put him down when he got here.”

Wishing he could disappear in the background again, Scorpius pressed himself against the stone, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’ve just made this a whole lot worse for yourself, Malfoy.” Knowles loomed over him for a moment before waving to the others. “Get him up. Let’s take him back.”

Hands pulled him to his feet and he didn’t bother trying to shrug them off. One wizard walked behind him, the tip of his wand pressed against Scorpius’s spine. Another wand was pointed at his neck from a witch that flanked his left side. 

When they walked back into the common room, he saw the extent of his spellwork. Half the room was destroyed, shards of wood and ceramic from plates and cups decorated the floor. He couldn’t help but notice a few small puddles of scarlet liquid. He did what he could, he tried. A small swell of pride filled his chest. 

As Scorpius was marched into the room, there was a tense, electric energy. Knowles shoved him harshly, his knees hitting the unforgiving stone, wands still trained on him.

“You filthy little rat,” Knowles spat, pacing in front of him, looking at his wand again. “With my wand? ” 

Scorpius kept his eyes locked on Knowles, watching his every move, waiting for the curse, hex, strike he knew was coming.

Knowles took a deep breath and shook his head in disbelief. “You soiled it,” he muttered, turning the wand over in his fingers like it was something diseased. “Malfoy filth on my wand. It responded to you. You made my wand betray me.” 

A roar of frustration as he shook his wand. It almost looked as though he was trying to punish it.

Then, without warning, he raised it.

“Crucio -”

“Knowles!”

Nora’s voice cut through the room, sharp and commanding, different from her usual soft-spoken demeanor. The others stilled as she stepped forward. “You know the rules,” she said. “We don’t use Unforgivables.”

Knowles didn’t lower his wand, didn’t take his eyes off Scorpius. “Don’t you dare tell me this isn’t warranted.”

Nora held her ground. “It doesn’t matter. We start using those curses, we’re not better than them.” She nodded towards Scorpius without looking at him.

The knuckles on Knowles’s hand turned white as he tightened his grip. Scorpius took a deep breath, remembering how impossible it was to breath when he was convulsing on the floor under the curse. He set his jaw, not wanting the rush of pain to snap it shut on his tongue. But then, unexpectedly, the wand was lowered.

“Fine,” he said. “No Unforgivables.”

Nora took a step back, rejoining the crowd, seemingly satisfied with her contribution. She gave Scorpius an almost imperceivable twitch of a smile.

“That still leaves that matter of my wand, though.” Knowles is looking it up and down again. “I have to win back her loyalty.” He cradled it.

“Stand up.” He commanded suddenly and Scorpius rose to his feet, shakily, his limbs responding slowly.

Knowles was back to pacing, cracking his knuckles, rolling his shoulders. “We’re settling this the proper way,” he said, struggling to hide his smirk. “We fight. No magic. No running.” He clenched his fists.

Scorpius watched the larger man preparing himself for the fight. He let out a humorless laugh. “I think I’d rather take the Cruciatus.”

The venomous look Knowles shot him clamped his mouth shut. 

Raising his fists and straightening his stance, Scorpius was well aware of how ridiculous he must look - thin, malnourished, trembling on his feet. His goal was to land one single strike.

They stood across from each other for several moments, Knowles bouncing adeptly between his feet, Scorpius struggling to stay upright. 

“I’ll let you get first lick.” Knowles straightened up, waving towards himself, beckoning Scorpius to swing. Scorpius hesitated, before drawing back his right arm and aiming it at Knowles’s face. It would have connected, had Knowles not effortlessly caught his wrist with his left hand. His right hand pummeled Scorpius’s stomach, doubling the man over, knocking the wind from his lungs. 

Letting out a wheeze, Scorpius anticipated another hit as he stumbled to avoid falling to his knees. Glancing up, he saw Knowles waiting for Scorpius to regain his composure. How honorable. 

Scorpius moved with as much urgency as he could muster, hoping to catch Knowles off guard. He swung, still crouched low, striking Knowles in the ribs. A small grunt confirmed the hit.

A low chuckle confirmed it wasn’t a good hit. “That the best you’ve got, Malfoy?”

Taking advantage of Knowles being distracted with his taunt, Scorpius’s right arm shot out again, grazing Knowles’s ear. It only seemed to amuse the large man.

Scorpius’s left leg buckled as a kick collided with his thigh. He was forced to one knee and before he could recover, a fist connected with his cheek, forcing him to the ground on his back. He quickly propped himself up with his elbows to regain some control.

Again, Knowles patiently waited as Scorpius dragged himself back to his feet, spending a few seconds braced on one knee. Within a heart beat of him finding his feet, a fist found his abdomen, just below his rib cage. 

Scorpius fell, hard, but didn’t notice. He was trying to suck air into his lungs, but his body wasn’t responding. 

On all fours, Scorpius finally drew a ragged breath, painful and labored. He tried standing, but it seemed Knowles was bored of fighting with honor. A light nudge from his boot rolled Scorpius onto his back.

Still focused on breathing, Scorpius barely felt the weight of Knowles as the large man settled on his chest. His arms acted of their own accord, pushing weakly at him.

Fingers clamped around his throat.

Scorpius’s body panicked before his mind did. His hands flew up, grasping at Knowles’s wrist. He kicked out wildly, trying to find purchase to force himself away, shake the man off, but Knowles only tightened his hold. The ceiling blurred. His pulse pounded in his ears.

Black spots crawled into the edges of his vision. A foreign warmth started spreading through his body. His hands became sluggish as they lazily clawed at Knowles. His legs seemed to forget their fight for survival. 

“Enough.” A voice, distant. Jonah.

Knowles didn’t release him. His grip lingered, giving one final squeeze before relaxing his hand. Scorpius tried curling onto his side, choking on a burning breath, but Knowles was still in control. 

The large man was still settled on his chest, panting slightly, flexing his fingers. He stood quickly and Scorpius tried to take the opportunity to scoot away, but Knowles’s boot pressed down on Scorpius’s right hand. 

Knowles smiled as Scorpius helplessly worked to free himself, pushing at the boot with his left hand and tugging uselessly with his right. He applied an ounce more pressure and Scorpius cried out.

Twisting his boot, Knowles ground Scorpius’s hand into the stone, the bones grinding and popping. A sob accented the sound of the crepitus as Scorpius’s hand was pulverized into the stone. When the boot was lifted, the hand was pulled away, pressed into Scorpius’s chest, cradled by his left arm. 

“Don’t touch what isn’t yours, Malfoy.” Knowles said, a satisfied smile lingering as he watched his victim shake with sobs, protecting his mangled hand.

Much of the crowd started dispersing, leaving the wounded man to his writhing. Knowles whipped around towards Nora and Jonah, who had already knelt beside him. “No healer,” he said sharply, Jonah and Nora staring at him blankly. “Or I cut that hand off.” 

With Knowles leaving, Nora and Jonah started assessing the damage. Scorpius’s hand was in rough shape, his knuckles twisting at odd angles and purplish bruising blossoming as they examined it. 

“Scorpius.” Jonah whispered, swiping some of the prone man’s sweat soaked hair from his eyes. Scorpius gave a small groan in response, curling tighter into himself.

“Let’s take him back to his cage.” Nora’s hushed voice suggested. He was lifted, by gentle grips, his left arm draped around Jonah’s shoulders.

Watchful eyes followed them as they assisted Scorpius through the common room. His legs tried keeping up, but they were slow, often catching on the stone and dragging behind him.

He was lowered onto the blanket and both Nora and Jonah sat in the cage with him, giving him this stare that he might fall to pieces if they so much as breathe too hard.

“Thank you…” Scorpius managed, lifting his head and tucking his knees to his chest. 

Both his companions looked relieved at the sound of his voice. They exchanged a glance and looked back at the wounded man.

“Sorry there’s not much we can do for that.” Jonah nodded to Scorpius’s hand. “But…” he hesitated before drawing his wand. “They probably wouldn’t notice, so long as it stays…well as fucked up as it looks. Episkey. ” 

Instant relief, not entirely, but enough to allow Scorpius to think flooded him. Jonah was correct, the hand was maimed, deformed, but the pain was dulled.

The change in Scorpius’s expression was obvious as Nora and Jonah both smiled at him. “Better?”

Scorpius hummed in agreement, looking between them to avoid looking at his hand.

“Thanks, Nora,” he began. “For not letting him cast Crucio, I mean.”

Nora looked at his hand with a grimace, silently agreeing with Scorpius’s mistimed joke. The Cruciatus Curse would have been preferable. She nodded in acknowledgement nonetheless.

“I’m scared,” Scorpius admitted after a few beats of silence. Nora and Jonah stayed silent, watching Scorpius expectantly.

“The trial. What happens after. What you’ll do to me when they find me guilty. Of whatever.” His voice was hoarse. Jonah gave Nora a cautious look, noticing Scorpius’s wording. They stayed silent.

Crying now, Scorpius continued. “My father. Albus. They’re - they’re looking for me. Maybe they’ll end up here next.” He gestured to the cage. “I’m not leaving, am I?” His voice was low now, seeking confirmation to a question he had already answered himself.

Nora scooted closer to him, reaching out a hand, hesitating for a beat before resting it on his knee. “Scorpius,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” Her lack of answer was an answer nonetheless.

Jonah didn’t move, keeping his distance from Scorpius. He watched Nora and Scorpius, choosing not to respond.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Nora’s voice broke as she spoke, her eyes struggling to look at anything besides Scorpius’s hand. 

“What was it supposed to be like, then?” Scorpius asked, with genuine curiosity.

“We were supposed to - I don’t know,” Jonah was the one to respond. “We were going to find the Death Eaters that managed to scatter. Loads of people just fell through the cracks. We’ve been scouring files and Pensieve memories and eyewitness testimonies trying to find evidence of people that escaped justice.”

Nora nodded slowly. “We found evidence. We submitted it to the Ministry. They shot it down. Nothing happened. Nothing changed.” She hesitated a moment, watching Scorpius’s reaction. “Some of our group, they wanted to take a more drastic approach. The Ministry just stood by, but they didn’t want to.” She started wringing her hands, uncomfortable.

Taking over, Jonah spoke up. “We tried following our own leads, but it was hard, without all the tools the Ministry uses. We almost caught up to Macnair, but he vanished. Draco Malfoy’s name came up a lot.” Jonah cleared his throat and scratched at the back of his head.

“There are still active Death Eaters.” Nora chimed in. “Actively recruiting. We had some informants, double agents I guess. They aren’t interested in Draco Malfoy. They’re interested in…” she swallowed. “...in you.” 

Scorpius shook his head and scoffed. “Why would Death Eaters be interested in me?” He asked incredulously. 

Jonah sighed, rubbing an eyebrow. “It’s obvious, Scorpius. Being a Death Eater is in your blood. Not to mention…the rumor that you’re Voldemort’s heir.” His voice softened when Scorpius’s face fell. “Scorpius, you’re a symbol to them. They think if they can recruit you…then they can, well, try again I guess.”

“Oh.” Scorpius responded quietly. “So you’re keeping me from joining the Death Eaters, then?” 

“Yeah,” Nora breathed out. “You’re important to them. If they had you on their side…you’ll have to trust us when we tell you that they’d have more supporters than you might think.”

Scorpius didn’t respond, but idly picked at a loose string on his sweatpants. He tried to blink away the tears, but they insisted on falling.

“You okay?” Jonah asked, finally inching closer to Scorpius.

Instead of answering the question, Scorpius responded with another. “The trial. It is just a formality - or production or choreographed bullshit - then, isn’t it? I’m already guilty of being interesting to Death Eaters.” 

Jonah nodded, slowly at first, then confidently. “It was Cassius’s idea. He thought you deserved a chance to defend yourself. But even he knows there’s not a thing you could say to change people’s minds.”

“Why did you two put up with it?” Scorpius asked, more assertively. “Playing private investigator, that’s one thing. Kidnap and tor- and torture, you’re fine with that?” 

“We don’t have a choice anymore.” Nora defended quickly. “I’m not fine with it. We have nowhere else to go.” Jonah leaned back, letting Nora continue. “We disagreed. With this plan.” She gestured to Scorpius. “Helena asked us if we were spying for the Death Eaters. Questioned us on why we ever thought a Malfoy could be innocent.”

Scorpius nodded, recognizing the strangely familiar tale. ‘Join or die’ was the motto of the Death Eaters according to Rachel. Perhaps it’s a more universal motto than she cared to admit. 

“I get it,” his voice was strained. “I probably would still be here either way.” He reassured, but it didn’t seem to quell Nora’s discomfort. “Better that you two aren’t also spending your holiday in a cage.”

Jonah smiled. “There are more people that disagree, they’re just scared, too. We’ll think of something, I’m sure of it.” He moved to stand. “Nothing’s going to happen tomorrow, just the charade. Hopefully we’ll have some time to work on a plan between tomorrow and, well…” Jonah idly twirled his wand as he approached the lock. “...and your sentence being carried out.”

Scorpius flinched, knowing better than to ask the burning question, fearing he knew the answer. He nodded numbly instead, watching both friends shuffle out of the cage.

“Good luck, Scorpius.” Nora said in earnest. “We won’t be able to help much, but know we’ll be there.” She gave him a smile, but struggled to hold eye contact.

“Good night, Malfoy.” Jonah called out as they left Scorpius.

He had stopped crying at some point, the collar of his shirt damp with tears. He didn’t lay on the blanket, but stayed where he was, leaning his back against the bars, clutching his left arm around his shins, his right arm gingerly resting on top of his knees. It wasn’t even worth the effort to pretend like he would sleep tonight. 

Turning his wounded hand over slowly, he coughed out a cry of pain. It was well and truly fucked. He tried commanding a finger to move and instead of obeying, it feebly vibrated and a fresh torrent of pain surged up his arm. 

Though the pain fogged his brain, one clear thought echoed, pristine and brilliant. Albus would have been so proud.

Notes:

Whoops, another chapter much longer than expected. Thanks as always for reading and I hope you enjoy! :)

Chapter 7: Inherit the Ashes

Notes:

Here's to a horribly inaccurate trial lol <3

Jonah’s spell was wearing off. The dull throb in Scorpius’s hand was slowly edging into agonizing pulses. It was a sickening purplish-black and unnatural heat was radiating from it. Scorpius tried not to look at it, but the strangeness of having a body part not feel like one’s own, grotesque and alien, kept drawing his eyes. The nausea from the pain stirred with the knots from anxiety, a storm of discontent raging in his gut.

Scorpius was exhausted. His body felt heavy, but every time his breathing slowed, the relaxation of sleep creeping through his limbs, he’d feel a twinge from his hand, his ribs, or a new horrible thought would erase all hope of rest. Resigning himself to wait, Scorpius combed through his memories of what to expect at a trial.

His father didn’t speak much of his own trial. He had heard rumors. Rumors that he was too proud to admit any wrongdoing, rumors that he freely admitted to everything, rumors that he didn’t utter a word, but rather Lucius, according to some, or Narcissa, according to others, spoke on his behalf.

Sighing, Scorpius shook his head. This wasn’t the Wizengamot. This was a group of zealous, self-righteous, so-called vigilantes doling out their own twisted definition of justice. Jonah called this trial a charade. Scorpius knew better than to assume he had any hopes of defending himself.

The door screeched open and Scorpius’s heart leaped into action, pounding against his battered ribcage. His eyes slowly slid to the doorway, his body too tense to will his head to move. It was three men, men he didn’t recognize.

They approached the cage with an air of authority. The door was unlocked and they wordlessly hauled Scorpius to his feet with hands hooked under his armpits. Yelling in protest at the movement of his right arm, Scorpius tried pulling his wounded hand away, but the men had a tight grip.

Marching him out of the cage and into the corridors, they moved in a practiced formation. One man on each of Scorpius’s sides, holding his arms at the shoulder and wrist, pulling them slightly behind his back, rendering them useless. The third man walked just behind them, a final security measure.

They walked briskly and Scorpius grit his teeth, trying to ignore the fingers clamped around his right wrist, applying pressure to his swollen, damaged flesh. He tried looking at the men, but they refused to acknowledge him. 

The double doors he had been forced through his first day here were in front of Scorpius. The back-up man opened the doors and he was pulled through by his escort. The chamber was colder than Scorpius remembered, a shiver traveling up his spine as he looked at the solitary chair in the center of the room, illuminated by sickly white lights.

Walking him to the chair, the men pressed him into it, keeping a tight hold on his wrists as he sat. They pinned each wrist to the arms of the chair and the third man tapped his wand against the chair, coils of chain wrapping around Scorpius’s arms like iron snakes. His right hand trembled.

Now bound to the chair, Scorpius took in his surroundings. He had to look up at the audience, making him feel small, vulnerable. Hooded figures lined the stands and Scorpius had to squint against the harsh light to make out their faces. He could see Jonah and Nora sitting side by side as they pulled their hoods back just enough for Scorpius to recognize them.

Directly in front of Scorpius sat Cassius and Helena, sporting regal red robes with glimmering gold trim. Cassius was staring down at a piece of parchment, and Helena was staring hungrily at Scorpius, smiling when his eyes finally met hers.

Continuing his search of the room, Scorpius’s eyes swept again through the crowd, finally having adjusted to the lighting. One wizard was especially noteworthy, he was holding a camera, the bulb reflecting the light.

It was Cassius who raised his hand and silenced the low rumble of voices that Scorpius hadn’t noticed until they quieted. He waited a few beats as the hooded figures, as well as Scorpius, turned their attention towards him. 

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,” he began, his voice calm, measured. “You have been brought before this council to answer for your crimes against the wizarding world. Though you were given every opportunity to prove yourself different from your father and his kind, you have failed. The evidence against you is undeniable.”

Biting back the urge to retort immediately, Scorpius waited. There was a sense of finality to his voice, as though he had just read the verdict instead of opening remarks.

Cassius gestured to the audience, or council as he called them. “Let it be known that this trial is not held in cruelty, nor in blind hatred. We do not act out of vengeance, but necessity. For too long, those who aided in the destruction of our world have gone unpunished. We seek not retribution, but justice.”

Scorpius narrowed his eyes at him as murmurs of agreement filled the chamber. He let his eyes wander back to his train-wreck of a hand, shaking violently at the most recent abuse it endured. No cruelty to see here.

Cassius motioned to another figure, sitting just below himself and Helena. She was a witch dressed in plain, white robes. Perhaps a scribe or secretary of some sort. With a dramatic flick of her wrist she unfurled a scroll.

“The charges are as follows: complicity in Dark Magic practices, allegiance to Death Eaters, deception and manipulation, and resistance against lawful detainment.” The scribe set the parchment down and leaned over the table in front of her, studying the bound man.

The mention of Death Eaters riled the audience, they jeered at each of the charges. Still, Scorpius waited, though his breathing quickened.

Again, Cassius was the one to speak. “We will begin with the presentation of physical evidence.” Scorpius vaguely recalled that the defense should have known about the prosecution’s evidence before the trial.

Helena pulled out a locket, small and delicate, on a silver chain. Scorpius’s eyes widened at the sight of it. His robe, he was wearing his robe the day he was kidnapped.

"This was found in his possession," Helena finally spoke, lifting the locket by its chain and holding it up for all to see. “A Malfoy family crest, carried on his person at all times. A symbol of his lineage, yes—but more than that, a symbol of loyalty. A declaration of pride in the history that preceded him.”

The locket sat idly in his robe for the better part of the last three years, since moving in with Albus. It was a gift from his grandmother to his mother, who eventually pressed it into Scorpius’s hands. The winged serpents and purity subtext were not what was sentimental to Scorpius, but rather the memory of his mother.

“It’s just a locket,” he tried explaining, his voice hoarse. “My mother gave it to me.”

Cassius arched a brow. “And yet, despite all that the Malfoy name represents, despite all the atrocities committed under that very crest, you still chose to wear it? To keep it close?”

He didn’t wear it. It was coiled in a tight ball tucked away in a forgotten robe pocket. It wasn’t a symbol of pride. It was simply a trinket, one with memories he didn’t want to lose, but an association he refused to display.

It was not a declaration of allegiance, but the whispers of the crowd seemed to agree with Cassius’s and Helena’s interpretations.

“It is not only his possessions that betray his loyalties,” Cassius went on, watching Helena drop the locket with a clink, and unrolling a scroll. “We have testimony from those who worked alongside him—those who witnessed his actions firsthand.”

He cleared his throat and read aloud:

“Scorpius Malfoy often took liberties in his position, lingering in restricted archives under the pretense of clerical work. Though his duties were confined to sorting and recording documents, he frequently accessed case files unrelated to his tasks, particularly those concerning dark artifacts and past war criminals. His interest in these materials was far beyond professional curiosity.”

A pause. A glance toward Scorpius.

“Testimony provided by Emmett Cattermole, Ministry Records Division.”

Scorpius looked around the room wildly. He knew Emmett loathed him, but the genuine shock of Emmett being involved to his level made Scorpius’s head swim. 

Cassius eyed Scorpius’s reaction carefully before continuing.

“Additionally, Malfoy was responsible for the unauthorized distribution of confidential information. Just a day before his absence, a restricted document was leaked outside of the Ministry, containing details on the whereabouts of high-risk magical items. This breach placed both Ministry operations and the greater wizarding community at risk.”

‘A day before his absence’ was a very bureaucratic way of referring to a kidnapping. Had Emmett somehow been involved in his kidnapping? Who else knew?

“Now,” Cassius continued. “This locket and written testimony provide ample supporting evidence that the accused is a threat to the wizarding world. It is clear he is proud of his exceptionally dark heritage. He also took advantage of his job at the Ministry to access information that he could leverage.”

The murmurs of agreement were becoming shouts, whoops, and yells. Cassius raised his hand again, the crowd taking the hint. 

“This is a fair trial. The defense may respond now.” Cassius gestured toward Scorpius and leaned back in his chair. Helena leaned forward, drumming her fingers against the desk.

“I - uh,” Scorpius started awkwardly, unprepared and terrified. He looked at Jonah and Nora, who both gave tight-lipped smiles. “My mother gave me the locket.” He repeated. “She passed, and I kept it.”

Cassius nodded. “And the report from Mr. Cattermole? How do you respond?”

“That’s - ” Scorpius stopped himself. It was a lie. Emmett set him up. A trap. “I was researching those items, yes, but I didn’t leak the report. I submitted it to the Aurors!” His voice revealed the desperation.

Nodding again, Cassius watched him for a few moments in silence. When Scorpius didn’t continue speaking, Cassius clapped his hands together. 

“We will take that into consideration,” he said curtly. “We will move to eyewitness testimonies. Ian Knowles, if you would be so kind as to take the stand.”

 Knowles may have just punched Scorpius again at the way the air left his lungs. Scorpius watched as the man who had forced him to fight, mangled his hand, as he walked to the witness stand. He was seated across from Scorpius, but still elevated, so he looked down at his prisoner.

It was Helena, who was struggling to contain her excitement, who started the examination of the witness. “Ian Knowles, you have been summoned as a witness as a result of some of your interactions with the accused.” Her eyes flicked to Scorpius’s hand.

“Please,” she continued. “Tell the council about the nature of these interactions.”

Knowles sighed, though his smirk revealed his thinly veiled excitement as well. “My most recent interaction with the accused was just yesterday. The little bastard -” Cassius cleared his throat loudly and knocked on his desk a few times.

“Right,” Knowles continued. “Malfoy stole my wand, casting numerous offensive spells, putting many lives at risk. In fact, he did injure two people, thankfully we have a great healer, but they may not have pulled through without her help.”

A few people made noises of disgust.

“He then used my wand to attempt escape. Obviously unsuccessfully. Though I think the council would agree that he would not commit such an act did he not feel he would be found guilty.” Knowles smiled knowingly, before biting his lip, his eyes flicking between Scorpius’s face and his hand. “He did take his punishment well, though.”

“Thank you, Mr. Knowles,” Cassius ignored the final comment. “The accused may cross examine the witness, should he wish.”

Scorpius looked around the room, bewildered. “You kidnapped me and have - have - hurt me.” He felt his voice waver, feeling a flush of shame. “I should think it quite expected that I try to - try to run.” 

“You didn’t follow the rules and were appropriately punished. You knew you were to have a fair trial and you still resisted.” Knowles responded. “You only dug yourself a deeper grave.”

“That will be all, Mr. Knowles.” Cassius once again glossed over the final comment. “The next witness,” Cassius consulted the scroll, “Jonah Stewart.”

It was Jonah that stood. His Jonah.

That familiar miniscule bloom of hope spread through Scorpius’s chest. Maybe there was some small chance that Jonah would find the words that Scorpius couldn't to convince anyone here that he didn’t deserve this.

Jonah settled at the stand and folded his hands in front of him politely. He was anxious, glancing behind him at Cassius and Helena.

“Mr. Stewart,” Helena began again, “you have spent much time with the accused, observing him. We ask that you provide your insight. What have you learned from the accused?”

  Jonah inhaled deeply. “He’s—” He stopped, seemingly choosing his words carefully. “He’s not who you think he is.”

Helena raised her eyebrows in surprise. “And who do we think he is?”

Jonah’s lips pressed together. “You think he’s dangerous,” he said. “That he’s carrying on his family’s legacy, that he’s a threat to everything we stand for. But I’ve talked to him. I’ve seen him. He’s scared, he’s confused, and he doesn’t belong here.”

Silence stretched through the chamber, deafening. Jonah heard it too, based on how he stared at his hands as he spoke. “He’s cornered. He’s acting like anyone would if they were in his shoes.”

A loud scoff was heard to Scorpius’s left. It was Rachel. She was standing, throwing up her arm in disbelief. “Spoken like someone who’s been manipulated.”

Jonah glared at her for a moment. “I haven’t been manipulated.”

Rachel folded her arms. “You expect us to believe that?” She turned toward the rest of the group, addressing them instead. “I’ve seen the way they interact. It’s clear Jonah has a personal investment in him. A conflict of interest.”

The crowd was nodding, as though the pieces were falling into place. Ah, this is the reason our good friend Jonah is defending this Death Eater filth.

Jonah clenched his jaw. “I spoke to him as a human being.”

“A bit more than that, don’t you think?” Cassius interjected smoothly. “You went out of your way to feed him. You’ve sat with him after punishment. You’ve argued on his behalf. That’s not simple conversation. That’s attachment.”

Scorpius saw the shift in Jonah’s expression. It was gut-wrenchingly familiar and unfortunately all too common. Hopelessness.

Rachel tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “Did he seduce you, Jonah?”

A few low chuckles bounced around the chamber. Scorpius’s mouth went dry. 

“That’s ridiculous.” Jonah’s voice was deadpan.

“Is it?” Rachel challenged. “Malfoys have always been clever. It would make perfect sense for him to find the one person weak enough to take pity on him and use it.”

Helena hummed in agreement. “It would hardly be the first time he’s used seduction as a means of protection.” She leaned forward, assessing Scorpius’s reaction.

“We already know how he’s remained under the protection of Albus Potter for so long. How he’s embedded himself into a position of safety.” She turned toward the others. “Albus Potter - son of the great Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world - shielding the Malfoy heir? It would be almost poetic, if it weren’t so calculated.”

Feeling his body tense, Scorpius grunted in frustration. “That’s not -”

Cassius cut him off with a wave. “Do not speak out of turn.” He nodded toward Helena to continue.

“Thank you.” She smiled venomously at Scorpius. “Their relationship defies all logic. The only explanation is Albus Potter having a savior complex - not unlike his own father - and taking pity on the accused, seeing as he was likely excluded and ridiculed in those early years. The accused then took advantage of that kindness, sinking his teeth in, using the influence of the Potters to keep the Malfoy name safe.” 

Her words seemed to resonate with the council, nods and laughter of agreement followed.

Cassius was likewise nodding. “Yes, thank you for that insight.” He gestured back to Jonah. “Let’s return to what you learned from your observations, feelings of attraction aside. In your conversations with the accused, did he mention his upbringing, his home life?”

Jonah hesitated, clearly uncomfortable, looking at Scorpius as though the man tied to a chair could rescue him. The hesitation was all Cassius needed.

“Yes,” Cassius answered for him. “He did. And tell me, anything of note?”

Another hesitation. Jonah was clearly picking how to present his findings carefully. “He - he told me about private tutors, help with Potions and Charms. We talked a little about learning how to duel.”

Scorpius watched Helena and Cassius intently, curious how they would find a way to twist these words. They continued to watch Jonah, hoping the silence would pressure him to spill more.

“We talked a little…just a little about his father. Draco Malfoy taught him to duel and didn’t like talking about school or the war, though he does have the Mark still.” Jonah spoke quickly, words escaping his mouth without taking a breath.

The mention of the Mark hushed the crowd. Scorpius silently cursed Jonah for sharing with the class. 

Cassius’s lips curled slightly. “His father still bears the Mark of the Dark Lord.” He let the words hang, then turned his gaze to the others. “Tell me - why would a man who has renounced his past still wear such a thing?”

The hypothetical question was met with shouts of agreement.

Scorpius couldn’t bite back his response. “It’s not something he flaunts.” His voice was strained.

It seemed Cassius forgave this instance of speaking out of turn. He turned toward Scorpius with infuriating patience. “No?”

“No,” Scorpius snapped. “It’s a scar.” This was true both literally and metaphorically. The burn seared into Draco’s flesh was a remnant, an ever-present reminder of the unique suffering he endured.

Cassius let out a soft chuckle. “A scar?” He shook his head, sighing. “No, Malfoy. A scar is something one tries to forget. To erase.”

Scorpius seethed. Though his father made an effort to hide them, Scorpius had seen the white lacerations strewn about the Mark, marring otherwise unblemished skin, a history of attempts to erase and forget. 

“No,” Scorpius started again. “My father tried -” Cassius waved again to silence the man, this time with his wand in hand, an effective threat.

Helena turned her attention back to Jonah, who had been sitting at the stand, throwing panicked looks between council members and Scorpius. “Anything else you’d like to add?” 

For a moment, it looked as though Jonah did, in fact, have many things he’d like to add. Instead, he shook his head and stood, looking wholly uncomfortable. Scorpius tracked him through the crowd and saw Nora rest her hand on his shoulder in comfort. Jonah didn’t meet his eyes.

“Rachel Williams,” Helena’s voice startled Scorpius. “Please step forth as our final witness.” 

Rachel looked exceptionally pleased with herself as she settled into the seat. Her eyes didn’t leave Scorpius’s and she playfully raised her eyebrows.

“Ms. Williams,” Helena began her questioning. “You had been tasked with…caring for the accused during his stay with us. You spent time with him, much of that time alone. We were wondering if you would be willing to divulge some of the details of these private interactions.”

“Of course,” that sing-songy voice made Scorpius’s stomach twist. “I took some pity on the accused. Perhaps I, like Jonah, fell victim to his manipulation. He is skilled at acting wounded, vulnerable, so I offered him some kindness.”

Scorpius felt as though he might be sick. The words were practiced, perfectly constructed. 

It was Cassius that nodded along. “I see. And how did he respond to such kindness?”

A dramatic scoff. “He responded with disgust. Perhaps he found me unworthy, or…or not pure enough. I gave him every opportunity to make things easier on him and he treated me like a piece of gum he avoided on the pavement.”

The hairs on the back of Scorpius’s neck rose. She was somehow convincing this council that his rejections of her violations were ill-founded.

“You think he reacted in such a way because of your bloodline?” Cassius prodded further.

Rachel shrugged. “Perhaps. My family is not well known, probably one the accused had never heard of. Mr. Stewart, on the other hand, has a publicly respected family name. I believe Malfoy showed blatant discrimination against those of us with names not associated with power.”

Jonah recoiled at his, and once again looked like he was ready to respond, before closing his mouth. 

“That would be logical.” Helena agreed. “Anything else?”

It appeared as though Rachel was fighting the urge to jump with joy. “I would like to again remind the council that the accused wounded victim act was clearly just that, an act. He showed yesterday that he is capable of extreme violence. He waited until the opportunity to try to hurt as many of us as possible.”

“Yes, a good point.” Cassius looked down at Scorpius, his neutral expression twitching. “Anything you would like to ask Ms. Williams?”

His mind was reeling and producing coherent thoughts was quite an insurmountable task. Scorpius looked up at Rachel. “You - you weren’t being nice. You were trying to humiliate me. You made me…” His weak voice trailed off.

Helena gave a hum. “I suppose someone from such a proud family would be humiliated at the offer of help. You’re excused, Ms. Williams. Thank you.”

Rachel stood to leave, happy with her contribution. 

Cassius clapped his hands together. “Thank you to the witnesses, for your honest accounts of recent events. As we near the verdict, I will ask a few very vital questions to the accused.”

The room suddenly felt smaller as the hooded figures leaned forward, looming over him. 

Before speaking, Cassius cleared his throat theatrically. “Mr. Malfoy, do you believe your father, Draco Malfoy, is innocent?”

There was no right answer. Scorpius shifted in his chair, as much as the restraints would allow, trying to escape the inquisitive gazes of hundreds of eyes. 

“No,” Scorpius tried to steady his voice. “No, I suppose he isn’t innocent. But it was -”

A wand was pointed at him and his mouth snapped shut. “You admit that Draco Malfoy aided Lord Voldemort? That he was a Death Eater?”

The wand didn’t move. “Yes,” was all Scorpius breathed out.

“Interesting,” Cassius twisted his grip on the wand. “And tell me, have you any proof of your patronage? Can you prove that Draco Malfoy is your biological father?”

Scorpius’s stomach twisted. He felt sweat dripping down his jaw, unable to wipe it away with his bound hands. “No.”

Cassius nodded, unsurprised. “Have you ever practiced Dark Magic?”

“No!” The answer came quickly, too quickly. 

“Perhaps he doesn’t practice,” Helena was interrupting, “but he most certainly knows Dark Magic.”

Cassius didn’t respond to Helena. “Have you ever used your family’s influence to your advantage?”

Another “no” to be brushed away. 

“Are you loyal to Draco Malfoy?”

A trap. Another unanswerable question. He hesitates too long, knowing the script he should follow. He should say that he isn’t. He should say Draco Malfoy is a sickening stain on wizard kind and be done with it. That’s what they want.

Scorpius remembered one of the few times that Draco spoke about the war. It was after a tense dinner at the Potters’. His father had been uncharacteristically withdrawn, retreating under the gaze of his peers. Scorpius noticed the wayward glances the others sent Draco from across the table.

Draco often refused invitations from the Potters’ with grace, but Scorpius could see his father hiding how much it hurt that he had to distance himself from his own son’s relationships.

After the dinner, Draco walked with Scorpius, illuminated by dim streetlights. Draco was fidgety, making sounds like he was about to start talking before silencing himself.

Finally, after several minutes, Draco spoke up. “Scorpius…I want to be there for you, with you, to support you and Albus. But,” his father looked away from him, “I’m not wanted there. It’s best I don’t go anymore.”

His father was staring at the sky and Scorpius could see the red rim around grey eyes. Scorpius didn’t know what to say.

“They’ll always see me and only see this .” His father pointed to his left arm, though sleeved, Scorpius knew what he was referring to. “I want you to be free from it. Be separate from my mistakes.” 

“Do you regret what happened? What you did?” Scorpius was whispering, as though worried their conversation would be overheard by the bushes lining the sidewalk.

“I regret a great many things,” Draco ran a hand through his hair. “But I don’t regret surviving.”

Scorpius didn’t know Draco Malfoy to be anything besides his father. At that dinner, he couldn’t see what Harry or Ginny saw.

“Yes,” Scorpius said, back in the mock courtroom. “I am loyal to my father, Draco Malfoy.”

The volume in the room was amplified, hushed voices chattering excitedly. Cassius and Helena were huddled together, looking over some of the notes that Cassius had jotted down.

Then, Cassius raised his hand and silence fell like a blanket over the chamber. The questions were over. This was it. The audience knew what came next.

Scorpius wasn’t sure if he’s breathing. His pulse thrummed in his ears, erratic. The hooded figures were motionless, waiting.

Cassius cleared his throat, standing, holding the piece of parchment like a prop.

“Scorpius Malfoy,” Cassius’s voice echoed through the chamber. “You stand accused of treason against the wizarding world, of conspiracy to uphold the values and legacies of dark magic, of manipulating those around you for personal gain, and of bearing the bloodline of known war criminals.”

He knew what was coming, but still, Scorpius listened intently.

“After careful deliberation,” Cassius continued, his tone falsely solemn, "this council has found you guilty on all charges.”

There it was. The finality of it.

The hooded figures murmured their approval, the sound slithering through the chamber like the rustling of parchment. Jonah and Nora sat stiffly amongst the crowd. 

Scorpius tried to swallow around his tightening throat. He looked up at Cassius, summoning an ounce of courage.

Cassius barely spared Scorpius a glance before reading on. “For these crimes, the council has determined that you are to be executed.”

The words were blunt, devoid of emotion. Just a statement. A fact.

The world slowed.

Execution.

He was right.

He wasn’t leaving.

His throat tightened again, this time making it hard to breathe. He willed himself to keep looking up, he couldn’t let them see him shatter.

Cassius folded the parchment in his hands. “The execution will be carried out publicly, so all may witness the end of the Malfoy name and the closure of the darkness it represents.”

And then -

“No.”

Helena’s voice rang clear through the chamber, and for the first time, Cassius faltered. He looked toward her as she stood, composed and poised, her lips curving ever so slightly. Scorpius blinked up at her, shocked at her objection to his demise.

“That is not enough,” she said smoothly. “Death is easy. Death is final. The Malfoy name deserves more.”

Scorpius couldn’t think. The world was spinning. Was he breathing too much or not enough?

Cassius frowned slightly. “Helena, the sentence has already been -”

“Then we amend it,” Helena interrupted, her voice pleasant, but firm. She gave Scorpius an appraising look that made him try to shrink away. “Before his execution, Scorpius Malfoy is to be laid bare for all to see. We, in this chamber have seen him where he belongs, beaten down, on the floor, begging for mercy. We show the wizarding world what the proud Malfoy name has been reduced to.”

The murmurs of the crowd have exploded into cheers. Scorpius felt his limbs go numb.

Cassius hesitated for a moment - maybe he thought this was unnecessary, maybe he just didn’t like his authority being undermined - but then he nodded. “Very well, there is value in public debasing, striking fear in other Death Eaters, and rallying support to our cause.” He paused, considering. “The sentence stands. Public execution. Preceded by public humiliation.” 

There was no air in the room. Scorpius sucked in breath after breath, but there were still black spots smattering his vision. The room was loud, unbearably loud, and somewhere in the distance, the bulb flash from the camera went off, forcing Scorpius’s eyes to squeeze shut.

Scorpius tried to curl into himself, absently noticing his hands were free from their restraints. His knees tucked up to his chest and he could finally hide his face behind his arms.

Just as he reached the comfort of his fetal position, he was roughly pulled from the chair. He fell to his knees, and tried crawling away, briefly forgetting about his out of commission right hand. Applying pressure to it as he scurried forced him to the ground. 

Voices laughed. Mocked. Jeered. Scorpius was now attempting to army crawl between the legs of his captors. 

He was scooped off the floor, half walked, half carried back to the room with his cage. His awareness was slowly being regained and he recognized the faces of Rachel and Knowles in the group that was dragging him.

The metal door was slammed shut and the illusion of formality, the one that oppressed that mockery of justice, was dropped.

Rachel grabbed his right hand and smiled when Scorpius gasped and looked at her. Knowles was standing just behind her, shaking out his shoulders like he had just received excellent news. 

“Well,” Rachel purred, leaning close to Scorpius’s ear. “That’s it. You’re guilty.”

Scorpius doesn’t answer - can’t answer. The words were slipping through his fingers.

Knowles was laughing. “Finally official, huh?” He threw a sidelong glance at Rachel. “Not that there was any doubt.”

“Oh, of course not.” Rachel sounded delighted. “But it’s…different now.” She trailed a finger up Scorpius’s arm, light but possessive. “We all know what’s coming, don’t we?”

Scorpius shuddered, bristling at the touch, but forcing his eyes to meet Rachel’s. She smiled knowingly.

“You’re fair game, now.”

Scorpius had to remind himself to breathe, not that it mattered much at this point. The predatory gaze from both Rachel and Knowles made him instinctively want to back away, to run.

Rachel leaned in again, her hot breath tickling the shell of Scorpius’s ear. “I do hope you’re ready for what comes next.”

Fighting a gag, Scorpius was manhandled into the cage, Knowles yanking him along. He stumbled in, leaning against the iron bars for support. Rachel tapped her wand on the lock, but her eyes continued to bore into Scorpius.

Knowles cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck out. Scorpius almost laughed. He looked like a caricature of one of the boxers getting ready to fight in one of the Muggle movies Harry showed Albus and Scorpius.

“Tomorrow is going to be fun.” Knowles was massaging his knuckles as both he and Rachel hesitated, watching Scorpius for a few more moments. He could only assume they were reveling in watching Scorpius come to terms with his sentence.

They left. Scorpius was alone. 

With his thoughts.

His fingers twitched, like they should be reaching for something - someone. But there was nothing, no hand to hold, no voice to tell him it was going to be okay.

Because it wasn’t going to be okay.

He was going to die here.

Lead settled in his stomach, heavier than anything he’s ever felt.

He was going to die. And it was going to be them - these zealots, these monsters - who were going to do it.

The thought alone wasn’t what made him tremble - it was what he was going to leave behind. 

Albus.

Merlin, Albus . Scorpius could see him so clearly - his ridiculous optimism, his beliefs that Scorpius could always get back up, always push through whatever life threw at him.

He could still feel the way Albus hugged him from behind, promising more time together. Time they didn’t have. Time that was about to be stolen. 

Scorpius always feared he would be the one to have to bury Albus. Albus, who was selfless to a fault, constantly throwing himself into danger. Albus was going to bury Scorpius. Not just that, Albus was going to watch Scorpius die.

He will never see Albus again. He will never hear him laugh, never argue with him about something as stupid as whether sugar quills or licorice wands are better. He will never feel his arms wrap around him after a long day, never sit beside him and pretend, just for a moment, that the world is kind.

Albus will be alone . And he will never, never forgive himself for it.

A broken sound slipped from his throat.

And his father -

His father, who spent years trying to outrun his past, who finally built a life where he wasn’t just the Malfoy heir . A father who tucked his son’s scarf tighter in the winter, who smoothed down his hair when no one was looking, who carried regret in his spine and love in the careful way he spoke his name.

The last time he had seen his father was just a few weeks ago, but it may as well have been decades. They had dinner together in the grand dining room of Malfoy Manor. 

They hugged. As Scorpius held a handful of Floo powder, Draco stood in front of the fireplace. “See you soon, Scorpius.” It was posed almost like a question and Scorpius remembered the pang of guilt he felt leaving his father alone in the vacuous mansion. 

“See you soon, father.” Scorpius had responded with a warm smile.

He wouldn’t. Why didn’t he tell his father how much he loved him? How much he meant to him?

Draco Malfoy survived a war. He survived the trial. He survived losing almost everything.

Will he survive this ?

Will he survive knowing that his only son—the only thing in the world he truly, truly had—was ripped away? That he wasn’t coming home?

Draco never cried. He never let himself be weak where anyone could see. But Scorpius could see it—his father standing alone in the dark, silent, unsteady, hands gripping the fabric over his chest like he could tear the pain out.

Because this wouldn’t just be loss. This wouldn’t just be grief.

This would be failure.

Draco Malfoy spent his whole life trying to be a better man, and now—now—his son will die branded as a villain. As a liar. As one of them .

And he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Scorpius choked on a sob, shoving a fist against his mouth, because if he let it out, it would never stop.

This was worse than dying.

Dying was simple. Dying was inevitable.

But leaving them—leaving them —was unbearable.

He didn’t want to imagine Albus sitting alone in their apartment, staring at a door that would never open.

He didn’t want to imagine his father surrounded by ghosts, crushed beneath the weight of another grave that should not exist .

But it was all he could see.

And it was worse than death.

Chapter 8: A Prison of Their Own

Notes:

Perspective switch for the first time in 8 chapters because I make the rules and you're living in my world. This is a bit of an experimental chapter and I wasn't sure if I wanted to include it, but it was fun to take a peek into what some other characters have been up to. Hopefully you have some fun with this little departure as well!

“The Trial of Scorpius Malfoy: The End of a Dark Legacy”

By Edgar Thorncroft  I  The Daily Prophet  I  Saturday Edition

The wizarding world can breathe easier this morning following the swift and decisive conviction of Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, 26, a suspected sympathizer of the Dark Arts and heir to one of the most infamous bloodlines in wizarding history.

After a closed-door trial, Malfoy has been found guilty on multiple counts, including conspiring against the wizarding world, resisting lawful detainment, and maintaining illicit ties to former Death Eaters. His sentencing is clear: death.

Malfoy is said to have manipulated his way into the Ministry of Magic under the guise of a mere records clerk, using his position to monitor key government figures while shielding dangerous individuals from scrutiny. When confronted by law-abiding citizens demanding answers, Malfoy refused to renounce his family name, doubling down on his allegiances to blood purists and known war criminals. His father, Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater, has long been suspected of harboring sympathies for remnants of Voldemort’s cause, and sources suggest the Malfoy heir was no different.

During the trial, witnesses testified to Malfoy’s cold, calculating demeanor and his open contempt for the justice system. When given multiple chances to prove his innocence, he instead resorted to evasions, sneers, and silence. One witness, who bravely took the stand, described his "unnatural" presence and "unsettling charisma," suggesting he weaponized his lineage to manipulate those around him.

Malfoy’s execution is set to take place this coming Tuesday. In keeping with the demands of justice, his punishment will be made public, serving as a necessary reminder that the sins of the past cannot and will not be allowed to fester into the future.

But death alone is not enough to erase the stain of the Malfoy name. To ensure that his family's dark legacy is well and truly reduced to dust, Malfoy will first undergo a final reckoning—one that will strip him of the last shreds of his inherited power and status. Those who bear witness will observe not only the end of Scorpius Malfoy, but the fall of a cursed name once and for all.

For those who remember the terror of Voldemort’s reign and the horrors wrought by his followers, justice has been a long time coming.

More details to follow.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The copy of this morning’s Daily Prophet sat on Hermione Granger’s desk, the bold, venomous headline stretching across the top. The ink still smelled fresh, the poison within had just been printed, and the longer Albus stared at it, the harder it became to breathe.

The worst part, though, was the image embedded between the nauseating words. It was a grainy photo, showing Scorpius, who was looking at something behind the photographer. Albus had held the paper close to his face, taking in every horrific detail. Scorpius’s pale face looked haunted, bruises darkening his complexion, his lip clearly split, and a healing cut on his forehead. His head was tilted up just enough that the shadow of a contusion around his neck was evident.

Albus and Harry Potter sat across from Hermione. Draco Malfoy was quietly seated in a chair to Harry’s right, knuckles white from clenching the armrest. The article had been published just hours ago and the news brought them together, hoping to find something, anything, that might clue them into where Scorpius was.

The four of them could recite the article by heart at this point, the sheer number of times they took turns reading sections aloud, hoping any of them might have an idea of what they might imply. But now the room was silent, save for Hermione shuffling through some documents she had sent for.

The freshly published article answered an unfortunately large number of questions for the four people sitting in the office of the Minister of Magic. Scorpius Malfoy didn’t run, didn’t join Death Eaters, didn’t go into hiding.

“A week,” Albus’s voice wavered, his eyes locked onto Scorpius’s. “They’ve had him for a week.” He braced himself against the desk.

“We can’t focus on that,” Harry’s authoritative voice cut through. “We focus on finding him, bringing him home safe.” 

Albus couldn’t hear him. He pointed at the image on the front page with a shaky hand. “Look what they’ve done to him.” 

It was very clear that Draco did not, in fact, want to look at what they had done to him. He stood abruptly, forcing a quick breath from his nose. He was trembling, slightly, clasping his hands in front of him to hide it.

Hermione looked to Harry, an uneasy look, concerned for the two distraught men in the room. Albus was glued to the article and Draco was frequently pacing the room not unlike a caged animal, though uncharacteristically silent.

“The Ministry didn’t sanction this.” Hermione’s voice was steady, but there was tension coiled beneath it. She gestured toward the paper spread across the desk. “Look at the wording. ‘A closed-door trial.’ Not ‘the Wizengamot.’ They’re careful never to mention the Ministry directly.”

At that, Albus scooped up the paper again, reading the painful words. His hands tightened around it as though he could wring the truth from it.

“Who would do this?” Albus appeared to be asking the paper in his hands, his voice meek.

“It almost seems like a movement.” Harry responded, leaning over to gauge his son’s reaction. He had become more and more concerned about Albus’s wellbeing as the week continued. “A vigilante group of some kind. One with a fixation on punishing Death Eaters.” His gaze flickered toward Draco, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

Draco had stopped pacing and was now standing in the corner of the room, arms wrapped around his torso.

Punishing Death Eaters.

Scorpius wasn’t a Death Eater, wasn’t a follower of the Dark Lord. He had never hurt anyone. But it didn’t matter. Every word of this article implied that whoever these people were, they weren’t treating Scorpius like a person. He was a symbol, a representation of something they despised.

“What have they -” Albus started, interrupting himself with a choked sound. He continued, his voice hushed. “What do you think they’ve done to him?”

Before anyone could respond, Harry shot Draco a dangerous look, a small warning to avoid making the situation worse. When their eyes met, Harry’s gaze softened, noticing the terror in Draco’s eyes looked shockingly similar to that in Albus’s.

Harry rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I don’t know, Albus.” He answered, in truth, though his mind created a lengthy list of possibilities. 

“They’re going to kill him, dad.” Albus was leaning over the desk, struggling to keep himself upright. “In three days.”

The room fell silent again. Hermione and Harry kept exchanging glances, hoping the other would find the words to soothe the situation. 

Albus’s body was wracked with sobs as he continued. “They’ve been hurting him for a week. Look at him, dad.” He pushed the paper to Harry. “They hurt him.”

“We don’t know anything for sure.” Hermione was staring at a piece of parchment in front of her, but her eyes were glossy, unfocused.

Finally, Draco broke his silence. His voice was strained, like he had to exert significant effort to make a sound. It reminded Harry of a sixteen year old Draco desperately pleading on top of the Astronomy Tower.

“They can’t get away with that.” He strode over to the paper, picking it up. “The…execution…is to be public. We need to find the when and where.”

As Draco dropped the paper, his sleeve slipped up his left arm, revealing a fanged serpent’s head. He flinched, tugging his shirt down hastily.

“We already spoke to this Edgar Thorncroft. The photo and story were anonymously dropped overnight. Though he said he took some…” She glanced at Draco for a heartbeat. “...liberties in his writing. A rather biased take, if you ask me.”

“Okay, so no leads at the Prophet.” Harry said curtly. “What else do we know?”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Friday evening, just over a week ago. Albus sat on the couch, leg bouncing restlessly as he stared at the fireplace. His wand lay on the armrest beside him, forgotten. The clock ticked softly, its hands creeping past eleven.

Scorpius was late.

That wasn’t unusual. Scorpius hadn’t been home on time in weeks. 

He exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands over his face. He’s fine .

A cup of tea sat on the table, untouched. It had gone cold hours ago.

By midnight, Albus was tapping his wand against his hand. Scorpius must have been held up. Maybe it was his report. Last minute changes. Albus remembered a previous conversation they’d had about Scorpius’s strict bosses asking for edits. Or maybe he went to Malfoy Manor. Had he mentioned visiting Draco? He could be fine .

He reached for the fireplace, grabbing a handful of Floo powder. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he tossed it into the flames.

“Malfoy Manor.”

Green light flickered against the walls as the fire roared to life.

Draco was awake.

He appeared in the flames, hair slightly disheveled, lips pressed into a thin line. His brow furrowed when he saw Albus.

“Albus.” His voice was tight. “What’s wrong?”

“Is Scorpius there?”

Draco’s expression darkened slightly. He glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to see his son standing somewhere in the sitting room.

“No.” A pause. “It’s late. He’s not home?”

The cold feeling in Albus’s gut deepened.

“No,” was all his voice could muster.

Draco straightened slightly, noticing the sudden sense of urgency.

“When did you last see him?”

Albus remembered their final interaction. The embrace. The promise of more. “This morning,” he said through an ever-tightening throat.

Watching him carefully, Draco took a step back. “I’m coming over.”

Albus didn’t argue.

By the time Draco stepped through the Floo, Albus had already sent a message to Harry, not knowing what else to do. He didn’t wait for a response. He paced, glancing at the door every time the floor creaked.

Draco was quiet. His presence filled the space, but he didn’t speak right away. His face was unreadable. But Albus saw the way his hand twitched at his side, how his eyes flickered to the clock.

It wasn’t often that Albus and Draco were alone together, usually just fleeting moments when Scorpius would excuse himself from the table at Malfoy Manor or the rare occasions Draco would visit as a guest in their apartment. 

“I called my dad.” Albus said plainly as he watched Draco pace the length of his living room. “I checked with the Ministry, too. They won’t tell me if he was at work today, but the other Aurors say they haven’t seen him. No official reports though.”

Draco nodded once, confirming his understanding. Scorpius could see the tension in Draco, his movements stiff.

“He didn’t say anything about staying at work late.” Albus was trying to fill the silence, every passing moment becoming more dangerous for Scorpius. 

Another nod. 

At one o’clock, Harry arrived. He stepped out of the Floo, brushing soot from his robes, his expression serious.

“You’re sure he’s not at the Manor?”

Draco’s lips thinned. “Yes.”

By two o’clock, Draco had checked Malfoy Manor again. Albus had spoken with the Auror office again. No reports of Scorpius anywhere.

By three o’clock, they had exhausted the obvious options. No hospital admissions. No signs of him at the Ministry.

By four o’clock, Albus sat on the couch, hands knotted in his hair, his stomach twisted into similar knots.

Draco stood near the fireplace, unmoving. His arms were crossed, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. He hadn’t sat down since he arrived.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face. “It’s late. We’re not going to find any new leads at this hour.”

Albus snapped his head up.

“You’re saying we should—what? Just go to bed? Pretend this is fine?”

“No.” Harry’s voice was calm but firm. “I’m saying we need to be clear-headed. We don’t have enough information right now. We need to keep looking, but we also need to think straight.”

Draco said nothing.

Albus’s fingers dug into his knees.

Harry exhaled. “I’ll keep working. But you should try to get some rest. Both of you.”

Albus wanted to argue. He wanted to keep searching. Keep doing something. But the clock on the wall read five o’clock, and exhaustion was beginning to creep into his bones.

“Let me know immediately if you hear anything .” Draco hissed as he stepped toward the fireplace. “Please.” His voice lacked the confidence that it usually carried. Seeing the fear in Draco’s eyes was a terrifying confirmation that something was wrong .

“I will, Malfoy. We’ll find Scorpius.” Harry’s voice was soft, kind, gentle. A tone he had not often, if ever, used to speak to Draco.

A final nod and Draco vanished in a plume of green.

“I’ll come back in the morning, Albus. Get some rest. It will be okay.” Harry followed Draco into the fireplace and vanished as well.

Albus looked at the bed. Their bedroom felt frigid, colder than he ever remembered. Climbing into bed, he felt unwelcome, not the usual warm embrace of the sheets. He didn’t sleep. His hand kept snaking its way to Scorpius’s side of the bed, as though there was some small chance he would find him there.

The midday sun was shining into the room, light broken into blades by the blinds. 

Scorpius was still gone.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Harry stayed with Albus for the better part of the week. He slept on the couch, anxious to leave his son alone. He cooked meals for Albus, encouraged Albus to drink water, and most commonly, held Albus as he cried. Harry was watching his son come unraveled.

The Saturday and Sunday that followed consisted of Harry, Draco, and Albus desperately calling hospitals, Muggle police, and morgues. None of them had any information about Scorpius. 

Albus hadn’t slept over the weekend. He ate a few crackers at Harry’s request, choking them down with a cup of tea. 

He wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t just disappear.  

On Monday, Albus and Harry decided to question Scorpius’s colleagues. Perhaps he had said something, leaving some indication as to his whereabouts.

The Ministry Archives were busy, as they always were. The scratching of quills against parchment, the shuffling of files, and the clinking of inkwells bombarded Albus and Harry as they entered. Albus felt hollow seeing the archivists working, as though Scorpius wasn’t missing.

Albus had been here before, but the chambers felt strangely alien today.

They approached a cluster of desks. A nameplate on one identified the worker as Emmett. Albus stopped in front of the desk, a vague flicker of recognition. Scorpius had said this name before, and if memory served, had nothing kind to say.

This Emmett looked up as Harry and Albus approached. He smirked slightly and settled into his chair, twirling a quill between his fingers. 

“We’re here about Scorpius Malfoy.” Albus said evenly, though he could feel his pulse quicken.

Emmett snorted. “Yeah, I figured.” He glanced between them, lingering on Albus. “What do you want to know?”

“He didn’t come to work Friday, correct?” Albus clenched a fist to resist the urge to scream.

“No show.” Emmett said coolly.

Harry sensed the anger radiating off Albus and picked up the questions. “Did he say anything out of the ordinary? Last you saw him?”

Emmett’s lips quivered with excitement. “Just begging to keep his job. Which isn’t too out of the ordinary for him. You’d have to ask the big boss though. Had some private chats.”

Albus fought the urge to slap the smile off Emmett’s face. “Anyone that might want to -” He cleared his throat. “That might want to hurt Scorpius?”

The question he was waiting for. Emmett couldn’t hold back his grin. “Do you have a few hours to spare?” He cocked his head in mock playfulness.

Harry’s hand was now resting on Albus’s shoulder, a small reminder. “Any reason Scorpius has so many enemies?” Harry asked and Albus could tell it was through gritted teeth.

Emmett shrugged. “Well, let’s see…he’s a Malfoy. Skating his way through life on his father’s coattails. Or maybe yours now.” He pointed to Albus, who was nearly shaking with rage. “He just didn’t belong.”

The use of the past tense didn’t slip by Albus. “Okay, no one liked him here. Anyone in particular have a problem with him? Act on it?”

“Not really. Just the normal hazing.” Emmett leaned forward. “They were just waiting for someone to really do something about him.”

Harry’s expression didn’t change, but Albus saw his father’s stance shift, a nearly imperceptible tension that meant dangerous ground.

“What’s that mean? Do something about him?” Albus snapped.

Emmett only smiled. “Just that most people didn’t think he deserved to be here. It was really only a matter of time before someone stepped in, got him fired.”

Harry’s voice was calm, but firm. “If you know something about a crime that’s been committed, you’d do well to say it now.”

Emmett raised his hands in mock surrender. “I don’t know anything, really. Just that he’s gone, and -” He let the sentence dangle, watching Albus carefully. “- good riddance.”

Albus felt his heartbeat quicken. They had come here expecting to hear about workplace harassment, maybe some hints of threats or sabotage. But this—this was something else.

Harry’s gaze didn’t waver. “So you’ve no idea where he’s ‘gone?’”

Emmett shrugged again. “No. But you won’t get much else from asking people around here.” 

“Let us know if you think of anything else.” Harry responded quickly, pulling Albus with him, worried his son was about to swing at their interviewee.

Albus didn’t say anything, but set his sights on Cecilia’s office door. Following his eyes, Harry looked as well and nodded. The wordless exchange led Harry to knock at the door and a tired voice called for them to enter.

The office of Cecilia was cramped and suffocating, a small, windowless space stacked with disorganized files. The smell of parchment and stale coffee lingered in the air. A large clock on the wall ticked with an almost oppressive steadiness.

Cecilia sat behind her cluttered desk, eyes flicking between Harry and Albus as though she didn’t quite have the patience for them. Her sleeves were rolled up, ink smudges on her hands, and the moment they entered, she let out a tired sigh.

“Two Potters gracing my office.” She did not seem impressed. “I assume this is about that Malfoy?” 

Albus stiffened at the casual way she referred to Scorpius, almost in a way that made it seem as though she were speaking of something inanimate.

Taking over once more, it was Harry who spoke. “Yes. We’re looking for information. We understand there was a recent security breach in the department?”

Cecilia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. A file leak. A mess, really. And, of course, Malfoy was right in the middle of it.”

“And you assume he was responsible for it?” Albus took a step forward.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “No, no, not responsible. But when something goes wrong, people start looking for someone to blame, and—well, Malfoy never exactly won himself many allies here.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “It was always something with him.”

Bristling, Albus found his hands curled into tight balls at his sides again. “You’re saying he was disliked?”

“I’m saying he was on thin ice, ” Cecilia corrected sharply. “And that meant every mistake—real or imagined—was magnified. And I couldn’t afford to hold his hand through every little controversy when I had other fires to put out.”

“Why didn’t you let him go?” Harry enquired, with genuine curiosity. “If he caused so much conflict in the department, why keep him on?”

Cecilia looked up at Harry, tearing her attention away from her messy desk fully. “You of all people know the PR disaster we’d face. He was worth the trouble because he made the department align with Minister Granger’s reintegration policies.” She gave Albus a quick glance. “Not to mention, he was actually quite alright at his job.”

Harry felt Albus tense again. He took a step forward, to stand next to his son, and remained admirably composed. “Did he mention any concerns? Any threats?”

Cecilia sighed again, rubbing her temple. “No. Not to me, at least. He wasn’t exactly the type to confide in his superiors.”

“And you didn’t notice anything off?” Albus asked, feeling his nails digging into his palms.

She gave him a flat look. “He was always off. ”

Taking a shaky breath, Albus needed to leave this oppressive office. “If you remember anything else, let us know.” He curtly ended the conversation and left without another glance. 

Outside the door, Albus could see his father trying to gauge his expression. “Talk to me.” Harry’s gentle voice was a stark contrast from the assertive one he had been using during interviews.

Albus pressed his hand against his forehead. “Scorpius, he would sometimes talk about work. Never good things. He was anxious about it. I brushed it off. Told him it would get better. I didn’t know people were treating him like this .”

Glancing around, Harry noticed the watchful eyes of several Ministry employees. “Where’s Scorpius’s desk?” He asked, hoping to have this conversation away from their hungry looks.

Wordlessly, Albus led Harry to the secluded alcove where Scorpius worked. It was immaculately organized and Albus could smell Scorpius’s cologne hanging in the dusty air. Despite the order and familiarity, there was an eerie feeling in the little room, like it was abandoned, left to rot.

Sitting at Scorpius’s desk, Albus hovered his hands over it, imagining Scorpius sitting right where he was, bent over a piece of parchment, flipping through the pages of an archaic text. 

“Let’s see if he left anything behind.” Harry hoped that working on a task might make the coming conversation a little easier.

Albus stayed seated, but rolled his chair back, hesitating before opening the desk drawers. The top one opened smoothly, revealing spare parchment and a few regulation books on record-keeping. Nothing personal. The second drawer was the same—only work materials. The third was locked.

Harry pulled out his wand, giving Albus a questioning glance. When Albus nodded, Harry murmured a soft Alohomora. The lock clicked, and the drawer slid open.

A slow breath escaped Albus.

Inside was a lone photograph—one of the few personal things Scorpius had allowed himself. It was of the two of them, taken years ago when they were still at Hogwarts. It was slightly crinkled at the edges, like it had been taken out and looked at often.

Carefully, as though it were a priceless antique, Albus picked up the photo. He ran his fingers along the edges, the same edges that Scorpius touched, worn out. 

“He hated it here,” Albus whispered, more to himself than Harry.

Harry didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I’m sure you did what you could to help.”

Albus let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t.” He blinked hard, staring at the desk. “I kept telling him to hold on. That it wasn’t as bad as he thought. That people didn’t really hate him.” He exhaled shakily. “But they did, didn’t they? Every day, he sat here, knowing they were just waiting for him to mess up.”

Harry didn’t argue. He didn’t try to soften it.

Instead, he said, “You couldn’t have changed this, Albus.”

Albus looked up, eyes shining with frustration. “But I could have listened better. I could have believed him.”

It wasn’t often that Harry struggled to find the words to remedy a problem. Recently, there were few words that would help.

They left the Ministry with no real answers, just a bottomless pit in Albus’s stomach.

Tuesday. A report. The Auror’s Office had an eyewitness report. It was the day following Harry and Albus’s trip to the Archives and they were now getting ready to interview someone who claimed to have seen Scorpius the Friday he disappeared.

Albus read the piece of parchment over and over while Harry called Draco to meet them at the Ministry.

The three of them met outside the Auror’s Office. Draco stood stiffly, hands twitching.

“Who is the witness? What did they see?” He asked, seeing the Potters approach.

Albus showed him the parchment, revealing what little information they had. “An older witch, working with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. She said she saw my dad and me yesterday asking around and realized what she saw might be important.”

“We don’t know much else.” Harry finished for Albus. “Come on, they’ve set up an interview room for us.”

The three of them walked through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Albus couldn’t help but notice how Draco kept his head down, almost a reflex, but it didn’t stop the Aurors from staring daggers into him.

Walking into the interview room, they were met with a frail-looking witch with silver hair pulled into a neat bun. She wore glasses that magnified her sharp brown eyes, and she clutched her handbag tightly.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Mrs. Alderton,” Harry said, taking a seat opposite her. “I understand you saw something unusual the morning Scorpius Malfoy disappeared.”

Mrs. Alderton nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. “I did. I was on my way into work when I saw three Aurors confronting the young Malfoy just outside the Ministry entrance. He wasn’t struggling, but he didn’t look like he wanted to go with them, either. Something about it just… didn’t sit right with me. He seemed terrified.”

Albus leaned forward. “Did you hear anything they said?”

“They mentioned something about questioning him. I asked what business they had with the lad, he’s a good boy, he’s helped me with some reports. They told me they worked with Division Three. I asked what they intended to do with the boy and they threatened to arrest me as well.” She paused, looking at Draco. “He’s your son?”

Draco nodded curtly.

She continued. “He is a good boy, so polite. At first, I thought it was just an arrest. But the more I thought about it, the odder it seemed. Aurors usually go into the Ministry, not around it. And they didn’t take the visitor’s entrance either.”

Harry exchanged a tense look with Draco. 

Albus responded, his hands clenching around the edge of the desk. “Did you see where they took him?”

Mrs. Alderton hesitated before sharking her head. “They rounded the corner, around the side of the Ministry.”

“Those weren’t Aurors.” Albus stated the obvious, panic shaking his voice. “What did they look like?”

“They were wearing standard Auror robes. Two men, one woman. One man was broad, built like a Beater. The other man was shorter, a bit rounder if you would, longer hair. The woman had red hair, about average height.” Mrs. Alderton gave a short nod, signifying that was all she recalled.

Draco gave Harry another glance, his jaw tight. “Did they…” Draco blinked a few times. “Did they hurt him?” 

The witch watched Draco for a few moments before answering. “No, dear.” Her voice was softer, face dropping into something like pity. “They just walked with him.”

“Thank you.” Albus responded, standing to leave. “This has been very helpful.” He was fighting back tears and left the room, to be quickly followed by Draco and his father.

“Let’s go outside, see if we can find any sign of where they went.” Harry’s voice was short. The other two followed him through the Ministry silently.

Albus reminded himself to breathe, mind racing with too many possibilities. Auror impersonators. Scorpius was terrified. Taken somewhere, out of sight of the Ministry to -

A voice interrupted his rumination.

“Well, if it isn’t Draco Malfoy ,” a sneering tone drawled from their left.

Albus tensed immediately, his gaze snapping toward the source. A broad-shouldered wizard with graying temples stood with his arms crossed, his expression caught between amusement and disdain. A few others nearby had slowed their steps, casting furtive glances, waiting to see what would unfold.

“Still skulking around places you don’t belong?” the man continued, eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. “Some of us remember who you really are.”

Draco didn’t stop walking. His face remained passive, a practiced neutral expression, his shoulders squared, but Albus saw it—the flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curled at his sides. He wasn’t going to engage. He was going to take it.

Harry, however, had other plans.

He turned sharply on his heel, his voice like steel. “Enough.”

The man blinked, as if only now realizing who else was present. Harry Potter’s green eyes locked onto him with quiet authority, his presence cutting through the hostility in an instant.

Draco glanced at Harry, surprised.

“Oh?” The wizard questioned, recognizing Harry and Albus. “I knew the Potters had already adopted one stray, didn’t know they were in the market for more.”

Harry stepped forward, unflinching. “He has as much right to be here as anyone else. More than you, if this is how you spend your time.” His voice was calm, measured—but there was no mistaking the warning beneath it.

The wizard hesitated, his sneer faltering under the weight of Harry’s gaze. He scoffed after a beat, shaking his head. “Some of us don’t forget, Potter.”

Harry didn’t break eye contact. “Neither do I.”

The silence stretched. Then the man scoffed again and turned away, muttering under his breath as he walked off. The tension in the air didn’t fully dissipate, but the moment had passed.

Albus let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. His eyes flickered to Draco, who was still watching Harry with a guarded expression—like he wasn’t sure what to make of his intervention.

“Come on.” Harry said simply, moving on from the altercation with ease, seemingly unaffected. 

Albus looked at Draco again, at the tension in his shoulders, the way his expression had gone carefully blank after years of weathering moments like this. He thought of Scorpius, of the way he had handled the same cruelty for so long.

Harry had defended Draco without hesitation. Without fear. Without any concern about who was watching or what they might say.

They had walked to the alley in silence. Draco kept shooting Harry hesitant glances, which went seemingly unnoticed by the other man. Albus recognized the look, the look of someone who wants to say something , but that something is unfamiliar, foreign. He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he considered how a simple ‘thank you’ might be foreign to Draco.

Albus’s smile fell when they turned the corner to retrace Scorpius’s steps. There were several alleys, the sinking sun of the afternoon cast long, imposing shadows. It was quiet here, away from prying eyes. Sleepy, sequestered, most anything could happen in these alleys and go unnoticed.

The group split, each walking down an alley. Each one was largely vacant, a handful of forgotten waste bins and a discarded bicycle down one. The buildings were old, brickwork uneven and worn, the ground was caked with cracked mud.

Albus wasn’t entirely sure what he should be looking for. Perhaps a torn piece of clothing, platinum blond hair fallen to the ground, a broken wand. It had been several days now, most evidence lost to the rain, to the trampling of shoes, to the wind. All evidence except -

Albus gasped when he saw it.

“Wait—” His breath hitched as he darted forward, crouching low. His fingers brushed against the ground, coming away stained with something dark. It had dried, blending into the filthy pavement, but the brown colored flakes stuck to his fingers were unmistakable.

Blood.

Harry and Draco had heard him exclaim, rushing to his side.

Albus stared at his fingers, his chest tightening. “This is—”

“Scorpius,” Draco said hoarsely. He stepped closer, gaze fixed on the stain. His breathing grew shallow.

Harry closed his eyes briefly before kneeling beside Albus. “Don’t touch it,” he said gently, though Albus had already wiped his hand against his robes, as if the sensation of Scorpius’s blood on his fingers burned.

“We don’t know for certain.” Harry pulled Albus away from the stain, trying to preserve it. 

Draco was struggling to look at the stain, as if not seeing it meant it didn’t have to be real. His eyes scanned the perimeter of the pool, desperate for more clues, anything more than a puddle of his son’s pain.

Crying, Albus watched with blurred vision as Harry scraped some of the blood into a vial, shaking it a few times before sealing it. “They hurt him.” He muttered, looking at how the dried blood now clung to his robes. The piece of Scorpius he carelessly wiped away.

Harry shot Albus a quick glance before looking up at Draco, wary, waiting.

“What if they killed him?” Draco’s voice was quiet, vocalizing the harrowing thought they all shared.

Albus was shaking his head. “No, he can’t be…” His hands pulled at his robes, frustrated at feeling so powerless, so unable to help.

Draco was kneeling by the blood, wand in hand, Lumos illuminating the crevices in the stone. He tried different angles, clinging to the small hope that there was something more .

“It’s not a lot of blood.” Draco mumbled, as though trying to convince himself. His hand was shaking, evident by how the wandlight danced along the jagged brick walls.

There was a sudden shift in Draco’s demeanor, like the gravity of this reality had suddenly punched him. He shot up from his crouched position, turning away from Albus and Harry. 

Draco was bracing himself against the wall, his breathing rapid. His body was trembling slightly. Harry glanced at Albus, who was still kneeling in the dust, hands hovering over the blood stain.

A hand ghosted over Draco’s shoulder. Harry’s hand, hesitant to touch him. It lingered for a few moments before slowly, gingerly, touching Draco.

Draco made a small noise of discontent, but didn’t shrug the hand away, much to the shock of both Harry and Albus. They stood like this, for a few minutes, as Draco’s breathing slowly mellowed, becoming less audible.

Turning back to face the Potters, Draco rested his back against the wall. He leaned his head back, staring at the column of reddening sky between the buildings. Albus could see the dim light reflecting a trail left by a tear on Draco’s cheek.

Harry’s hands were still ghosting over Draco’s shoulder, unsure how to comfort the man. “Promise me he’s okay.” Draco begged, his voice airy. The request gave Harry pause, remembering some 11 or 12 years ago when Albus and Scorpius had both gone missing using the Time Turner. Harry remembered the grief, the agony, of not knowing where Albus was, not knowing if he was safe.

“Scorpius will be okay.” Harry’s hovering hand grasped Draco’s shoulder firmly. Draco didn’t shy away from the touch or recoil as Harry Potter, Harry Potter , touched him. He just nodded solemnly, not believing Harry’s reassurance, but too drained to push back.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Wednesday passed with little fanfare. They had a daily routine of scouring through Auror reports, St. Mungo admissions, and the usual Muggle hospitals and police stations. Draco appeared in the fireplace frequently, though neither him nor Albus had any news to share. 

Harry visited Albus several times throughout the day, watching his son stare at the door or the fireplace. Albus would occasionally walk through the apartment, strolling through each room as though Scorpius may have just been hiding in one of them.

“Why don’t you come home, Albus?” Harry asked, nervous to leave Albus alone again. “Your mother and I worry when you’re here, by yourself.”

Albus shook his head. “He might come home. What if he comes home and I’m not here? What if he needs help?” 

Harry hugged Albus tight, so tight that Albus let out a little cough. Moving to pull away, Harry broke the hug, but Albus kept hold of the back of Harry’s robes, sweating hands clinging to the fabric. Harry closed his eyes, hoping the tears welling in them would dissipate by the time Albus let go.

Thursday was equally uneventful in terms of news about Scorpius. Draco was contacting Harry and Albus more often. There were still no reports, no sightings.

Friday also brought no news. Draco made a couple appearances, disheveled and anxious. Harry had asked Draco if he was okay, if he needed anything. There was some hesitation before Draco simply vanished from the fireplace.

Albus sat on the couch, staring into his cup of lukewarm tea, his stomach disagreeing with the liquid. Lately, his stomach disagreed with everything. Harry sat next to him, his cup empty, and Albus could see Harry glancing at him through his peripheral vision.

“Dad,” Albus started and Harry nearly sprung off the couch, turning to face Albus with urgency. “I was wondering. Why did you stand up for Draco the other day? At the Ministry.”

Harry frowned for a moment, considering the question, one that he was not expecting. “I’m not sure.” The answer seemed honest. “Malfoy…he’s grieving, just didn’t seem right…necessary to let him go through that.” 

They sat for a few moments in silence, Harry searching Albus’s face. “Why do you ask?” Harry finally questioned.

“It’s just,” Albus gestured in the air between them, “it reminded me of Scorpius. Sometimes I help him, try to tell people he’s not what they think. Like you did for Draco. But sometimes…sometimes I don’t.”

Nodding, Harry scooted a little closer, taking the cup from Albus’s hand and putting it on the table. “When you do stand up for him, why do you do it?”

“He…” Albus cocked his head in thought. “I feel like Scorpius needs me. He doesn’t defend himself. I think he’s scared. If he denies what they say, it might make people believe it more. So I feel this,” Albus gestured again, summoning words, “this obligation to him. If I don’t help him, no one will.”

“Okay,” Harry’s voice was soft, cautious, exploratory. “Why are there times you don’t help him?”

Albus shifted, struggling to look his dad in the eyes. “Because I’m scared, too. I try not to show it, especially to Scorpius. But you heard that wizard, people talk about Scorpius…and me. Sometimes I ignore comments, or maybe pretend I don't hear them, that way they might not talk about me. It’s easier. Scorpius is used to it…he shouldn't have to be, but he is.”

Harry nodded, his hand settling on Albus’s knee. “So when we were in the Ministry, that wizard made a comment about us. About our family and our relationship with the Malfoys. How did you feel?”

The cup of tepid tea was the most interesting object in the room. Albus stared at it to avoid eye contact. “Like a failure. Like I failed you. Like being with Scorpius is some kind of…I don’t know…betrayal. The same feeling I had when I was sorted into Slytherin.” 

This time Harry shook his head. “Albus, no. I am happy for you and Scorpius. And I’m proud of you for being a fantastic Slytherin. You’re a good person. Scorpius is a good person. I don’t care what they have to say about you. I know the truth.” Harry’s arm was draped over Albus now.

“Is Draco a good person?” Albus asked, yet another question to catch Harry off guard.

There was a pause. “Malfoy - Draco - is a…” Harry glanced between the fireplace and Albus, as though concerned Draco may make a surprise appearance. “He’s complicated. You’ll get different answers to that question. But he’s a person. He still deserves some dignity.” 

Another pause. Albus was running his tongue along his teeth in thought. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, pulling Albus closer to him.

“No,” Albus answered honestly, quietly. “Scorpius needs me and I haven’t always been there for him. And now he’s alone, somewhere . And I can’t help him.”

Harry didn’t say anything, but tightened his grip on Albus, pulling him into his lap, pressing his head into his chest.

That’s where they stayed. Harry holding his son, rocking them back and forth on the couch, gently squeezing his arm as sobs shook him, whispering to him. It will be okay. We’ll find Scorpius. He’s safe. Whether it was the truth or not didn’t matter to Albus.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Now, in Hermione’s office, the heavy realization settled between the group that the information they did know was woefully minimal. Nothing they had learned throughout the week brought them any closer to finding Scorpius.

The room was quiet as they tried suggesting something, anything to answer Harry’s question. What else did they know? Fuck all. They just didn’t want to admit it.

“Nothing.” It was Draco who answered, dropping his arms that had been tightly wrapped around his chest. “We’ve learned nothing.”

“That’s not,” Harry swallowed. “That’s not true. We know they were people disguised as Aurors and they took Scorpius to that alley. Presumably, they apparated.”

Draco raised his hands in a theatrical shrug. “Yeah? And that has led us where?” 

More silence followed. Hermione shuffled her files uncomfortably.

“It’s my fault.” Draco had started pacing again, eyes focused on his shoes as they carved a path through the office.

“It’s not,” Harry spoke up, trying to relax Draco. “It doesn’t matter. We need to make a plan.”

“Doesn’t matter?” Draco turned on Harry, approaching the desk. “One of these so-called ‘charges,’” he spat the word out, “is being my son.” He picked up the paper and threw it at Harry, the pages fluttering.

Harry rose, the outburst of anger putting him on edge, watching Draco attentively.

Draco didn’t notice Harry’s movement. “We should have left. I was going to leave, you know?” He was muttering, not to anyone in particular. “But I thought Scorpius deserved a chance at a normal life. Go to Hogwarts, study like all the other kids, get a job.” He pulled at the collar of his shirt, as though it was constricting his breathing.

“Sit down, Malfoy. Take a second.” Harry was now moving towards Draco, who waved his arms in Harry’s direction, a light warning not to step closer.

“I don’t know why I thought that. Why’d I think that?” His grey eyes bore into Harry, though he wasn’t expecting a response. “I should have known. Fuck!” Draco was now clawing at his left forearm through his shirt.

Harry tried advancing again, holding his hands up like Draco was a wild animal needing to be calmed. “Mal - Draco, sit down, please. Just take a breath.” Hermione was pretending like there was not a rampaging Malfoy in her office and Albus was staring at the scene, motionless.

“No, Potter , we don’t have time for that.” Draco’s right hand was now savagely scratching his left arm. “We have to act now .” 

Harry was growing mildly frustrated. “I’m open to suggestions, Draco.” He threw his arms up toward Draco, who was staring blankly at him.

Albus mutely pointed at Draco’s arm, lines of red now soaking through his white dress shirt. Turning his arm toward himself, Draco inspected the fresh blood, his lack of reaction revealing this was not an uncommon occurrence. 

Taking advantage of Draco’s momentary distraction, Harry guided the panicked man into a chair, pushing him down. Draco sighed, resting his head in his right hand and subtly angling his left arm to tuck the blood against his leg, out of view. 

“Potter - Harry ,” Draco started, his voice still wavering. “We are running out of time. And we are no closer to finding Scorpius than we were a week ago.”

“I know.” Harry admitted with a sigh, glancing at Hermione. “We will find him. Now that this is public, I’m certain more information will come forth. We have to be patient.” He looked between Albus and Draco, both men seemingly unconvinced. “We will find Scorpius. We won’t let anything else happen to him.”

Albus caught Draco’s eyes from across the room. Draco’s bored, exhausted expression showed his skepticism in the rousing speech of the Chosen One, a sentiment Albus unfortunately shared. In their exchange of glances, Albus knew he and Draco were thinking the same thing.

Harry Potter is a horrible liar.

Chapter 9: Stolen Death

Scorpius hadn’t moved for several hours. His hand throbbed, but it felt distant, almost like it wasn’t attached to him anymore. Why did it matter if it hurt? That wouldn’t matter soon. Nothing would hurt anymore. Or everything would hurt? How does it feel to die?

The iron door opened and Scorpius barely glanced in its direction. It was Rachel and some wizard Scorpius vaguely recognized. They were having an amusing conversation based on their smiles and laughs, but their voices were underwater, muted and muddled.

Hissing, a sharp jab to Scorpius’s shin clarified the voices. “Get up.” Rachel commanded, with an urgent tone, one that implied this was not the first issuing of her order. Another kick to his shin.

Lazily, Scorpius leaned his head back to look up at her. Though her voice had an edge of anger to it, her face was still alight with glee. Another kick. “Get up .” The command came again, this time emphasized with a flourishing draw of her wand. 

“What are you going to do, kill me?” Scorpius finally spoke, his voice monotone and tired.

Rachel laughed. “Good one.” She commended before grabbing Scorpius’s mangled hand. The bones slid against one another in most unexpected ways and Scorpius yelled, jumping to his feet to alleviate the fresh pain.

“We’ve got something to show you.” Rachel whispered to a now standing Scorpius. Something to show him. This was it.

Stepping out of the cage, Scorpius yanked his hand out of Rachel’s grasp. It was surprisingly easy as the fragmented bones adjusted themselves, shapelessly slipping through her fingers. The sensation made Scorpius nauseous, but he swallowed it down.

He ran. The iron door was cracked open. He reached out to grab the handle before it exploded off the door in a flash of red light. The spell made Scorpius flinch, falling to one knee in front of the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Rachel mused, her wand pointed at a kneeling Scorpius. 

He didn’t respond, didn’t shrink away from the wand, didn’t raise his hands in surrender.

“Get up. I’m not killing you,” she explained, rolling her eyes, as though frustrated that her condemned prisoner was scared of his impending death. “Yet.”

Scorpius rose, slowly, and followed Rachel, recognizing that they were headed toward the common room. The sounds of excitement could be heard from the hallway as they approached.

Entering the room, it appeared every single member of this group of fanatics was present. They cheered like they were at a Quidditch game when they saw Scorpius. His gut twisted, realizing his death was the cause of their depraved celebration.

“Sit.” Rachel pointed to a seat at a table and Scorpius scanned the room suspiciously. “Sit.” The order was said with a hint of threat.

Scorpius sat, his legs shaking as he squatted over the seat. A copy of the Daily Prophet was shoved in front of him. He sucked in a gasp when he saw the front page, an image of him at the trial.

He read the article. Then reread it. Then read it one more time. He checked the date. It was today’s copy. Saturday. His execution was scheduled for Tuesday. He had three days. 

Reading the article again, Scorpius pictured Albus and his father seeing the same words, drowning in them the way Scorpius was. 

The ruckus of the room died when Scorpius started reading. Expectant eyes watched his dart across the words, hungry for his reaction.

“They’re excited.” One voice called out, and Scorpius froze. “The people reading that article. They can’t wait to see you suffer. They can’t wait to watch you die.”

Scorpius didn’t look up from the page, didn’t respond. He had three days. Every passing moment brought him closer to his end. No, not his end, his murder .

“Malfoy.” Fingers were snapped in his face. Scorpius turned his head slowly. It was Knowles, once again begging for Scorpius’s attention. “How’s it feel?” The question was strangely earnest, but he was grinning. “Knowing you’re going to die?”

He had no answer. The feeling was wordless, formless, entwining itself with his being. It was in the foreground of every thought. It was dread, icy numbness spreading through his veins, his brain hosting a battleground for resignation and denial.

He found no words to express this inhuman feeling.

“Want to see something else?” It was another voice, its tone sounding like a child showing their parents a drawing they made of an owl.

No, Scorpius did not want to see anything else. He was seeing far too much. Albus was crying over the photo of a battered Scorpius the Prophet published. His father was sat at their dining table alone, staring at Scorpius’s empty seat. Scorpius wanted to gouge his eyes out, but even that wouldn’t stop these images from flashing through his mind’s eye.

Following the source of the voice, Scorpius noticed a few members of the group standing in front of a board covered in notes and annotations, different colored ink and handwriting styles muttered across it. He sluggishly skimmed a few of the notes, brow furrowed as he tried to make meaning of them.

He gagged on the realization.

It was a list of execution methods. 

Edited, revised, an unfortunately creative catalogue of ways to end a life.

“Like any of the options? We’ve been working on them all morning.” The same voice explained with pride.

Scorpius’s eyes kept unfocusing, his vision blurring with every beat of his heart. His left hand was clenched around the printing of the Prophet, paper crushed in his anxious grip. 

Each method had notes, comments different group members have made, suggestions on improvements. Fine-tuning Scorpius’s execution. 

Hanging was the first on the list. The addendum to that option specified ‘no drop, too quick.’ Another note added ‘string him up.’ 

Next was burning at the stake. This one seemed popular. ‘Die like the Muggleborns.’ A few more annotations appreciated the symbolism of burning, erasing, reducing. Another suggested Fiendfyre.

Scorpius retched again, his dry heave a joke to those around him. The walls were closing in, the sounds of laughs and cheers were like needles in his ears. He gasped for breath, it was like he was in a vacuum, no amount of air sated his thirst for it.

His face stung. The slap wasn’t hard, but Scorpius’s eyes focused back on Knowles, who was grabbing at Scorpius’s face, forcing him to look at the board. “Pay attention.” He grunted out.

Beheading was next, but it had been crossed out. Based on the notes, it seemed there was an issue with logistics on how to carry that one out.

Firing squad. The notes indicated this was a popular Muggle execution method. The annotations questioned which spells to use, discussing the effects of being hit by several stunning spells at once.

Then, exsanguination. There was some disagreement on methodology. A debate between a blade and the use of Sectumsempra appeared heated.

Little black spots danced across Scorpius’s vision. He didn’t want to keep reading. Bile burned at the back of his throat as his eyes flicked between options. But he couldn’t tear them away. These people were deliberating how to end his life, in a way shockingly similar to how Scorpius used to decide what to cook for dinner.

Dismemberment was crossed out, with an arrow pointed to beheading. It was replaced with disembowelment with vivisection in parentheses after. 

Drowning. This seemed to not be a popular choice. 

Oh, good. Probably don’t have to worry about drowning then.  

Leaning over the chair he was sitting in, Scorpius heaved again, spitting out a mouthful of acidic bile. He drew a ragged breath, his throat stinging. Coughing a few times, he managed to sit back up, taking a moment to scan the excited faces in the crowd.

“So,” the same overjoyed voice was speaking. “Like any of them?”

Scorpius swallowed, trying to soothe his irritated throat. “You spend an awful lot of time fantasizing about me. I’m flattered.” His voice was hoarse, crackling as it fought its way through his dry throat.

Knowles laughed, clapping a hand on Scorpius’s back. It was a foreign, friendly gesture, like Scorpius was a dear friend cracking an inside joke. 

“That list is just for the grand finale.” Rachel spoke up, pointing at the board. “We’re working on another one. The pregaming options. How we’re gonna make you scream first.” Scorpius had no quip as he watched the room nod in agreement, a low rumble of anticipation in their voices.

Almost every person was watching Scorpius with predatory intensity, gauging his reaction as he read the board. A few seemed uninterested, bordering on uncomfortable, unable to look at Scorpius for more than a few seconds.

Sweeping the room, Scorpius found Jonah with a sharp inhale through his nose. Jonah’s face was bruised and he sat with his hands rested on the table, forcing his eyes to focus on them. 

The room was quickly tiring of Scorpius’s lack of engagement and many returned to their private discussions. Knowles was sat next to Scorpius and was clearly not done with their interaction.

“What do you think?” His voice was low, this was a conversation for just the two of them. “We’re still deciding. Maybe put it up to a vote.” He shrugged casually. 

Scorpius had no words. His grey eyes stared blankly at Knowles, who smiled, taking Scorpius’s silent panic as a victory.

Knowles stood to leave. Several group members were standing, stretching their legs. Their worlds were not crumbling. Their realities were not disintegrating.

Before Knowles departed, he leaned into Scorpius’s ear. “Albus,” he started, snapping Scorpius to attention. “Do you think he’ll remember you like you were? Or will he only ever think of you like you are now. Beaten, bloody, begging, pathetic.” 

The presence was gone and Scorpius was sitting nearly alone in the common room, his heart beating so fast that he wished it would just give up.

He didn’t move. People brushed past him, making snide comments, but his ringing ears were louder.

The list kept flitting across his mind. Firing squad? Maybe that would be the quickest. He never thought he’d be wishing the Killing Curse would be used on him. His guts churned as he imagined each option, the nerves in his skin protesting.

Albus would watch as he choked, a rope around his neck, or as blood oozed from his mutilated body, or as he was sliced open, his innards on display for all to see. Knowles was right. Albus wouldn’t remember Scorpius as his lover, his partner, his best friend. Albus would remember Scorpius as a corpse.

No, Albus would be here before that happened.

He was a great Auror, not because he was reckless and courageous, but because he was meticulous. Albus would find the clues, he was waiting for his own golden opportunity. He was gathering evidence, rallying a force, he’d be here.

Right?

Scorpius pictured Albus crashing through the common room, breaking down walls to get to him. He would be here. He wouldn’t leave Scorpius to die.

Right?

Scorpius saw Albus reading the article, the one still sitting in front of Scorpius. He watched as Albus screamed and cried, staring into his malnourished and wounded face. The words, printed with malice, surely Albus didn’t believe them. 

Right?

There was an evening, years ago now, that Albus begged Scorpius to attend a Ministry Gala. Reluctantly, Scorpius agreed to appease Albus. When they arrived, another Auror, one who made it quite obvious he believed Scorpius was a threat, not so subtly cast a spell on Scorpius, searching him for contraband. Casting the spell only on Scorpius.

 Scorpius snapped his head up, looking for Albus. He caught Albus’s eye, but his partner quickly turned his head, glancing away. Albus hadn’t noticed, surely. If he had, he would have said something, would have told his colleague off.

Right?

Another night. Albus invited Scorpius to dinner with some of his friends, claiming it would do him some good to meet new people. Another reluctant agreement. Scorpius was well aware of the fleeting glances sent his way at the restaurant, but Albus didn’t seem to notice.

Discussion had shifted to recent murmurings of Death Eater meetings. Scorpius was staring at Albus, pleading with his eyes to switch topics. A small comment, one that implied Albus would be single if another war broke out. Albus laughed, one of those polite, humorless laughs, but he laughed nonetheless.

When they got home, Scorpius confronted Albus. “I didn’t want to make things worse,” was his defense. He had noticed the tension, then. And did nothing. Not nothing, Albus encouraged the comment.

Scorpius had brushed it off. Albus had wanted to impress his friends, and Scorpius had long since grown used to snide comments. 

But now he was sitting at the table, staring at the article announcing his execution, and looking at a list containing the way he will die. All those brief moments that Albus pretended not to notice, shrugged off cruel comments, dismissed Scorpius’s pain felt like bricks in his chest.

The hope that Albus was coming to the rescue was wilting with each passing moment. It had always been a desperate thought. But it was the only thought he could cling to without losing himself entirely. His grip on it was weak now.

Scorpius read through the article again, looking for information Albus or his father may have been able to use to find him. It was tragically vague, not detailing anything regarding the upcoming execution. 

His eyes kept wandering to the board, the list of ways people wanted to see him die. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining how they felt. His skin prickled as he pictured it being engulfed in Fiendfyre, or sliced open, warm blood flowing from the open wounds. 

All at once, Scorpius heard several cracks from people apparating. Group members were pouring back into the common room. Where had they been apparating from?

Food was flooding from the kitchen and to Scorpius’s immense surprise, a plate was placed in front of him. It was just a few slices of bread and cheese. A banquet to Scorpius.

He scanned the room with caution. The group members didn’t seem to notice him, they were engrossed in their own meals and conversations. Slowly, he picked up a piece of bread and brought it to his mouth.

It was heaven. He ate, undisturbed save for a few quick glances. Newfound strength coursed through him and he closed his eyes to appreciate a chunk of cheese he was holding in his mouth.

“You need your strength.” Scorpius jumped at the voice that interrupted his rather intimate cheese moment. It was Knowles again. Scorpius rolled his eyes and continued eating.

“Want to make sure you last as long as possible.” Knowles was now turning toward Scorpius, his voice a blend of threat and amusement.

“Oh?” Scorpius challenged, the calorie induced surge of energy once again putting him in harm’s way. “You just can’t get enough of me, hm?” 

Knowles smiled, clearly delighted in Scorpius’s engagement. “We’re going to make it slow, Malfoy.” His voice was low, just above a whisper. “I’m going to make you beg for me to end it.”

Scorpius felt a shudder run down his spine, but he refused to look at Knowles, staring at his now empty plate.

“I’m glad we can’t use Unforgivables now.” Knowles continued his taunts. “The Killing Curse, that’d be a mercy you don’t deserve. Though I’d still love to watch you writhe under the Cruciatus.” He sighed. “Oh, well. I’ll find other ways to make that happen.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” Scorpius’s voice was a breath. He looked at Knowles from the corner of his eye, petrified to make eye contact.

Knowles clenched his fists. “Your father let Death Eaters into Hogwarts.” The amusement had left his voice, replaced by anger. “I had a niece that was a student, a sixth year. She was killed. My brother had to identify her body. It was torn to shreds. A werewolf. Do you think she died a quick death? Was it merciful?” Rage was shaking his voice.

Scared to make any sudden movements, Scorpius turned slowly to face Knowles. The man’s nostrils flared as he let out quick exhales, his rapid breathing betraying his anger.

“Do you think that werewolf showed mercy?” A hand clamped around Scorpius’s neck, dragging him to the wall. Scorpius’s leg caught awkwardly on the chair he was sitting on, it was sent clattering to the floor as he was pulled.

Scorpius’s hands were instinctively pawing at Knowles’s wrist, quiet pleas slipping from his lips. He was thrown against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs.

“Well?” Knowles roared in his face, raising his fist. 

“No,” Scorpius yelped, flinching with every movement of Knowles’s hand, waiting for it to strike him.

“No,” Knowles agreed. “She died scared, screaming, alone. Because of your father. Because of people like you.” The fist moved quickly, catching Scorpius in the ribs. He coughed, sagging against the wall.

“I didn’t - “ A gasp for air. “I didn’t let them in.” His weak voice tried to reason.

“You’re right.” Knowles admitted. “You didn’t. But Rachel was right. Your father will watch as you die, not unlike my niece. You’ll be scared. You’ll scream and beg. It’ll hurt him more than anything we could do to him.”

Knowles watched Scorpius catch his breath. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He said suddenly, irritated that Scorpius dared defend himself. “You want to talk back?” He smiled as Scorpius braced himself.

Pulling Scorpius off the wall, Knowles shoved him out the door. Scorpius stumbled his way back to the cage, picking himself up off the ground a few times from Knowles’s kicks to his calves. He heard more footsteps following them.

Entering the room housing the cage, Scorpius was shoved harshly, catching himself on his elbows, hissing as pain radiated up his right arm. He rolled onto his back, and scooted away from Knowles.

Knowles followed Scorpius in, unbothered by the man’s desperate scurry. Then Jonah was pushed into the room, followed by Rachel, who had her wand drawn on Jonah. Scorpius stiffened, sitting up slightly, watching Rachel closely. 

Scorpius could see Jonah’s face more clearly. His left eye was blackened, with more bruising on his cheekbone. A few contusions circled his arms, like he was being held tight. 

Rachel gave Jonah one last shove, pushing him into Knowles’s arms. She advanced on Scorpius now, tucking her wand away. Scorpius started his scuffling again to try to create more distance between them, but stopped dead when he heard a sharp intake of breath from Jonah. Knowles had grabbed his hair and was pulling his head back.

Scorpius’s attention flitted between Rachel and Jonah, confused. Rachel was now looming over Scorpius. “Tomorrow, we’re going to play a game.”

Knowles tightened his grip in Jonah’s hair eliciting a groan. 

“I thought - you said you weren’t telling on Jonah?” Scorpius’s voice was raw. 

“That was just when he was trying to get to know you better. Yesterday, at the trial? He almost threw away all our work. He has to prove himself to the cause now.” She was pacing between Scorpius and Jonah. “He will tomorrow.”

Sitting up, Scorpius watched Rachel carefully as she moved. She was stiff, irritation evident on her face. 

“What’s the game?” Scorpius asked, a twisting in his gut politely informing him that he likely will not enjoy the answer.

“You won’t like it.” Rachel spat at Scorpius, confirming his suspicion. “Jonah is going to follow orders, simple as that. If he doesn’t do as his superiors command, you might have a cellmate.”

Scorpius swallowed, his throat burning from his dry mouth. “What are the orders?” He asked quietly, fearing he knew the answer.

Rachel smiled, some of the annoyance dissipating from her face. “You’ll see.” She gestured to Knowles, who started pulling Jonah from the room. 

Turning back to Scorpius, Rachel was grinning. “I’m glad you like Jonah. You were starting to bore me. Thought you’d given up.”

She flicked her wand in the direction of the cell and Scorpius wordlessly obeyed. “See? That’s what I mean.” Rachel groaned, the irritation laced through her voice. 

Settling on his blanket, Scorpius watched Rachel leave, once again alone in his cage. He felt a strange fondness for the cage tonight. Three nights left in it. 

Sleep came to Scorpius, fitful and deprived of rest. He dreamed of Albus rescuing him, stabbing Rachel in the heart. Breaking Knowles’s neck. But the dream didn’t end there. It ended in Azkaban, Albus shutting the door to Scorpius’s cell with a clang.

A clang that woke Scorpius. It was two men that entered the room. Scorpius rubbed his eyes. Though he slept, the deep ache and exhaustion dragging on his body had not relented.

Scorpius was walked to the common room, which had undergone an overnight makeover. The tables had been pushed to the walls of the room, clearing out a large space in the middle, almost like an arena. Knowles was holding Jonah in the center of the clearing, a crowd gathered around the outskirts of it.

“Ah,” Rachel stepped into the circle when Scorpius entered. “Our other player.” This was Rachel’s game, whatever that meant.

“Our dear friend and loyal soldier, Jonah,” Rachel continued, pointing to the bruised man. “Well, he betrayed our trust the other day. He testified in support of a traitor, of a now convicted Death Eater.”

There was a pause, allowing the crowd to cheer before focusing back on Rachel. Scorpius noticed Jonah’s hands were clenched around the fabric of his pants, knuckles white.

“Despite his many years of service to our cause, he has now given us reason to doubt. It is not healthy to have doubt among friends, so we cannot permit that to fester.” The crowd erupted again, knowing something Scorpius hadn’t been clued into yet.

Knowles let Jonah go, releasing his arm and finishing the speech. “Jonah, you stood with the traitor, now prove to us you are against him. Prove your loyalty.” Knowles pointed aggressively at Scorpius before backing into the sea of people.

It was just Jonah and Scorpius, trapped by a jeering audience. Jonah was breathing heavily, eyes darting around the room, searching for a way out. There was no way out, not without Jonah giving into the crowd’s demands.

“Hit me,” Scorpius suggested weakly as he understood the game, inching toward Jonah. “Do something.” Scorpius braced himself as he watched Jonah continue to mull over his very limited number of options.

The first blow was pathetic. Jonah’s fist grazed Scorpius’s arm, the force behind the hit nonexistent. The crowd laughed as one.

“That’s it?” Knowles yelled, pushing Jonah into Scorpius. “Hit him like you mean it.” 

Jonah didn’t look at Scorpius before throwing the next punch. It collided with Scorpius’s cheek, still sore from previous hits. The shock sent Scorpius to his knees.

A kick to his stomach put him on all fours before he was able to process the initial blow. His arms failed to support him as a foot stomped on his back, forcing Scorpius into a prone position. 

Faintly, Scorpius could hear the crowd cheer with every hit. They threw in their suggestions, where Jonah should strike next.

Jonah didn’t relent. Scorpius tried to curl into a defensive position, but Jonah kept switching targets. A swift kick to Scorpius’s stomach left his head exposed for a punch. Scorpius cried out when Jonah’s shoe connected with Scorpius's spine, causing him to roll onto his back.

Taking his opportunity, Jonah straddled Scorpius’s hips, climbing on top of him for more leverage. Scorpius braced himself for the hands to clasp around his throat like they had before when he was in this vulnerable position. 

To his surprise, someone commanded Jonah to stop, and the blows ceased. Finally opening his eyes, Scorpius saw a terrified Jonah, holding his fists up like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. They dripped blood, whether Scorpius’s or Jonah’s was a mystery.

A small knife, the blade just two or three inches long, was pressed into Jonah’s hand. He clenched his fingers around it tightly, but didn’t move.

“That was a fun warm up.” Rachel knelt down next to them, assessing the damage. “Not enough though. Cut him.”

The command was simple. Jonah didn’t move, didn’t look at Scorpius. The crowd was humming with anticipation.

“Do it, Jonah!” Someone called out. “He’s dead anyway, make it hurt.” Another voice. “Show us who you are.” Another.

Jonah turned the knife over in his hand, watching the blade glint. His hand was shaking, and he was making an effort not to meet Scorpius’s eyes.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was low, barely audible.

“Jonah,” Scorpius didn’t know what to say. His eyes were also locked on the blade, heart racing. “You don’t have to.”

Jonah shook his head. “I do.” He lowered the blade to Scorpius’s right shoulder, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up, pressing the tip against the skin, not applying pressure.

Scorpius was breathing through clenched teeth as he watched Jonah’s hesitant hands line up the knife. “Please, Jonah, you’re not them.”

The knife penetrated skin, slowly. Scorpius’s hands grabbed at Jonah’s, pushing back against the knife. Jonah was stronger, not malnourished, not beaten, not sleep deprived. 

With ease, Jonah pushed the blade deep into Scorpius’s shoulder. The supine man’s panicked attempts to free himself twisted the knife, catching on ligaments, emanating bright white waves of pain. 

The knife was pulled out and Scorpius’s left hand pressed against the wound. It was wet and warm, slippery with fresh blood.

“They’ll kill me, too.” Jonah pulled Scorpius’s shirt up, revealing his torso, still decorated with bruises at various stages of healing. Scorpius batted at Jonah’s hands, the weak attacks fended off with no effort.

“Let them.” Scorpius hissed out, grabbing Jonah’s wrist. “Don’t become them.”

Shaking his head again, Jonah used his right hand to grab Scorpius’s left wrist, pinning it to floor. Scorpius tried using his right hand to stop the onslaught, but quickly ceased the attempt as his broken hand made him momentarily forget about his stab wound.

Defenseless, Scorpius could only watch as the blade was lowered against his chest, mouthing pleas, knowing Jonah wouldn’t stop. He stopped breathing, every inhale brought his chest closer to the blade. 

With no urgency, the tip of the blade came down on Scorpius’s sternum. It breached the skin slightly and Scorpius gasped, accidentally forcing the blade deeper into the flesh. Jonah dragged the blade, still embedded in Scorpius’s skin slowly toward his stomach, leaving a narrow line in its wake, red bubbling to the surface. 

Scorpius could feel his flesh parting, making way for the thin blade. He violently pulled against Jonah’s grip, unconsciously, a survival response to free his hand to defend himself.

The blade was pulled away and brought down again, this time several quick slices made in succession, still deep enough to bleed. Scorpius screamed after each one. 

“Jonah, please, Jonah.” Scorpius was begging. There was nothing else but Jonah, himself, and the knife. The crowd was surely enjoying themselves, but they were drowned out by Scorpius’s terror. 

Scorpius looked down, the bloodstained knife was creating lattice on his chest, fresh surges of pain as the lines overlapped, intersected. Hopeless escape attempts were punished as any shifting of Scorpius’s body plunged the knife in deeper.

The room was getting colder. Scorpius shivered as the blade found an opening between two ribs and sunk in. His already abused throat was burning from screaming, from begging. His noises were hushed now.

The assault paused, Jonah and Scorpius were both panting, one from exertion, the other from the excruciating result of that exertion.

“Jonah,” Scorpius breathed out again, watching the man on top of him scan his body, looking for another location to launch an attack. “Please, Jonah.”

His begging was ignored. Unnoticed. Disregarded. Jonah wasn’t done.

Jonah raised the knife, like he was about to stake a vampire in the heart. Instead of driving it onto Scorpius’s chest, he swung it behind him, planting it in Scorpius thigh. Scorpius kicked, crying out, but Jonah’s weight on his hips limited his movement.

Three more times Jonah gored Scorpius’s leg with the blade, plunging it deep with each swing. Scorpius stopped screaming the final time Jonah impaled Scorpius’s leg, leaving the blade lodged in the flesh. The weight was lifted, Jonah had stood.

There were noises, celebratory and happy. Scorpius moved slightly, to glance down at the knife still skewering his leg. His muscle twitched around it and Scorpius groaned as the fibers clenched around the intrusion.

“Nice one, Jonah!” A voice called out. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” “Damn, guess you weren’t friends.”

Rachel leaned over Scorpius, shadowing him from the harsh lights. She grabbed the knife and twisted. Scorpius kicked his leg, trying to stop the pain, but it only made Rachel press harder. Scorpius halted when he swore he felt the blade tap against something hard in his leg. Bone?

The knife wasn’t removed, but Rachel released it, wiping the blood from her hands on Scorpius’s pants. She traced a few of the gashes on his chest with a finger. The touch was light, but as it dipped into the crevices created by the knife, Scorpius’s body felt the need to remind him of each one.

“Jonah sure did a number, didn’t he?” She pulled his shirt back to admire the shoulder wound, the bleeding slowing, but still drenching his shirt. “Some friend he is.” She tutted, sliding her finger into the crater the knife carved in his shoulder. Scorpius hissed, grabbing at her hand.

“You really have no one.” The finger was removed, coated in bright red liquid. She held it close to her face, investigating the blood before wiping it on Scorpius’s stained shirt. 

“They’re not that deep.” Rachel assured him. “You’ll probably be fine once they stop bleeding.” She stood to leave. “Not like it really matters, though.”

Rachel left. The clearing in the room vanished as the crowd dispersed. They ignored Scorpius, stepping over him, jumping to avoid getting blood on their shoes. 

He tried shifting, curling into a ball, making himself smaller, but the congealing blood tugged at the tears of his skin. This is how he imagined the pain of Fiendfyre, hot, feverish, and unabated. 

Scorpius thoughts lingered on Jonah. Though Scorpius knew Jonah would suffer with him if he disobeyed, the hurt from the betrayal stung more than the gashes. 

Well, almost.

Jonah didn’t really have a choice, did he? Scorpius was going to die, there was no need to die in vain with him, right? There was nothing Jonah could do to help him. 

But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Jonah on top of him, savagely tearing at his skin, refusing to acknowledge his pleas. Ignoring his begs for mercy, both fighting for their lives in their own way.

The stone was cold, and it felt as though it was siphoning all warmth from Scorpius’s body. The wounds throbbed now, the searing pain of the blade slashing through his flesh was dulled. His leg twitched every so often, as though trying to dislodge the knife still embedded in the muscle. 

His breathing had slowed. A strange sense of relaxation fell over him. It should have scared him. He should have panicked. But Scorpius waited, the fear replaced by hope. Not hope of survival or escape.

Hope for death.

This was it, right?

It was warm now. The waves lapped at the shore, the sun refracted against the water. The Black Lake. Albus was there, his back to Scorpius, sitting in the grass, laughing.

The sound so familiar, so achingly real.

Scorpius was walking to him, the wounds gone. “Albus?”

Albus turned to him, smiling. “Hey, you’re late.”

Late for what?

“I waited,” Albus said, his smile fading.

Scorpius’s feet sink into the earth. He looked down - his shoes were soaked in blood.

Shaking his head, Albus repeated, “I waited, but you didn’t come back.”

The lake turned red, the sky swirled with black. Albus disappeared in a cloud of mist. Scorpius reached for him, finding nothing but air and -

Malfoy Manor. The lake was gone, and the drawing room in Malfoy Manor was quiet, dim. A fire crackled calmly in the fireplace. 

Draco - father - was standing by the window looking tense. 

“I always told you to be careful.” Draco said, his voice was not angry, not upset, just…tired.

More than anything, Scorpius wanted to run to his father, hug him, but he couldn’t move, his body heavy. “I tried, father.” His voice was a whisper.

Turning to face him, Draco’s face was etched with something unreadable. “I know.”

A knock at the door, sharp and urgent.

“They’re coming.” Draco’s voice was hoarse, scared, like he knew how this ended. 

Scorpius watched the door as it rattled against its hinges. “Father, I want to stay. Please, don’t let them -”

The door flew open.

“-still breathing.”

Scorpius was on the stone floor. A finger was on his neck, feeling for a pulse. A hand hovered in front of his face, tickled by his feeble exhales. 

“Get away from him.” Another voice. The touch left. 

He was on the train again. The air smelled of old wood, pumpkin pasties, and summer flowers. Albus was across from him, grinning.

“We’re going to have the best year,” Albus said, stretching out on the seat.

Scorpius knew this moment. It was real once.

But he couldn’t remember what happened next.

“Are you coming, Scorp?”

The train started moving, but Scorpius didn’t feel it beneath his feet. He looked down. He wasn’t on the train.

He was standing outside it, on the platform. Albus was still smiling - unaware.

“Scorp?” Albus said again, but his voice was distant, muffled.

The train pulled away. Scorpius reached out. It was already gone.

He was falling. He let himself fall, it felt right. For the first time in days, he felt calm, the fear gone. Warmth was spreading, not icy dread. He closed his eyes and took a breath, letting go.

Scorpius stopped falling. His body felt heavy, not light and airy, floating through fevered thoughts. There was something cool on his face. Muddied voices. Pain. 

No. He tried to fall again, he wanted to.

His eyes opened, his vision unfocused and blurred for a few moments. He was attacked by fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic.

The floor wasn’t cold and hard anymore, but soft and cushioned. A brief look down revealed bandages. 

A wand touched his shoulder and he could feel the flesh shift, knitting itself together, the ache starting to alleviate. 

No. Scorpius tried pulling away, but his trembling body barely responded. 

“Why?” Scorpius’s voice sounded like a boot against gravel.

The healer, Scorpius distantly remembered her name being Eliza, didn’t seem to be expecting Scorpius to speak. “Why what, dear?” Her voice was gentle, like a mother’s.

“Why didn’t you let me die?” Scorpius’s left hand was tangled in the sheets. His face was wet, tears sliding into his hair.

Eliza kept working, bandaging his now partially healed shoulder. “I have an oath to heal.”

Scorpius moaned, feeling the fear, the dread, the agony seep back into his body. “You’re healing a dead man.” He muttered, moreso to himself than her. “What have I got, 36 hours?”

It was small, a momentary hesitation, but Scorpius saw Eliza’s hands freeze before dutifully continuing their task. 

He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling, letting tears fall. “I was ready.” Scorpius said with what he thought was conviction, but his voice wavered.

“No one’s ever ready.” Eliza said bluntly, her wand hovering over his gaping leg wound. 

“Why did you save me?” Scorpius asked again, knowing the answer. 

She glanced behind her, Scorpius knew there was a door there leading to the common room. When Eliza turned back to him, he could tell she had been crying, her eyes bloodshot and nose raw.

Scorpius closed his eyes, understanding. He let Eliza work, not wanting another person hurt because of him. Her hands were soothing, every time she moved, another ache was lessened, none going away entirely, but much needed relief nonetheless.

“Scorpius.” Eliza’s gentle voice brought him back to reality. She was holding a cup to his lips. He parted them and the cooling liquid flowed down his throat, almost immediately diminishing the ache in his throat. A healing potion.

Relaxation was spreading again, his limbs lighter, his pains eased. Eliza watched him as the tension in his body was released. Glancing behind her again, she held his hand, rubbing her thumb against his as he started losing consciousness. 

He was slipping beneath the surface, falling . Scorpius reached out for Albus, for his father - only to find nothing. Because this wasn’t death.

This was just a cruel intermission. 

Notes:

A shorter chapter, but we are getting ready for some juicy upcoming action ;) Thank you all for you reading and a special thank you to those who comment! You genuinely make my day! This tale is ridiculously fun to write and I'm so stoked that people are enjoying reading it as well!

Chapter 10: Ghost of the Living

The sun was still rising on the horizon as Albus rubbed the sleep from his eyes, leaning over the fireplace. The Draught of Dreamless Sleep was still wearing off and Albus wished Harry hadn’t convinced him to drink it last night. Though he’d admit he hadn’t been sleeping, it was more important to be awake, ready for any new information.

Ironwood had called, sending Albus to Diagon Alley to investigate an attack. It was a Death Eater attack if the Dark Mark hanging in the sky was any indication. 

Without a second thought, Albus called his father and Draco, summoning them to Diagon Alley. Something gnawed in Albus’s gut. Something that told him there was no way in was a coincidence that Death Eaters attacked the day before Scorpius’s scheduled execution.

Arriving in Diagon Alley, the smell of smoke was heavy in the air. The cobblestone of the streets was scorched with spellwork. Shards of glass from shop windows peppered the streets, crunching underfoot. Ironwood was levitating the corpse of a witch, presumably wrapping up his investigation.

Draco and Harry both arrived just minutes after Albus. Harry hugged Albus, squeezing once in reassurance. Draco’s attention was drawn to the Mark in the sky. The sickly green snake bared its fangs at him.

“Come on, Malfoy.” Harry touched Draco’s elbow lightly to encourage him to walk with the group. Draco followed, but the Mark still had him captivated.

“Ironwood,” Albus greeted the Auror who had just transported the body to the ministry. 

The Auror smiled warmly, nodding at Albus. “Potter,” he responded. “Oh, and Potter,” he gave Harry a brisk nod, deeper than the one he gave Albus. His eyes slid to Draco and narrowed. “...and Malfoy,” his attention turned back to Albus with an inquisitive head tilt.

Albus clenched his jaw and shook his head, wordlessly telling Ironwood to stand down. The Auror kept his hands at his sides, but showed his palms in a conceding gesture.

“Potter,” Ironwood started. “Presumed Death Eater attack.” He pointed to the sky and shrugged. “Can’t imagine anyone else summoning that Mark.” His eyes flicked to Draco for just a millisecond, an unconscious and almost undetectable movement. “Three confirmed dead. Seven more wounded. Though all stable, last I heard.”

Ironwood walked a few paces, and waved a hand down the street. “Several hooded figures walked from that direction, around one o'clock this morning. I’d be willing to take a wild guess and assume they came from Knockturn Alley. They attacked, throwing spells at some civilians who had been leaving The Hopping Pot.”

Glancing at the pub now, Albus would see the windows had been shattered and several tables close to them had been upturned, being used as makeshift shields. 

“It was chaos, but only for a few moments. They fled, apparating away after each cast just a handful of spells. Not before throwing the Mark up, though.” Ironwood was actively struggling not to look at Draco, having to turn his back on the man.

“Any witnesses?” Albus pried, hoping there was more to the story.

Nodding, Ironwood hummed. “Barkeep. I’ll let you interview him. I just finished with the decedents. Scene is public, wanted to get them out of view. Worst way to find out a loved one passed.”

“Thanks,” Albus responded briskly, already walking into the pub. “I’ll let you know what we learn.” Ironwood just nodded, crouching over a charred brick.

Stepping into the ruined pub, Albus glanced at Draco, who was standing, tense, with his hands clasped behind his back. Every few moments, he would scan his surroundings, grey eyes combing for danger.

The barkeep was sweeping, a relatively fruitless venture as most of the building was a pile of debris. He propped the broom against the wall seeing the group walk toward him.

“Albus Potter, Auror.” Albus took on his assertive voice. “I’m sorry about your bar. What did you see from the attack?” 

“Thanks,” the wizard said, pulling barstools off a table for everyone to sit. “I didn’t see much. Ducking behind my bar, see. Just flashes of light, green light. That’s…” He looked around as though worried someone would overhear. “That’s the Killing Curse, right? I saw it hit a witch, she just fell.”

“Yeah,” Albus’s voice was tight when he responded. “Sounds like the Killing Curse.”

The barkeep covered his mouth in shock. “It must have been Death Eaters. What are they doing, attacking my bar?”

Shaking his head, Albus took a notebook and quill out of his robes. “I don’t know. We’re hoping you heard or noticed anything else that might help us figure that out.”

“I did hear them yelling. They seemed excited.” The wizard tapped his fingers on the bar as he thought.

“Were they yelling anything in particular?” Albus leaned forward, his quill scratching quickly across the parchment.

“Something…” the wizard was waving his hand, as though shifting through his memory. “Something about taking back what was theirs. I assumed it meant taking Diagon Alley, or something along those lines.”

Stiffening, Albus moved just his eyes to look at Harry, who had his eyebrows raised as he processed. 

“Thank you, sir.” Albus closed his notebook and gathered Harry and Draco with an extension of his arm. “Please let us know if you remember anything else.”

Out of earshot of the barkeep and Ironwood, Albus still spoke in a hushed voice. “Taking back what’s theirs.” He repeated. “It’s Scorpius, right? What else could it be?”

Harry nodded slowly, resting his hand on Albus’s shoulder. “It could be. We can’t jump to any conclusions just yet.”

Draco was shaking his head. “Why would they attack Diagon Alley because of Scorpius?” He pressed his fist against his mouth in thought. 

“Maybe they don’t know where he is? Or wanted a show of force before making another move?” Albus suggested, jotting these down in his notebook. 

Leaning over Albus’s shoulder as he took notes, Harry reviewed what was written. “Not to mention, Death Eaters haven’t openly attacked anyone in…a decade. Sure, there were attacks that were carried out by supporters, but the Mark, they want everyone to know it was them.”

Albus nodded, wildly scrawling away. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Can’t it?” Draco challenged. “It could just be an act of cruelty. They saw the article from the other day, the mentioning of Death Eaters. It could be as simple as that stirring the pot.”

“No,” Albus replied, a little more aggressively than he intended. “It would make no sense. This is related, I feel it.”

Draco rubbed his temples. “You just want this to be connected. You’re seeing what you want. This could mean nothing. A wild goose chase.”

Before Albus could respond, they were interrupted by a “Potter!” Ironwood waved them over.

“Potter, one of the victims that was sent to St. Mungo’s is awake and says she has some information that might be of value. Want to check it out? I can finish up here.”

Albus was nodding before he could think. “We’ll keep you in the loop.” He took Harry and Draco’s hands and apparated, dragging the two of them with him to St. Mungo’s.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Pain was bringing Scorpius back to his senses. He stretched, gently, slowly, experimenting with flexing different muscles. His left leg trembled violently and the skin on his chest felt tight and itchy. His right hand was broken still, but the swelling had gone down significantly, the brunt of the pain in his arm radiating from his shoulder.

The scent of iron was thick in the room, sheets covering Scorpius still coated in a spattering of his own blood. The torches on the wall threw shadows, revealing other figures moving.

A chair was pulled up to the bed, screeching on the stone floor. Scorpius let his head roll to the side to see Rachel and Knowles at the side of the bed. Jonah was in the room as well, but hanging back by the door, head bowed, refusing to look at Scorpius.

“Well, well, got your beauty sleep?” Rachel taunted, sitting on the side of the bed as Knowles sat in the chair.

“He looks confused.” Knowles crossed his arms, leaning closer to Scorpius’s face. “Playing dumb, Malfoy?”

Scorpius tried pulling himself into a sitting position, but his right arm buckled. His position was uncomfortably vulnerable, laying under two predators. “What are you talking about?” His throat felt better, but every word still rubbed like sandpaper.

“Diagon Alley burned last night.” Rachel said in a matter of fact way, as though this would answer all of Scorpius’s questions.

Knowles grinned, looking down at Scorpius. “Death Eaters attacked. Three dead. More injured. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

The familiar feeling of dread coiled inside Scorpius. His palms were already sweating as his heart rate picked up. “I -” What could he say? “No.” He answered simply, truthfully.

“No?” Rachel echoed mockingly. “That’s it? Not even going to pretend to be surprised? Or horrified that people died?”

Scorpius didn’t respond. No answer would appease them.

Knowles rested his hand on Scorpius’s right shoulder. Scorpius flinched, though the touch was gentle, painless, but the twisted smile on Knowles’s face revealed the threat. “It just doesn’t sit right with me.” His thumb brushed over the half-healed wound and Scorpius gasped.

“Death Eaters wouldn’t just pick a random night to play terrorist.” Rachel brushed a stray hair from Scorpius’s forehead. “They’re tacticians. They’ve been exceptionally careful of late. This was planned, deliberate.”

The thumb pressed into the wound and Scorpius recoiled, trying to push himself inside of the stiff mattress. “What a funny coincidence.” Another press, a hiss escaped Scorpius. “Of all the times to attack, they chose your penultimate night alive.”

Scorpius’s chest rose and fell unevenly. That meant it was Monday, if the attack happened last night. Tomorrow was Tuesday. Tomorrow he’d be killed.

Curiously, the thought of his own demise, the clock ticking away, prompted him to push back. What’s the worst they could do? “You think I -” Scorpius started, before Knowles interjected.

“We think you’ve been waiting for this. For your real friends to come get you.” Knowles was watching Scorpius closely, measuring any minute change in his expression.

Sighing, Rachel splayed her hand out across Scorpius’s chest, making his shirt catch painfully on the crusted tears in his skin. “How’d you do it? Pass a message along while you were with the healer? Or maybe it was during your late night escapades, while you were making nice with Jonah?”

Scorpius looked to Jonah, who was still avoiding eye contact. The mention of his name made him clearly anxious, crossing his arms in front of him and pressing his chin into his chest.

“Don’t look at him.” Rachel took Scorpius’s jaw in a bruising hold. “He can’t help you. Unless you forgot the lesson we taught him yesterday?” Her hand slipped under Scorpius’s shirt, letting her nails tug at the partially healed slices.

Scorpius barely had time to writhe under her touch before the hand on his shoulder tightened. “Listen, here, Malfoy.” Knowles growled, close to his ear. “We’re not unreasonable. Tell us what the Death Eaters are planning next, and maybe we’ll make it just a bit quicker for you tomorrow.”

“I don’t - I don’t know anything.” Scorpius tried defending himself, knowing it was in vain. How they thought he’d somehow sent a message was beyond him, but he did know he would suffer for this perceived slight nonetheless.

A hum of approval. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Knowles squeezed. Scorpius shuffled away but was halted by the hand on his chest. His eyes flicked between Rachel and Knowles, pupils blown.

“Baby,” Rachel whispered, the tone nauseating. “Your heart’s beating out of your chest. Relax.” She was rubbing his chest, her fingers leaving trails of fire over his open lacerations.

Knowles’s grip slithered down Scorpius’s arm, landing on his hand, massaging it, bones shifted in a revoltingly awkward way. Scorpius didn’t dare move. “I know you’re tired. I know you want this all to be over.” He purred in Scorpius’s ear with another knead at his hand.

“We’re not asking much. Darling, we don’t want to hurt you.” Her grin betrayed her most obvious lie. “Tomorrow will feel like a mercy if you don’t start telling us what we want to know.”

Breathing shallowly, Scorpius wanted to tell them they were wasting their time, that he didn’t know anything. Only, they weren’t wasting their time. They were doing exactly what they wanted to.

Not knowing what else to do, Scorpius looked to Jonah one last time. The man was stiff, his crossed arms dropped and he was idly wringing his hands. Scorpius didn’t know what he wanted from Jonah anymore, but his mind was screaming at Jonah, begging him just to look. But he didn’t.

Knowles stood, his hand releasing Scorpius’s. “You think on it, Malfoy. We’ve got to get some stuff ready, but we’ll be back soon.”

“We’ve got all day.” Rachel added as she pulled her offending hand from under Scorpius’s shirt. 

Scorpius let his head loll, falling against the pillow, facing the wall. He tried blinking back the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, but they fell anyway, soaking into the soft fabric below him.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The entrance of St. Mungo’s was bustling, witches and wizards lined to speak to the receptionist, concern etched on their faces. Albus skipped the line, flashing his Auror badge before pushing open the glass doors. 

The corridors were loud, in disarray as healers rushed in and out of rooms, their robes stained with evidence of the attack. An unfamiliar medicinal scent was wafting out of the open doors. 

Stopping in front of the victim’s room they were to interview, Albus glanced back at Harry and Draco. Harry looked composed, his brow furrowed in thought. Draco was tense, each movement he made deliberate, as though he sensed he were not supposed to be here.

Through the door was a dimly lit recovery room. The woman in the bed was heavily bandaged, left arm and neck completely covered in white gauze. She looked tired, but her eyes were alert when the three wizards entered her room, giving them a thin lipped smile as a greeting.

“Auror Potter,” she nodded, wincing and quickly straightening her neck. “And former Auror Potter,” Harry was offered a small smile. “And…Malfoy.” Draco was offered a side eye, one he didn’t notice as he looked out the window.

Albus pulled a chair next to the bed and smiled back at the witch. “So sorry to disturb you during your recovery, but it’s vital we learn everything you can remember.” His voice was eager.

She sighed, her gaze following the cloth wrapped tightly around her arm. “Unfortunately, I don’t recall much.”

“Anything helps.” Harry stood behind Albus’s chair, a hand resting on the back of it.

“I was leaving The Hopping Pot with some of my friends. We were celebrating a promotion for one of them. It was a blur, I don’t even remember seeing anything strange until the spells started flying. I wasn’t hit by any, thank Merlin, but,” she pointed at the bandages, “glass everywhere.”

The scratching of a quill filled the pause. “And you saw the attackers?” Albus prompted, scooting closer to the bed.

The witch’s expression shifted, and her gaze landed on Draco, still standing by the window, but facing the witch now. “They were wearing hoods and masks. Like the old days. I’ve seen the photos.”

“Death Eaters,” Albus muttered, underlining a portion of his notes a few times. “Did they say anything?”

“They didn’t say a whole lot. They were cheering, seemed like they had something to celebrate. I fell to the ground, played dead I suppose, tried not to move. One of them was standing close, cast the spell that put the Mark in the sky. But before he did, he said -” the witch lowered her voice, leaning toward Albus. “- for the heir .”

The witch looked disgusted with herself, like she didn’t want to repeat the words. She leaned back into bed, and her eyes found Draco again. Her stare wasn’t accusatory or angry, just curious.

It was Draco who finally spoke, despite the staredown. “They didn’t say a name? No symbols, besides the Mark? Nothing else?”

“No, no name. I didn’t notice anything else. They said ‘the heir’ like it meant something, like it was obvious.” She replied, her voice noticeably cooler when answering Draco’s question.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Albus responded as he stood. “This has been very helpful. We hope you make a speedy recovery. Take care.” Harry and Draco took their cues from the parting words and left with Albus, closing the door behind them gently.

Albus’s heart was leaping. Finally, a semblance of a clue, a thread they could follow. “That’s something, isn’t it? That’s something! ”

The other two didn’t look as thrilled. Harry’s expression was calculated, unreadable. Draco was tense, absentmindedly pulling at his sleeve.

They ducked into an empty conference room to review their findings and stay out of the way of the occupied healers. 

“This is a lead! A real one. We can work on tracking these Death Eaters. Maybe we can stop running in circles.” Albus was engrossed in his notebook, barely taking a moment to glance up at Harry and Draco.

Draco didn’t sit, but rather paced the length of the room. “And you think this is a good thing?” He finally interrupted Albus’s racing thoughts.

Surprised, Albus blinked, looking up. “Yes,” he answered plainly. “It means we’re getting somewhere.”

Making a noise of frustration, Draco spun around to face Harry. “ You know what this means, right?” He asked, his voice urgent.

Harry held his gaze, though he hesitated, as though he didn’t want to answer. He finally nodded. “Yes. If our assumptions are correct, if they were talking about Scorpius, that means he’s important to the Death Eaters.”

Turning on Albus now, Draco leaned over the table. “And you think that’s a good thing?” 

Albus leaned back slightly, the aggression from Draco giving him pause. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that having a lead, having a clearer bigger picture is a good thing. That’s all. A lead to follow.” His hands idly folded a corner of the parchment in front of him.

“And what if you don’t like where it leads?” Draco’s voice was raised now, making Albus anxious. Harry was standing, and he placed his hand on Draco’s back, encouraging him to relax. This time, Draco whirled around, shaking the hand off him.

“Why do you think the Death Eaters are interested in Scorpius?” He spat at Harry, advancing on him. “Why do you think they’re calling my son ‘the heir?’ You remember, right, when I was important to the Death Eaters? What they made me do? What they did if I refused?”

Harry held his ground, not backing away from Draco, but his expression softened the more Draco questioned. “Draco,” Harry started. “We won’t let it come to that. None of us want that for Scorpius.” 

Visibly, Draco relaxed, taking a small step back from Harry, aware of his aggressive stance. “Then we need to find out more, and fast. The Death Eaters are scheming, the attack was just to get our attention.”

Albus let out a quiet sigh of relief when Draco’s voice lowered, his demeanor still anxious but lacking the exasperation he had shown. “Let’s go back to my office. We review what we know and check to see if other reports have come in.”

A quick glance was exchanged between Harry and Draco, one that was indecipherable to Albus. But both wizards nodded after a beat, linking arms to apparate again.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Opening his eyes to the creaking of a door, Scorpius realized he had dozed back to sleep. Awareness jolted into his body when he saw Rachel and Knowles striding toward him. He tried pushing himself up, but the movement tugged at his scabbed skin, threatening to reopen healing wounds. The cot beneath him was damp, his sweat seeping into it.

Knowles and Rachel both had their wands drawn, but their grips were relaxed, wand tips pointed toward the ground. Scorpius drew a shaky breath, hoping they were out of earshot.

“Fall asleep again, sweetheart?” Rachel drawled, moving to stand over Scorpius. “Good, nice and well rested.”

It seemed Knowles had little time for pleasantries. He pointed his wand at Scorpius, his grip still loose, relaxed. “Up,” emphasized by a small flick.

Scorpius lifted himself with his left arm, slowly easing into a seated position. He inched his legs toward the edge of the cot, rotating his body gingerly. Despite his best efforts, he felt warmth explode across his chest. A fresh streak of red was spreading across his white shirt, joining the brown stains.

His legs dangled over the edge of the cot and he experimentally applied pressure. His left thigh protested as Scorpius stood, trembling under his weight. 

“Finally,” Knowles’s voice dripped with impatience. “Come with us.”

Scorpius took a hesitant step, grimacing each time his left leg had to support him. He could walk, but it was slow and uneven. Knowles and Rachel waited for him, watching his legs nearly buckle with each step. 

They walked, not to the common room as Scorpius expected. He wasn’t sure where they were headed, the other routes unfamiliar, especially when starting from the infirmary. They rounded a corner and entered the bathroom, the same place where Scorpius had showered. 

Scorpius slowed, recalling the discomfort he felt in this room and alarmed by the change in routine. 

“Come, Malfoy.” Rachel coaxed, with a tone one would use to bring their puppy to heel. “We just have a few questions. This can be over quickly, if you’re good.”

A wand touched his spine and Scorpius stumbled forward. There was a metal tub in the center of the room lined with shower heads. It was filled to the brim with water, still sloshing over the sides, spilling onto the tile. 

Scorpius stopped moving, trying to calm his reaction, trying not to let them see the fear that just set his lungs on fire. Jonah was standing over the tub, as were a few faces that Scorpius had seen throughout the week, but hadn’t bothered to learn the names of. Jonah’s gaze was focused on the water, lapping at the edges of metal. 

“We’ll give you another chance.” Knowles was tracing his wand across Scorpius’s back, noticing how the man tensed. “How’d you feed your friends information?”

Shaking his head and arching his back, Scorpius was struggling to form words. “I didn’t.”

The wand was at his chest now, following the bright red stripe, digging into his freshly opened laceration. “A coincidence then? After years of radio silence, suddenly the Mark in the sky after an attack? This close to the execution of one of their own?” 

“I didn’t know anything about it. I don’t know anything.” Scorpius spoke just a little too quickly, tripping over his words, desperation revealed.

“We’re just gonna make sure.” Rachel beckoned Knowles toward her, toward the tub. Knowles seized Scorpius by the back of his neck, walking to the water, bringing Scorpius with.

Scorpius breathed deep in a futile effort to slow his racing heart, knowing his panic would only make this worse. A blow to his left thigh sent him crumpled to his knees with a yell, the water vibrating with his every move. 

Knowles was still holding the back of Scorpius’s neck, grip tight. Tentatively, Scorpius pushed back against it, but there was no give. The water looked dark, ominous, brackish as menacing ripples shimmered across the surface.

“How did you send word?” Each word was accentuated with a slight nudge of his head toward the water. 

“I didn’t,” Scorpius repeated, the muscles in his back tight, as though he could somehow resist, somehow escape Knowles's powerful grasp.

“What are the Death Eaters planning?” A harsh push, one that brought Scorpius’s face nearly flush with the water. His breath agitated it, little swirls making public his hurried breathing. 

“I don’t know.” Scorpius thought about saying ‘please,’ about begging them not to push him beneath the water, but he didn’t. He braced, sucking in a deep breath, holding it in his lungs, feeling his too-tight skin stretch around his expanded rib cage.

The shock of the cold was unexpected, rushing over his face. His body immediately abandoned the precious breath he so desperately tried to hold. It escaped through his nose, in bubbles that churned the water, making violent waves that only instilled more panic.

Scorpius’s hands were at the lip, trying to push away from the tub. He screamed into the water as his right hand folded in on itself, expelling the last of his valuable oxygen.

Thrashing without thinking, Scorpius’s legs were kicking out, neck twisting awkwardly. Frigid water flowed freely into his nose, burning his sinuses, igniting an underwater coughing fit. 

Then, he tasted air again. Above the surface, Scorpius alternated between greedy gasps and hacking coughs. There were voices, but none were more important than the delicious air his lungs demanded. 

Without time for a final breath, Scorpius was plunged back beneath the water. His lungs were screaming instantly, a unique burn that caused his body to convulse reflexively. A vice was on his chest, begging him to breathe, just let the air in and he almost pulled in a mouthful of water before he was lifted again.

Scorpius couldn’t hold himself up and he leaned over the basin, the edge pressing painfully against the now bleeding scabs on his chest. Heaving a few times, dribbles of water trickled down his chin, plopping into the tub.

His breaths came in wheezes, trying not to inhale any more water than he already had. More voices, a small shove of warning on his head.

“Tell us what you know, Malfoy.” The voice was muffled, water clogging his ear canals. 

The only noise he could muster was a gravelly cough, shaking his head instead.

Under again. The thrashing. His knee connected painfully with the side of the tub, the sound of the strike reverberating through the water. Lungs burning, body weakening, Scorpius forgot for a moment he was under water. His body started feeling light, his vision was blackening just around the edges, his muscles were relaxing.

Air. Sweet air. Violent heaves. Scorpius felt like his throat was about to tear as he coughed. 

There was not a question before his air was gone again. His vision started going black. His left arm was reaching behind him, pawing lightly at the hand on his head. The bitterly cold water started feeling oddly warm and welcoming. He slowed his thrashing, his body grateful for the respite. For just a moment, Scorpius was falling again.

Thrown on the tile floor, Scorpius writhed trying to find the best angle to fill his thirsty lungs. He was on all fours, or all threes in his case, wracking out coughs between hungry gasps. There were laughs, but he couldn’t afford to focus on them. No, he needed air.

His stomach churned and he coughed out a mouthful of water, watching as it splashed against the floor. A hand was back on his neck and Scorpius panicked, flailing to pry it off, slipping on the wet tile.

“Stop, please.” The hand was leading him back to the basin. “Don’t. I don’t know anything.” The sounds were escaping his lips without permission, raspy.

“I’m starting to believe you.” Rachel’s voice laughed out as she watched Scorpius’s pathetic scramble to pull himself away from the water. “Almost feel bad for the poor thing.”

The water again. A sickening cycle. Only for a moment though. Just a small deprivation of oxygen, a threat, a reminder. 

When Scorpius emerged from the water, air rattling into his lungs, the atmosphere of the room changed. Scorpius couldn’t control the trembles that shook his body.

“Why are you dragging this out, Malfoy?” Rachel had her hand dipped in the water, swirling it around. Scorpius was dropped and collapsed onto the tile. For a few moments, the only sounds were strained inhales and drops of water plinking onto the tile.

“He might be telling the truth. Maybe his friends didn’t tell him the plan.” Knowles glared down at Scorpius, watching as his chest rose and fell.

Rachel joined him, crouching over a cowering Scorpius. “Shame.” She tutted. “Could have made it easier on yourself tomorrow. But now - well you’ll just have to wait and see.” 

Knowles was excited, running his tongue over his teeth, hands twitching. Scorpius guessed Knowles wasn’t great at keeping secrets. He theatrically checked his watch, making sure Scorpius saw the gesture. “Hm…” He pretended to calculate. “19 hours, Malfoy. That’s how long you’ve got left.”

Scorpius swallowed, making a valiant effort to maintain his practiced blank face. Less than a day. Fewer than 24 hours. Last night, he was ready, embracing death. Now the thought sickened him, enraged him. Why couldn’t he just accept it?

The slight change in his expression didn’t go unnoticed. “Scared?” Rachel asked, brushing a few strands of wet hair from Scorpius’s face. Scorpius didn’t respond, just gasped in a shuddery breath.

Looking up at Jonah, Scorpius wasn’t surprised that the other wizard was just staring into the water, not the bleeding, gasping man on the floor. 

“Next time you see us, darling, it’ll be to take you to the end.” Rachel was still combing her fingers through Scorpius’s dripping hair. 

Then, in a sudden, abrupt motion, the hand was gone. The group was leaving, without another word, another taunt, another blow. 

Scorpius was left alone, sprawled on the bathroom tile. Soaking wet. Shivering. The tub still full of water, slapping against the metal as the ripples from the final struggle start to slow.

Every breath was fire, his throat raw from choking, heaving, and gasping. His body ached from a scuffle he didn’t even remember having. None of that mattered now. 

19 hours.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Albus’s office was untidy, files were strewn about his desk, broken quills were discarded on the floor, and the desk was stained with an overturned ink pot. There was a stark contrast between Scorpius and Albus’s organizational habits.

Immediately, Albus was reaching for the files, sifting through them, comparing them to the notes he had been making all day. There had to be something, anything that pointed them in the right direction .

Harry was thumbing through the files that were in Albus’s intake box, ones other Aurors had submitted to help the investigation throughout the day. He passed a stack to Draco, who appeared relieved to have a task, accepting the papers gratefully.

The Aurors were tracking suspicious activities, trying to pin down any Death Eaters, but the leads went nowhere. No suspects apprehended. Any potential sighting was vague at best - shadows slipping into alleys, whispers in the dark.

Interviews with witnesses and victims garnered similar results. Nothing they hadn’t already learned from their own investigation. One witness reported seeing Draco Malfoy during the attack. Harry rolled his eyes and discreetly folded that parchment, slipping it in his pocket to be discarded later.

“We don’t have time for this,” Albus muttered, flipping through yet another report detailing the color of the masks and cloaks yet again. “We have no clue where to look, who was involved.” He rambled on.

Harry and Draco didn’t respond, continuing to scour their respective documents. Unfortunately, it seemed Albus was correct. They couldn’t spend their final precious hours chasing shadows.

Albus glanced up at Draco, studying the focused man for a few minutes. He was biting at his lip as his eyes frantically skimmed the page, just as desperate as Albus to find a thread, a hint, anything.

“Draco…” Albus began, his voice meek and unsure. Draco’s head snapped up, his eyes wary. Harry also turned his attention to Albus, face scrunching inquisitively.

Albus’s voice was hesitant, careful. “Draco,” he began again, “you wouldn’t happen to have…connections, would you? Anyone you could reach out to?”
A sharp, cold silence. Albus realized Draco was not looking at him, but rather at the wall just behind him, eyes unfocused. His jaw twitched, a small movement, but noticeable as Albus studied him.

“You think I have some secret Death Eater informant?” Draco’s voice was also careful, but there was a quiver in it. 

Quickly, realizing his mistake, Albus shook his head. “No, I mean - not like that, but -”

Draco didn’t let him finish. “You think I could just send an owl to them and they’d, what, drop what they were doing to help? Help me? A traitor? Deserter?”

Albus didn’t know how to respond, regretting his question. Harry was watching the exchange closely, readying himself to intervene.

“No, Potter,” Draco hissed Albus’s name in the same tone he had hissed Harry’s in the past. “You have no idea what you’re asking.” 

Hesitating again, Albus grappled with guilt, wishing he could take his words back. The damage was done. Draco’s face was twisted with a mix of emotions - anger, disgust, maybe even hurt.

Before Albus can start formulating his apology, weak words to bandage the wound he created, Harry stepped in. “Enough.” He was looking at Albus.

Harry’s voice was firm, possessive in an unexpected way. “Malf - Draco has no ties. Hasn’t for quite a few years, decades even.”

Draco’s eyes slid to Harry, the wariness still evident, but he didn’t speak.

Continuing, Harry was still looking at Albus. “Even if he had some way to contact a Death Eater, we wouldn’t ask that. He’d be risking his life for, more than likely, absolutely nothing.”

Frustration simmering under his skin, Albus looked between his father and Draco. “But we still have nothing. Nothing concrete.” The hope he had felt earlier that day was quickly evaporating. Time ticked by and no updates followed.

There was more silence. Uncertainty settled in the room like a stone. They continued poring over the same files, trading off, hoping one might notice something another missed. Albus could feel Harry glance at him, often, little welfare checks. Draco kept his eyes locked on the documents, prowling around the room reading.

Albus let a piece of parchment flutter to his desk. They had nothing, still. Just whispers of Death Eaters, smoke slipping through their fingers. And no time to catch the smoke. 

Scorpius was running out of time. And they were standing in the dark, reaching for ghosts.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The tile was cool, absorbing the little body heat Scorpius had left. He was trembling on the floor, only moving to hug his legs closer to his chest.

19 hours.

The world will keep spinning without him. People will wake up. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Hug. Smile. Argue. Live.

And he won’t be there. 

It felt like he was already gone. Just a lingering thought, a whisper of something that used to exist.

His father wouldn’t move on. Scorpius was sure of that. 

Draco’s guilt too heavy to carry, waking up only to remember his son is gone. Scorpius feared it would only be a matter of time until it was Draco himself that didn’t wake up. 

Albus could move on, or so Scorpius hoped. He would throw himself into work, relationships, into distractions. Would they be enough? Scorpius felt Albus’s guilt, not being there for Scorpius when he was needed. Failing to protect him. Scorpius silently forgave him, knowing Albus would never forgive himself.

But Scorpius won’t see any of it. He won’t see Draco wither away. He won’t see Albus crushed beneath his guilt.

He’ll be gone.

Scorpius thought about their lives without him. 

His childhood room in the Manor, untouched, gathering cobwebs and collecting dust. Draco looking at their family portrait, the last living member.

Albus would roll over in bed, only to be met with Scorpius’s side vacant. His partner coming home, excited to tell him a story, only to remember they’d never share another laugh together.

He thought about the way people would eventually stop speaking his name.

Scorpius didn’t try to sleep. What was the point? He had so little time left, he didn’t want to waste any of it unconscious. 

Instead, he laid there, remembering.

Albus’s laughter, loud and bright. His father’s rare, soft smiles. The sun filtering through the window on slow, lazy mornings. The feeling of existing.

He breathed in. He breathed out.

The icy cold from his waterboarding and the unforgiving tile was strangely grounding. It was real. Unpleasant, but real. 

Scorpius wished this didn’t have to be one of his last experiences. He wished it could have been a kiss from Albus, a hug from his father, the taste of the soup his mother used to make when he was sick, or even the sound of rustling parchment in the Archives. 

Another breath in, another breath out.

Those were the past experiences of a dead man. One with very few experiences left to encounter, none pleasant at all.

The hours slipped away. The world kept turning. It will keep turning and Scorpius will be left behind.

Notes:

The (not so) calm before the (or one of the) storm(s). Seeds planted, plans laid.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 11: Where the Snake Bled

Notes:

This chapter took me some time to work on and I was lowkey anxious to post. I set an deadline for myself to post it (today, also my bday yay I'm old), so here we are meeting my arbitrary deadline that you would never have known about had I not just mentioned it.

As always, I appreciate each of you so very much. Thank you for reading.

I hope you enjoy and uh...good luck.

Scorpius managed to lean himself against the side of the tub, back pressed against the chilled metal. His clothes were still damp, his skin clammy. He had stopped shivering hours ago, his body deciding to conserve that energy.

His breathing had steadied, but the air still burned his lungs, throat raw from choking and coughing. Peeling his shirt from his chest, one of his lacerations had reopened and was bleeding sluggishly. His right hand sat uselessly in his lap, misshapen from his pointless struggles.

Scorpius was living in his memories. It seemed a better place to spend one’s final hours than the floor of a bathroom. The memories were all bittersweet. He had a finite number, no new memories would be made, not ones worth recalling anyway. But he was eternally grateful for the ones he had. 

Albus was saying “I love you” for the first time, a hushed realization in the library after a full night of studying. Both of them were delirious with lack of sleep, and Albus clapped a hand to his mouth, eyes wide with shock as the words seemed to have just tumbled out. Scorpius’s heart had soared. “I love you, too.” He remembered responding, watching Albus grin and blush.

Then, he was sitting under the willow tree on a warm Saturday afternoon, book in hand. Scorpius recalled his father coming outside every half hour or so to check up on Scorpius. Looking back, Scorpius felt guilty for being mildly annoyed with the frequent intrusions. He knew how over the moon his father was whenever Scorpius came home for the summer. If he could turn back time, he’d sit with his father, talk about Quidditch, or friends, or his Arithmancy assignments, anything.

Memories are cruel that way. Full of “what ifs” that can never be realized. Full of our mistakes, our fears, our anxieties, our grief.

No, it wasn’t worth thinking about words left unsaid. There wasn’t time for regrets.

The bathroom door opened. Rachel and Knowles.

Time was up.

Scorpius stopped breathing as they approached, delight clear on their faces. They crouched next to him.

“Oh,” Rachel brushed her thumb against Scorpius’s cheek. “He’s been crying.” Scorpius sucked in a shuddering breath. He hadn’t noticed he was crying.

Scorpius was being hauled up by his arms. For another brief moment, he nearly begged, nearly tried one last time to convince them of his innocence. But he was tired. He said nothing.

“It’s time.” Rachel was adjusting his hair, straightening his clothes, as though he didn’t quite look suitable to be headed to his own execution. His own execution . 

Without warning, they were apparating. Scorpius was being pulled, yanked, and tugged in all directions. It made his exhausted head pound as he always seemed to predict incorrectly which way they would turn each time. 

The ground lurched to meet Scorpius’s feet and he fell to his knees. It was a soft landing. He was kneeling in sand. Taking a breath, Scorpius looked up. He was in the center of an arena, design similar to that of the mock courtroom he was tried in. Elevated seats were lined with various group members. Cassius and Helena were sitting in front row seats, separate from the rest.

Above him was a massive dome, shimmering with layers of protective spells, making the air thick was magic. Whatever was beyond the barrier, Scorpius couldn’t see it. He didn’t know where he was.

A quick scan of the colosseum made Scorpius’s heart pound. A gallows sat in front of the leaders, noose hanging motionless. There was a stone platform with metal restraints, one Scorpius didn’t recognize the use for, but was quite certain was unsavory. Then a table, an array of instruments organized methodically, making Scorpius’s skin crawl. 

Cassius was standing now, waving his arms to silence the crowd. They were slow to obey, more invested in watching Scorpius as he grew accustomed to his surroundings. A spell flew from his wand, just blue sparks, but the audience finally quieted down.

Putting the wand against his throat to amplify his voice, Cassius began, looking down at Scorpius. “Welcome, Scorpius Malfoy. You have been found guilty of various crimes befitting the death penalty. You are a danger to wizardkind and Muggles alike. You will die today. But first, my allies deem it fitting and necessary that you are stripped of all dignity before your last breath. Let this be a warning to all those who stand with the Death Eaters. You are next.” Cassius sat back down, gesturing to Rachel and Knowles.

Scorpius was still nauseous, recovering from being dragged through space. His hair was grabbed and his head was turned to a camera, hovering in the air near them. 

“See that?” Rachel asked, and Knowles helpfully pointed at the flying camera. “That lets everyone watch. We put up enchanted projectors. Or bewitched ones that were already up. They’re in the Ministry, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Knockturn Alley. We tried to get some into Hogwarts, but I don’t think we were successful.” Knowles laughed at this.

Rachel crouched down next to Scorpius and leaned in close enough that he could feel her breath on his ear. “Potter is watching. Your father, too. They see how pathetic you are. Kneeling on the ground. Already crying.” 

The reaction was instinctual. Scorpius rammed his elbow into Rachel’s gut. She doubled over, lowering a knee to the ground to brace herself. Scrambling to find his feet, Scorpius was sent sprawling to his back by a rough shove from Knowles. 

“That just won’t do.” He growled, standing over Scorpius. “Lashing out against your betters again? One final lesson is in order.” 

Scorpius tensed, preparing himself for the blows. Instead, Knowles pulled a wand from his robe. Not any wand. It was Scorpius’s wand. He threw it into the sand next to Scorpius’s head. Unsure, Scorpius didn’t move to grab it, but looked at Knowles.

“A duel.” Knowles explained, drawing his own wand now. “Pick up your wand. We duel. Honorably, this time. Not like last time, you attacking the lot of us while we were unarmed. And we prove who is the better.” He then waited, his wand pointed at Scorpius’s chest.

Rolling to his side, Scorpius reached out for the wand, moving his wand hand, his right hand. It quivered uselessly at the request. He would have to wield it with his left hand, untrained. 

Grasping the wand with his left hand, he felt a familiar rush of magic. It was a caress, comforting and powerful, a feeling he didn’t know he missed until this very moment. 

It took a painfully long time for Scorpius to rise to his feet, every motion met with resistance. When he was standing, he swayed, left leg riddled with tremors at the slightest addition of weight. He gripped his wand in his left hand, too tight.

“First, we bow.” Knowles bowed dramatically, crossing his wand over his chest and shooting a leg out in front of him. Scorpius’s body vibrated furiously as his muscles fought against the bow. It was awkward and shallow, but seemingly satisfactory. 

A red light flashed from Knowles’s wand. The duel had begun.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Albus hadn’t slept. Harry had eventually pulled the files from his shaking hands, tucking them into a folder. They apparated to Albus and Scorpius’s apartment. Draco had come with. 

They sat in the living room, the last place Albus had seen Scorpius. It was silent, save for Harry occasionally flipping through the files, as though he had a new idea. Inevitably, he would lean back into the couch each time, idea seemingly fizzling out.

Draco sat in the chair across from the couch. His head was bowed, and he held his hands together tightly to stop them from shaking. 

Albus was curled on the couch, knees pressed against his chest. In his hands was the picture from Scorpius’s office, the two of them wearing Slytherin robes, smiling in the courtyard at Hogwarts. It made Albus sick, but it was like a magnet for his eyes.

A knock at the door. Albus noticed Draco’s hand jerk toward his wand, a small movement, quickly aborted. Harry was the one to stand and open the door.

It was Ironwood, the Auror that was investigating Diagon Alley. Albus joined Harry at the door and Draco craned his neck to see their visitor. 

“The projectors, the ones at the Ministry. They’ve been bewitched, they’re showing a…stadium or theater of some kind. We’ve got reports of more in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade showing the same.” Ironwood spewed quickly, not breathing between words. 

The pit deepened in Albus’s stomach. “Who is in this theater? See anyone?” He asked, not yet wanting to ask if he’d seen Scorpius.

“A bunch of people in stands, wearing matching robes. No one I recognize.” Ironwood cracked a few knuckles before continuing. “No sign of Scorpius.” He admitted finally, knowing this was the information Albus was seeking.

Albus nodded, glancing back at Draco before looking at Harry. “We need to go back to my office. See what we can learn.”

The three apparated again, this time with Ironwood. The screen near the fountain at the main entrance of the Ministry, the one usually reserved for breaking news and advertisements, now showed exactly what Ironwood described. A theater. 

All eyes were on the projection, the Ministry basically ceasing operation to watch the events unfold. They were only torn away from the screen to glance at Draco, Harry, and Albus as they pushed through the crowd.

They wordlessly watched the screen, waiting. Then, as if on cue, the snap of apparition revealed Scorpius, flanked by a man and a woman. Albus gasped, leaning forward, watching Scorpius intently as he fell to his knees. Draco tensed, but didn’t say anything.

Scorpius looked terrified. His eyes searched, around him, panicked. He clearly hadn’t been there before. His shirt was soaked in blood, remnants of old and fresh wounds. Scorpius was visibly trembling as a man in the audience, clearly someone of import, spoke to him. 

The man welcomed Scorpius, his tone formal, explaining that Scorpius would die today, but not before being ‘stripped of all dignity.’ Albus’s limbs started going numb, tingling with the need to act, to move.

“Why can’t we track where this is coming from?” He asked Ironwood, keeping his eyes locked on Scorpius.

Ironwood shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, Potter. I’d venture to guess some pretty powerful wards. Give it some time, we’ll find something.”

The woman was now holding Scorpius by the hair, whispering too quietly for the audience to hear. Albus could hear Draco’s breathing become heavier next to him. 

Then, Scorpius looked directly at Albus. Albus felt his heart sink into his stomach as he stared helplessly into Scorpius’s panicked eyes. He was shaking harder and Albus could see the miniscule flinches he made to try to escape the woman.

In a flash, Scorpius swung, his arm connecting with the woman’s gut. Draco flinched, a small noise betraying his fear. Albus was biting a knuckle, knowing this wouldn’t end well, especially considering Draco’s reaction.

Albus watched Scorpius as he was shoved to the ground almost effortlessly. A wand was thrown into the sand next to him, Scorpius’s wand. When he tried reaching for the wand, Albus noticed his right hand, purple and deformed.

“He’s hurt.” Albus breathed out. “They’re making him duel and he’s hurt.” His vision blurred and he blinked hard to clear his eyes, fat tears rolled down his face. Albus looked to Draco, who stared back blankly, his eyes flicking across Albus’s face, opening his mouth as though he was going to speak before closing his mouth and turning back to the screen.

Harry’s arm was wrapping around Albus, holding him. Albus curled into his father, grabbing his arm as though his life depended on it. They watched Scorpius stand, his legs wobbling beneath him, struggling to stay upright. 

Scorpius was bowing, or making an attempt at a bow. His entire body was convulsing as it strained under his shifting weight. Scorpius had only just managed to raise his wand, shakily, his grip twisted tight, when his opponent shot a spell.

An involuntary scream left Albus’s lips, though he didn’t notice. Harry tensed as well, accidentally squeezing Albus just slightly tighter than comfortable. Scorpius cast a protective shield, just a heartbeat before the spell connected with his chest. Sighing anxiously, Albus watched Scorpius take a step back, steadying himself.

A few more spells blocked, only just. With each spell cast from Scorpius’s opponent, the witches and wizards around them gasped. Albus could feel Harry glancing around at them, but Albus didn’t bother, though he knew the audience was staring at them almost as much as they stared at the screen. 

Shield flickering, a stunning spell made its way past the cracked protection. It struck Scorpius in the shoulder, sending him abruptly to the ground. The crowd they were standing amongst responded with mixed reactions. Some gasped in horror, while others seemed to barely be able to bite back their cheers of excitement.

While the man Scorpius was dueling was waiting for his opponent to recover, Harry forced Albus to face him. “Let’s go to your office.” His eyes swept the crowd beyond them. “Away from everyone.”

Albus nodded mutely. Harry kept his hand on Albus’s shoulder while collecting Draco by guiding him with his other hand. Draco accompanied them, but kept looking over his shoulder to watch the screen.

They were nearly sprinting to the office, fearing anything they might miss in their absence. There was another projection in the Auror Offices, less public. A few Aurors nodded to Albus as the group entered.

Scorpius was still finding his feet. His ragged breathing revealed the great effort it was taking just to stand. Mouth parted, Scorpius was panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Too rapidly.

“Expelliarmus!” Scorpius yelled, flicking his wand toward the other man. The spell was easily batted away, but Albus felt a surge of hope as he heard Scorpius’s voice and saw the flicker of strength. 

Albus could hear Draco mumbling under his breath, small breathy noises as he anxiously watched the wildly unfair duel. Like Albus, he flinched with each spell sent crackling through the air.

Scorpius’s opponent was laughing, a barking sound, one that twisted Albus’s stomach. “That all you got, Malfoy?” He held his arms out, goading Scorpius to attack again. “Give it another go.”

The camera was panning around Scorpius as he debated. Albus could see he was chewing his cheek, a nervous habit that Albus used to call him out on. 

“Confringo!” Scorpius tried, taking a small step forward as the spell burst from his wand. His opponent deflected it with a bored wave of his wand, the spell fizzling against one of the layers of shimmering wards.

“Too slow.” The man tsked as the crowd gathered in the arena laughed. He lowered his wand, aiming it at Scorpius’s legs. “Diffindo!” 

It was Scorpius’s turn to scream, a yell of surprise that warped horrifically into a shriek of agony, the cheering of the audience boomed. He was on the ground again, his hands grabbing at his right calf, sweatpants torn. Albus desperately searched for the damage hidden under the black cloth. It was evident the cut was deep when Scorpius pulled away his now blood soaked hands.

As the blood dripped from his hands to the sand, Draco’s body spasmed in a silent sob next to Albus. Scorpius’s scream was playing in Albus’s mind over and over, a haunting sound. 

Albus held his breath as Scorpius's opponent was standing over him. Scorpius didn’t seem to notice, he was rocking back and forth, clutching at his leg. The man wrenched Scorpius’s wand from his hand, and finally, Scorpius looked up at him, sheer dread in his eyes. 

“Please, please.” Scorpius started muttering, trying to scramble away from the man towering over him. The man leaned over, pulling at pieces of tattered cloth that was once the leg of Scorpius’s sweatpants. Scorpius was kicking out at the man, connecting weakly with his ankle.

His wand was aggressively pointed at Scorpius. “Want another one?” Scorpius stilled, eyes focused on the tip of the wand. He continued tugging at the fabric, finally revealing the wound he just created.

Albus felt a wave of nausea and had to close his eyes for a moment after seeing the torn flesh. The slice was deep and long, white tissue and sinew visible as the skin parted. The man pulled on Scorpius’s leg, deepening the canyon in his flesh. Scorpius wailed, his body trembling, pressing against the sand, trying to escape the grip.

The man drew his wand again, pressing it into the fresh wound. “Fuck me, is that bone?” Scorpius was crying out through gritted teeth as the wand explored the inside of his leg.

Draco wavered, his hands now bracing against a desk to keep himself standing. Albus couldn’t help but feel the same, lightheaded as he watched Scorpius try not to scream. 

“We have to do something.” Albus hissed out, unable to look away from Scorpius’s calf muscle spilling out onto the sand. 

Ironwood must have followed them to the office. “We are working on it, Potter.” He was skimming a Memo that was just sent. “Powerful wards. They know what they’re doing. We’re slowly narrowing down the location. That type of magic can’t remain undetectable for long.” Glancing up from his notes, he met Albus’s eyes, a flash of something - pity perhaps, before returning to the parchment.

Turning his attention back to the screen, Albus noticed Harry’s hand resting on Draco’s shoulder again. “He’ll be okay. We’ll find him. Look how strong he is.” Harry was muttering to Draco, both their eyes locked on the screen. Draco looked like he was actively fighting the urge to vomit.

The man had thankfully retreated from Scorpius, leaving him disarmed, crumpled on the ground. Scorpius’s hands kept hovering over his wound, protecting it without touching it. His eyes cautiously followed the man who was standing at a table.

A metal rod was retrieved and one end was thrown carelessly into a lit brazier, glowing blue blue with enchanted flames. The man lifted his arms dramatically, encouraging the crowd to cheer and clap, a grating sound to Albus.

“They love it.” Albus’s voice was a whisper, he couldn’t force it to be louder if he tried. “They want to hurt him.” It was an obvious realization, but one that shook his resolve. 

Harry gave Albus a glance, his eyes filled with pain, but he didn’t respond. There was nothing to say. 

A woman, one dressed in fine robes, sitting at the head of the arena stood. She held her wand to her throat and began. “There you have it!” The crowd erupted again and a satisfied smirk crossed her face until they quieted. “The so-called heir of Malfoy, spawn of the Dark Lord, reduced to nothing in minutes.” She sat back down.

The woman that had held Scorpius's hair, forcing him to look in the camera was stalking in front of Scorpius. “Your daddy and boyfriend are watching. They’re probably thinking about how much time they wasted training you to duel. All those hours invested, just to watch you embarrass yourself. They’re thinking about how pathetic you are.”

Scorpius flinched at the words, his eyes searching for the camera. Albus’s heart ached when he found it, his wide eyes looking into his own. He wished more than anything to hug Scorpius, tell him that any time spent with him was not a waste. Tell him that he’s never seen anything braver than Scorpius duelling, wounded and terrified.

Albus feared Scorpius believed the revolting lies, hoping that he knew the truth, but doubting it, based on Scorpius’s expression.

The man scooped the metal rod from the flames, the tip white hot. The camera zoomed in, revealing the rod to be a brand, primed and ready to mar flesh. 

Albus’s breath hitched. They were going to brand him. He couldn’t make out exactly what the brand depicted, but the thought of these people burning a scar into Scorpius enraged Albus. 

“They can’t.” Albus knew they could, but was begging that they don’t. “They can’t do this.” He turned to Harry, pleading with anyone who would listen. “Don’t let them do this.”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Scorpius was curled in the sand, eyes clenched shut as he tried ignoring the deafening cheers of the audience. His hands hovered over the gash in his leg. Whenever he moved his leg, he could feel his flesh adjust strangely, muscles freed from bone.

It was agony. Let it be over soon .

His eyes followed Knowles, breathing quickening as the metal stick was pulled from the flames.

A brand.

Knowles signaled to someone behind Scorpius, and two people jumped from the viewing benches, landing softly in the sand. They grabbed Scorpius by the arms, hauling him to the center of the arena, toward Knowles.

The sight of the brand renewed Scorpius’s need to struggle. He kicked his legs out, yelping as sand dug into his open laceration. He tugged at his arms, more tears pricking his eyes at the strain on his healing stab wound. In a moment of raw desperation, Scorpius bit one of the hands that held him, hard. He tasted iron, but didn’t relax his jaw. He heard the man roar in pain, but Scorpius held until his Diffindo wound was stepped on and he screamed as the hand was pulled from his mouth.

He was backhanded by the man he bit, the blood that had collected in his mouth misting over the sand. “Fucker!” The man yelled, shaking out the hand, droplets of blood rolling off it. Another backhand. Scorpius grunted as his head was forced to the side, but maintained his balance.

The hands were back on him, keeping him on his knees with vice-like grips. They pulled his arms behind his back, no longer in range of Scorpius’s jaws. Crimson dripped from Scorpius’s mouth, slithering down his neck.

Knowles held the brand to the sky, much to the delight of the audience. “This serpent,” he pointed the brand at Scorpius, “deserves a mark befitting his nature. Deceitful, venomous, a traitor.” He smiled, turning the brand over, admiring it. “Now contained, punished, and soon to be put down.”

Scorpius’s heart hammered. He couldn’t look away from the brand, the heat radiating off the metal as Knowles gestured with it. His instincts kept pulling at the hands holding him, a pointless attempt to get away.

Another hand tangled in his hair and Scorpius’s eyes darted up to find Rachel. She tugged harshly at his hair, forcing his head to tilt, baring the right side of his neck. Scorpius swallowed, feeling his throat struggle to pull down his saliva with the painful angle his neck was held in.

Knowles approached with the brand, holding it directly in front of Scorpius’s face. He could see it clearly. A snake, mouth open, though not baring its fangs. Mouth open in a silent scream as it was impaled by a dagger.

The brand was hot and bright. Scorpius struggled to keep his eyes open to stare at it, the heat drying them out, singeing his eyelashes. 

Then, the brand vanished, the heat transferred to the right side of Scorpius’s neck. He tried following it with his eyes, panicking when it dipped out of sight. Breaths came quickly in and out, through his nose. One final tug, one final desperate attempt to escape the inevitable.

Pain. Blinding. It didn’t just burn, it seared, it burrowed . 

Scorpius could smell his own burning flesh as the brand sizzled against his skin. The smoke filled his nose, making it even more of a challenge to breathe. 

 He recoiled, feeling hairs from his scalp tear from his head, feeling the lacerations on his chest reopen. None of that mattered. He had to get away. Away from the metal threatening to tunnel into his neck.

A choke made him realize he had been screaming, his raw throat finally protesting. Thunderous applause echoed through the arena. He briefly wondered if his ears were bleeding.

The brand was finally pulled away, having been held against the skin for far longer than necessary. As the brand left, Scorpius could feel chunks of flesh peel away, fused to the scorching metal.

There is no reprieve from the pain. The wound was still smoking, the pain lingering deep, unrelenting. Scorpius was gasping for air, struggling to find the time to feed his lungs between howls of agony.

Scorpius was dropped, collapsing to the ground, writhing. His hands pulled at his shirt collar, tugging the material away from the mark. Sobbing, he rolled back and forth in the sand, a frenzied attempt to find any relief.

He found none.

Grains of sand embedded themselves in the brand, shards of glass, boring their way into the wound. Each movement of his head felt like he was struck by lightning, the skin on his neck tightening, tugging on the charred flesh.

Scorpius’s vision was edged with black. He tried relaxing, hoping maybe he’d lose consciousness, just slip away and not wake up. It felt like he was underwater again, sounds dampened and vision darkening. 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Albus screamed with Scorpius as the brand was pressed against him. He watched his best friend thrash animalistically to escape the pain. Falling to his knees, he kept watching the screen, crying out with incoherent mumblings.

The sounds Scorpius made, they were inhuman. Albus’s hands pressed against his ears, trying to block them out. The sharp screams pierced right through his defenses.

Clutching his chest, Albus distantly noticed his father crouch beside him, holding him. He was saying something, but all Albus could hear were the screams torn from Scorpius’s throat, the sound of the brand kissing his neck. 

Albus looked to Draco, to say something, anything . Draco was frozen, unmoving. Every muscle in his body appeared tense. When the brand was pulled away, Draco leaned forward, eyes assessing his son, panicked. 

Draco was pale. Draco was always pale, but Albus could have easily mistaken him for a corpse just now, if it weren’t for his unhinged breathing. Draco pressed a hand to his mouth, as though trying to stop something from escaping, his other trembling hand reaching toward Scorpius, a small movement.

Albus couldn’t take it. He wanted to rip his heart out and stomp on it. It hurt . Albus wished he were the one branded, the one tortured, the one that would soon be dead. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair . It wasn’t fair .

“Dad…” Albus’s voice cracked through the mucus caught in his throat. “Dad, I can’t. I can’t watch him die. Please don’t let him die.” 

A small noise. Albus realized Harry was crying. He could tell his father was struggling to find the words. What could possibly make this right? Nothing.

Harry pulled Albus closer, squeezing him gently in his arms, rocking them both back and forth. There were no words. Harry rubbed the back of Albus’s neck, like he used to when Albus was stressed, telling his father about now exceptionally insignificant worries, like Potions OWLs or ideas for dates. 

The people on the screen were preparing the stone platform, adjusting the metal cuffs. Scorpius was left alone now, squirming on the ground, clawing at his shirt, trying to keep it away from his freshest wound. 

As Scorpius’s frantic thrashing slowed, the camera focused on the brand, red and raw. Albus could see it clearly. A snake being stabbed by a dagger. A snake being killed. 

Somehow, Draco managed to become even more pallid at the reveal of the imagery. The tendons on his neck flexed as he drew an unsteady breath.

Albus was sore from sobbing, screaming, and crying. His lungs begged him to stop as his muscles ached. 

“He’s still alive.” Harry finally tried, feeling remarkably powerless to comfort his son, to ease any of Draco’s anguish. “They haven’t - he’s still breathing - still…”

Shaking his head, Albus was trying to breathe, feeling like he was suffocating. “Dad - that’s not enough. They’re going to kill him. They are killing him.” He could barely choke the words out.

Instead of speaking, Harry opted to hug Albus tighter. They were killing Scorpius, with the three of them absolutely powerless to stop it. 

The man and woman were approaching Scorpius. Albus was nauseous, holding his breath as he could only wait and watch the next events unfold. They pulled at Scorpius’s arms, dragging him through the sand. Scorpius tried standing, tried getting his legs under him, but they feebly fell back into the sand.

Scorpius was unceremoniously dropped at the stone platform. The woman tugged Scorpius’s shirt off, revealing the source of the blood stains on the shirt. Albus coughed as he choked his own gasp. 

Scorpius’s chest was covered in cuts, partially scabbed, but many were beeding anew from his most recent trauma. Throat tightening, Albus was desperately trying not to think about what may have caused so many wounds.

The woman was touching Scorpius. Her hands explored his bare torso and Scorpius was leaning away from her, his face revealing his disgust. The touch was grossly intimate, her fingers ghosting over his exposed flesh, caressing his cheek. Scorpius shuddered and tensed, but stopped trying to avoid the touch. This wasn’t the first time she’d done this.

Albus’s heart ached as he watched Scorpius endure the unwanted touching. It seemed like an insignificant part of this display to notice, considering Scorpius had just been branded and cut open, but something about this violation was particularly unsettling to Albus.

Still kneeling, Scorpius’s arms were being forced around the pillar jutting from the center of the platform. They were cuffed on either side, pulling him into an embrace-like grip around the stone. 

The man Scorpius duelled with was looking over the array of tools on the table. He grabbed a leather whip, tightly curled, and slowly walked toward Scorpius’s exposed back.

“No, no, no .” Albus was mumbling, holding Harry’s arm in a bruising grip. “They can’t. ” Albus continued absentmindedly whispering out protests as one of the women on the screen stood, the one at the front of the arena, seemingly in a position of power.

The woman waved her hands, signaling the crowd to quiet. “Let’s see some blood before we carry out the sentence!” She raised her wand, which the audience took as their cue to resume their cheering.

Just behind the stone platform, the man was unfurling the whip. The leather at the tip was glowing with some type of enchantment, glimmering as the man snaked the whip through the sand, much to the excitement of the audience.

Suddenly, the whip was cracked, striking the pillar above Scorpius’s head. Scorpius made a noise of surprise and flinched, pulling at the restraints. Another crack and the whip landed in the sand just to Scorpius’s right, making him recoil and yelp again.

Albus could see Scorpius’s ribs, expanding and contracting quickly. He twitched at every sound, waiting for the whip to connect with his flesh. Albus twitched with him.

The man raised the whip again, waiting for the crowd to respond with shouts and whoops. Albus sucked in a breath, holding it as he waited, but strangely, the man lowered his hand slowly, cocking his head as he walked toward Scorpius.

The camera followed the man as he crouched near Scorpius. He was panting between coughs, trying to clear his throat. 

“Don’t -” Another cough. “Don’t watch.” Scorpius was looking at the camera, his head resting against the pillar. Albus was both relieved and terrified to hear Scorpius speak. It was proof he wasn’t gone yet.

“No?” The man taunted, holding the whip out for Scorpius to see. “Don’t want them to see how pathetic you are?” He was smiling, and Albus’s fists clenched.

Scorpius ignored the man, continuing to stare into the camera. “Don’t - Albus…father…please. Don’t look.” He was begging.

Albus choked out a sob as Scorpius said his name. He felt Draco stiffen next to him, exhibiting a similar reaction. A part of Albus so desperately wanted to obey Scorpius’s wishes, to stop watching the suffering of the man he loved, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Scorpius to suffer alone.

The man’s smile widened, much to the anger of Albus. “You know, Malfoy.” He was turning the whip over in his hands and Scorpius finally looked at him. “I reckon Potter’s brat is watching real close.” He stood, walking behind Scorpius to his other side, lazily trailing the whip across his back, making Scorpius arch away from it.

Crouching on Scorpius’s other side, he continued his mocking. “I reckon he might actually like this. Been shackled to a Malfoy so long, he’s probably glad to be rid of you, watching you put in your place. We’re taking out the trash for him.” The man searched Scorpius’s face, waiting for the response. 

There was a pause, the two men staring each other down. Scorpius pulled against the cuff as though he forgot for a moment he was restrained. Then, he leaned forward, spitting at the man, his only means of fighting back. The small spray was tinged red and flecked the man's face.

He didn’t wipe it away, instead, he just laughed again, a revolting sound. Albus silently cursed and praised Scorpius in the same thought. Every tiny ounce of resistance Scorpius showed fed the tiny feeling of hope Albus was clinging to. Scorpius didn’t believe all the lies. 

“I can’t say I’d blame him. Couldn’t imagine coming home to filth like you every day.” He didn’t retaliate, not just yet anyway. The man stood, striding away from Scorpius, holding the whip limply, letting it drag a line through the sand.

Another crack. The leather slapped against the stone on the ground, worryingly close to Scorpius’s legs. Scorpius flinched again, yelping as his knees shuffled closer to the pillar, pressing himself into it. 

Scorpius couldn’t see it, but the man smirked at the reaction, bouncing on the balls of his feet, not unlike a child begging his parents for a chocolate frog. He pulled the whip close to him, letting it flow through his fingers. The crowd was hungry, wanting, as they screamed for blood. Albus noticed Scorpius shrink a little, trying to make himself small, as the sound in the arena became thundering.

The whip was raised again.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Scorpius had all but forgotten the throbbing brand on his neck as he spat bloody saliva at Knowles. His heart was racing so quickly it hurt, making his lungs burn, as though he’d just ran a marathon.

Oddly, Knowles just stared at him for a few exceptionally long moments. Then, he left, after a final insult naturally, leaving Scorpius to awkwardly whip his head around, trying to keep him in eyesight. 

The whip cracked again. Scorpius felt a burst of wind against his legs as it smacked the stone near them. Trying to curl into himself, Scorpius pushed his legs as close to the pillar as he could. 

The crowd was so agonizingly loud. He could feel their rhythmic cheers pound into his chest. His ears surely must be bleeding by now. 

There was a crackle of anticipation in the air. Scorpius could feel every muscle in his body tense, his shoulders flexing as though that would somehow protect his back from the upcoming abuse. 

Time slowed and Scorpius braced. 

More pain. Sharp and sudden. Unlike the brand, the pain subsided within a few seconds, leaving Scorpius with a lingering throb.

Another lash, intersecting with the first. Scorpius bit his lip to stop from yelling, not necessarily from the pain, but from the shock. 

Another. Scorpius felt his skin break, a strange millisecond of relief, as though his flesh was stretched too taut and the leather relieved the tension. The sensation was quickly replaced by stinging pain, another fresh wound exposed to air.

A fourth lash. Another parting of flesh. Scorpius’s back felt warm and feverish already. 

The fifth strike splattered blood against the stone, making a repulsive wet sound.

A sixth. The momentum of the whip forced Scorpius forward, his forehead connecting sharply with the pillar. He opted to press himself tighter against the pillar.

The next strike was the first to pull a scream from Scorpius. The tip of the whip managed to wrap itself around his chest to land against the stab wound on his shoulder. 

The next three lashes struck in quick succession, a small yelp accenting each one. The pain was compounding, growing with each new wound added.

“A break.” Knowles’s voice made Scorpius jump, unexpected. “You’re holding up better than I thought, Malfoy. That’s good. More fun for us.” 

Knowles walked in front of the pillar, ensuring Scorpius could see him. He held the whip out again, the leather dripping viscous drops of red into the sand. Running the whip through his hand, he collected a small pool of Scorpius’s blood in his palm. Slowly, he tilted his hand, letting the blood trickle off his fingers.

“We’re running out of time.” Knowles gestured to the crowd. “And you’re not begging for death quite yet.” The handle of the whip was pressed into one of the new lacerations decorating Scorpius’s body. “I’ve an idea.”

The whip was back in Scorpius’s view, as was Knowles’s wand. He held the end of the whip, mumbling an incantation, gesturing with his wand. The plain leather transformed into metal, a jagged pyramid now at the tip of the whip, heavy and bladed.

The thought of the metal slicing into his already injured back made Scorpius instinctually yank against his restraints again. Knowles caught the moment of panic and pushed the new instrument against Scorpius’s arm, drawing a harsh, red line into his skin as Scorpius hissed in a breath.

Knowles was gone again, standing out of Scorpius’s view. Scorpius closed his eyes this time, trying not to listen as the crowd laughed in anticipation for his suffering.

Scorpius screamed. The edge of the metal struck beneath his right shoulder blade, but instead of the sharp sting of leather, it penetrated his flesh and bit into muscle. It stuck itself into his skin. 

Walking back over to Scorpius, Knowles had to yank the metal from the bound man, eliciting a sob. “Fuck me, that hurt, didn’t it?” Not waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question, Knowles took up his position again.

Another strangled yell, one Scorpius tried to hold in. The metal burrowed again, though Knowles managed to flick the whip again, freeing the blades. A chunk of flesh came with, splatting against stone.

Again and again, the metal carved into Scorpius’s back. His throat was raw, but he could no longer stop himself from screaming. Each strike of the metal was made worse tenfold as it was roughly yanked from his skin.

The metal was currently lodged in Scorpius’s upper back, just below his neck. “No, no, no. Please, no.” Scorpius muttered, his muscles tightening as he waited for the pain.

“No?” Knowles repeated, laughing. “Want me just to leave that in here?” He was approaching, and Scorpius bit his tongue to stop any more antagonizing pleas from escaping.

Knowles took hold of the metal, but instead of jerking it out of his flesh, he leaned into it. It sliced deeper, feeling as though it may start cutting into his spine. Scorpius cried out, his chest crushed against the pillar as Knowles drove the metal into his body.

“Please. Please stop. Please, please.” Scorpius choked out. The pressure relented. Scorpius gasped sharply as the blade was pulled away. A dull thud could be heard as the whip was discarded, landing in the sand.

“You asked so nicely.” Rachel was purring in his ear, working on unlocking him from the cuffs. Scorpius was focused on breathing, the black edges threatening his vision once more.

He was alone for just a moment, the others leaving to prepare whatever horror awaited him next, so he assumed. Scorpius moved away from the pillar, making room for him to support himself on the ground with his left hand. Leaning over to rest on all threes stretched his back, straining the torn flesh.

Rachel was back at his side. “It’s almost time.” She pulled at Scorpius’s arm, a gesture he knew meant he was supposed to stand. He looked up at her, looked into her eyes, and shook his head.

More hands supported him, forcing him to his feet. Both legs wounded, he groaned as they dragged through the sand behind him, despite his best efforts to keep them under him. 

He realized, a little too late, that they were walking him to the gallows, when they reached the stairs to the elevated platform. Instinct kicked in again as Scorpius resisted, not in any real attempt to fight back, but because every remaining fiber of his being was screaming against walking to his death. 

Scorpius had to fight. What else was there to do? He didn’t want to die.

In response to his feeble efforts, the hands released him. Scorpius’s knees buckled immediately, sinking down into the sand, granules clinging to his sweat and blood soaked skin.

“Go ahead. Run.” Knowles taunted. Scorpius couldn’t move. The hands pulled him from the floor, dragging him painfully up the stairs. Through his agony, Scorpius distantly felt shame, embarrassment from not being stronger.

The noose was hanging ominously above Scorpius. The hands straightened him, forcing him to stand tall. Slowly, they stopped supporting him. He stumbled, his knees very nearly buckling again, but he managed to catch himself.

His legs trembled beneath him, the entire wooden platform shook as he stood. The white hot waves of agony shooting through his calf made him lightheaded.

The noose was now hanging directly in front of Scorpius’s face. His eyes followed the curve of the rope, the rope that would kill him. Scorpius was terrified.

Scorpius didn’t want to die.

Was there sense in dying with dignity, standing here and letting them kill him? Should he fight? Try to run? There was no escape, but surely he shouldn’t just stand here, letting them execute him.

Knowles grabbed the noose, and moved to slide it over Scorpius’s head. Scorpius didn’t move. He tried. He screamed at his body, cursed his legs, as they simply refused to move. 

The rope was now around his throat, tightened, not enough to cut off his air. The course fibers dug against the raw skin on his neck, scraping against the fresh brand. Scorpius was still unable to convince his body to move, he could only stand, violently shaking, nauseous and faint.

Everyone in the arena seemed to take a few moments to appreciate Scorpius wearing the noose. Why wouldn’t his body respond? Why couldn’t he move?

Scorpius’s weight shifted, his right knee nearly giving out again. The rope pulled tight, choking him for a few moments before he found his footing again, gasping for air.

The audience laughed. “Eager to get it over with, are you?” A voice called out, met with louder laughter.

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, traitor to wizardkind.” A voice boomed out, one Scorpius recognized. Looking up, Scorpius noticed he was facing Cassius and Helena. They were getting front row seats to his death. 

Cassius continued, now pleased he had Scorpius’s attention. “Do you have any last words before justice is served?” 

Silence.

Scorpius’s breathing was labored and shallow. His lips parted, but his voice didn’t work.

He wanted to say so much. He wanted to tell Albus how much he loved him. He wanted to tell his father not to blame himself. He wanted to lie and tell them it was okay, he wasn’t afraid. The words wouldn’t come. His body refused.

Eyes were on him, expectant. This was it . Every second was slipping away.

Not yet, please, not yet .

“Nothing to say? Nothing at all?” Another voice yelled, sounding disappointed.

Too much to say . And not enough time. 

Scorpius’s thoughts were racing, interrupting one another. 

The rope went taut again, making Scorpius gag for just a moment. He hadn’t lost his balance this time. His eyes followed the rope, finding Knowles’s hands on the other end. Knowles tugged the rope again and Scorpius’s left hand clawed at the noose as he choked. Knowles held the rope for a few seconds, before relaxing, giving Scorpius time to breath again.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Knowles asked, staring at the rope instead of looking at Scorpius. “How your body fights to survive, even though you know it’s over?” He pretended as though he were about to pull the rope again, just to smile as Scorpius braced. 

Cassius spoke again, ignoring how Knowles was toying with Scorpius. “Malfoy.” Scorpius managed to look up at him. “Last words.” 

Scorpius’s mouth opened again, but his dry throat produced no sound. Tears were trailing down his cheeks as he struggled to string words together. 

He let out a choked breath, a half-formed whisper of - Dad -  but it was cut off as the rope shifted again, making him instinctively jolt to stay upright.

His mind was too full of everything he wanted to say. 

“Last chance.” Cassius derailed Scorpius’s thought trains. “Speak up, Malfoy.” His voice emanated patience that didn’t seem to be shared by the crowd that was growing restless.

Say something, anything. Tell them you love them. Tell them it’s not their fault. Tell them you’re sorry. Say something, you stupid, worthless, piece of shit. You can’t even say good-bye. You deserve this. They deserve better than you.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real .

Albus watched in disbelief as Scorpius was walked, no not walked, dragged to the gallows. The noose had been drawing Albus’s attention since they started watching, but it didn’t feel real.

A noose was around Scorpius’s neck. His Scorpius. Kind Scorpius. Gentle Scorpius. Loving Scorpius. 

Albus’s breath hitched, still clutching Harry’s arms, trying to anchor himself because this wasn’t real.

This couldn’t be happening .

Freely sobbing, Albus vaguely noticed that he was begging them to stop, begging his dad to make it stop. Harry kept recollecting Albus in his arms as his son flailed in anguish, both feeling equally helpless.

There were Aurors behind him, chattering quickly about their progress. “We’re getting a clearer read on the signature of the magic being used to maintain the wards.”

Another Auror chimed in. “We’ve got it narrowed down within a radius, but we need more time.”

“ We’re out of time. ” It was Draco’s voice, strained as though it was physically painful for him to speak. He had been frozen, unmoving since they arrived in the office. There was a bottomless ache in his eyes, a look that Albus feared he shared.

They weren’t quick enough. They should have done more . They must have missed something.

Scorpius was being prompted to say his final words. He looked ready to speak, like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Or couldn’t. His eyes stared directly in front of him, looking at nothing, not moving a muscle.

Albus was silently begging Scorpius to say something. It didn’t matter what. Say something, anything.

He had always loved Scorpius’s voice. The way he hummed under his breath when he was thinking. The way he read aloud in the mornings, not even realizing he was doing it, voice still rough from sleep.

Scorpius never shut the fuck up. Albus loved it about him, always having something to say, even if no one was listening. 

Right now, when Albus needed to hear him the most - he was silent.

The rope was being pulled, and Albus couldn’t breath. He was forced to watch his best friend fight for his life, primal fear coursing through Scorpius’s ruined body as it desperately battled for air. For a moment, Albus swore he felt the rope around his own neck.

He’d never hear him whisper “Goodnight, Albus” before rolling over in bed. Never hear him rant about some book he was reading. Never hear him laugh - not the polite chuckle he gave others, but the real laugh, the unfiltered one, the one he only ever let slip when they were alone .

The grip on the rope relaxed, enough for Scorpius to continue drawing his ragged breaths. The gift of just a few more moments of life.

The moments stretched, time creeped by slowly, the universe letting Albus feel the flood of memories, of moments, both significant and mundane, that he and Scorpius shared. The moments that had passed, without a second thought, taken for granted.

Because there were always supposed to be more memories .

They had plans. Stupid, casual ones, made without thinking—“We’ll go to Italy one day, won’t we?” “We should get a cat.” “I’ll take a break next summer, we’ll just disappear somewhere.”

They had promised each other forever, but forever was running out.

It wasn’t a promise they’d said out loud, not exactly. But the promise of forever had been there, nestled in every “I’ll see you later” and “When we’re old, we’ll…” and “Next time, we should…”

Next time.

There would be no next time. No later. No old age. Just now - this single, horrifying moment where the rope pulled taut around Scorpius’s neck, where Albus was frozen in place, unable to do a damn thing.

They had never talked about death. Not seriously, anyway. Why would they? 

Once, after a funeral, Scorpius had offhandedly mentioned something about not wanting a grand memorial, about preferring something quiet.

Albus had called him an idiot for even thinking about it. “You’re not dying before me.”

Scorpius had smirked, like he thought the idea was funny. “You don’t get to decide that.”

But he was supposed to.

Albus had made a promise. A real one, not the unspoken kind. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

He’d said it after Scorpius’s first bad day at the Ministry. Said it with every ounce of stubbornness, and maybe naivety, in his body. And Scorpius had smiled - smiled , like he actually believed Albus could keep that promise.

Albus wanted to. More than anything.

Yet here he was, watching Scorpius shudder beneath the weight of the rope, eyes wide with fear.

The man in the ornate robe was speaking, but the ringing in Albus’s ears was louder, the rush of blood drowning out all noise.

Albus needed to say something. Needed to tell Scorpius that he loved him, that he was sorry, that -

Scorpius closed his eyes.

No. No, don’t do that. Stay with me.

Scorpius was bracing, eyes darting around, his body trembling wildly. 

And then the rope went tight.

Albus’s world ended .

Notes:

:)

Chapter 12: False Salvation

Scorpius’s feet no longer brushed the platform below him. The rope coiled around his neck was taut, hauling him into the empty air. His hands were desperately clutching at the noose, tugging it away from his skin to no avail. His legs kicked out, a futile effort to find purchase.

Albus could only watch Scorpius’s frantic fight for life. The audience of the arena roared in celebration, laughing and cheering. It was a stark contrast to the abject horror that was hanging heavy in the Auror office.

Horrible, choked gurgles were escaping Scorpius’s mouth. Tiny breaths, desperate gasps, just enough air to sustain his thrashing. 

It was lasting longer than Albus had anticipated. Of course, he wasn’t well versed in how to properly go about hanging someone, but minutes ticked by, feeling like hours, and Scorpius was still twisting, still clinging on.

A part of Albus just wanted Scorpius to let go. Stop struggling. Be still.

The other part of Albus didn’t want Scorpius to ever let go. Every minute of agony Scorpius endured was another minute the Aurors had to find him.

Scorpius’s movements were slowing, hands struggling to grasp at the rope, slippery with sweat, legs sluggishly swimming through the air. The ragged gasps were becoming more infrequent. 

No, no, not like this.

Albus’s hands were at his own throat, his own breathing labored as he was forced to watch Scorpius start to lose his battle for air.

The sky split apart with a deafening crack. The shimmering wards above Scorpius were torn open, like they were being unzipped. Sunlight poured into the arena, out of the wound in the sky, illuminating a few dozen new figures apparating onto the sand.

Chaos erupted. Most of the audience vanished in an instant, the sharp cracks of apparition echoing through the arena. Those who remained fought back, spells cutting through the air like whips of fire.

Scorpius was dropped, collapsing unceremoniously. Leaning closer to the screen, Albus stared at his unmoving body, searching for a sign of life. Scorpius was crumpled on the platform, rope still encircled around his neck. The man who had been holding it whirled, wand raised, spells colliding in bursts of light as hooded figures climbed the gallows.

“What’s happening?” Albus asked, voice edged with panic. He wildly looked around him, feeling a tiny flutter of hope in his chest as the magic hiding Scorpius from him was falling to the ground in tattered shreds.

“The wards are down, Potter.” Ironwood was calling to him from the center of a huddled group of Aurors poring over a map. “Give us a minute or two. We almost have him.”

Draco was holding his wand, chest heaving as he, too, studied Scorpius. Harry had joined the Aurors, holding up some of their notes next to the map.

The hooded figures were overpowering Scorpius’s captors with ease. Most of the attendees had already apparated, avoiding the fight. The rest were outnumbered and their numbers were continuing to dwindle. 

Three figures fought their way onto the platform. They were leaning over Scorpius, obstructing him from Albus’s view. 

“We have to go.” Albus was screaming, glancing between Draco, Harry, and his fellow Aurors. “We have to go now. ” 

The hooded figures were kneeling around Scorpius, linking arms and gathering him in their grasp.

They vanished. Scorpius vanished. Sand swirled in the air, hovering for a few moments before sprinkling back onto the wood.

They took him.

“Where are they?” Albus was advancing on the Aurors’ table now. “They took him.” His voice was shaking. 

His tiny glimmer of hope warped. They had been so close. And now - now Scorpius was gone again. 

Draco was covering his mouth with one hand, the other still clenched around his wand. His bloodshot eyes were staring at the empty gallows. 

“We’ve got it!” Harry was pulling on Draco and Albus, dragging them to the map.

Eyes still locked on the screen, Albus watched one hooded figure raise his wand to the sky, green light erupting from the tip. In little tornadoes of sand, all the figures were gone, leaving the ruined arena.

The group linked arms, just as the people who took Scorpius did. “Ready?” Harry asked, looking pointedly at Albus.

A brisk nod from Albus and he was being yanked through space. Albus landed, with a small stumble, in the sand pit Scorpius had been in just minutes before. 

The arena was intimidating, now that Albus could see it from the inside. The tiered seats towered over the center, making him feel insignificant.

The air was still crackling with magic from the variety of spells cast. Notably, the Dark Mark hovered in the sky again, providing little confusion as to who interrupted the execution.

Aurors were rushing about the arena, crouching around all the people that were scattered across the floor. There were nine bodies on the floor, none wearing the signature hooded black robes.

“Potter!” Ironwood was leaning over a wizard near the gallows. “He’s alive and conscious.” He was helping the man sit up, assessing him for wounds.

Albus, Harry, and Draco approached the gallows. The sight of the tall wooden structure made Albus uneasy, streaks of blood decorating it, showing the path that Scorpius was dragged.

As they neared the wizard, Albus realized it was the man that had tortured Scorpius. This was the man that forced Scorpius to duel, the man that held the brand to his neck, the man that whipped him, and the man that held the rope.

Without thinking, Albus stalked towards him, drawing his wand. He didn’t have a plan, didn’t know what he wanted to cast, but the rage blinded him.

“Albus.” Harry grabbed his arm, voice soft. 

“Let me go.” Wrenching his arm, Albus freed himself from Harry’s grasp. He stowed his wand after a moment’s hesitation. “We start with talking.” His voice resigned.

Harry nodded, relieved. Draco was staring at the man on the ground, and it was quite clear his hand was curled around his own wand in his robe pocket.

Auror Ironwood stood from next to the man, gesturing that the three of them follow him. “That’s Ian Knowles.” He began, once he figured he was out of earshot of the alleged Knowles. “He’s in our custody now.” Draco was shot a wary glance. “But, I’m allowing you to ask some questions first. He’s wounded, nothing critical. You’ve got a few minutes before we need to get him to medical.”

“Thank you.” Albus said in earnest, patting a hand on Ironwood’s upper arm as he turned to their prisoner.

When Albus locked eyes with Knowles, all the furious words, the rage filled questions vacated his mind. There was so much he wanted to say, but his mind went blank and his heart raced when he looked at the man.

“Potter, is it?” The man asked, pointing up weakly at Albus, who still seemed to be frozen. “And Malfoy.” He smiled as he noticed Draco. “He never shut up about you two.”

“Where did they take Scorpius Malfoy?” Harry was the one who asked, sensing the difficulties Albus and Draco were having with producing any coherent sentences.

Knowles scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Fuck if I know.” He gave a shrug, but his eyes assessed Albus’s face. “He was your bitch, was he?” Knowles’s lips curled into a twisted smile as Albus’s hands clenched at his side.

“Why did they take Scorpius?” Harry ignored the taunt, still prying for information. 

Another eye roll. “You know exactly why.” Knowles winced as he tried sitting up further, clutching at his ribs. “Kid of an infamous house of Death Eaters and son of Voldemort. Can’t imagine why they want him.” 

Draco made a small noise, like he was about to say something, protest, but decided against it. The quickly aborted sound did not go unnoticed by Knowles as he gave Draco an eyebrow raise.

“My turn for a question.” Knowles said, matter of factly. Before being corrected on how an interrogation worked, Knowles continued, looking Albus in the eye. “Want to know what we did to him? You saw him. Right fucking mess. Want to know how he ended up like that?” His eyes searched Albus’s face as he spoke, watching it fall, watching him blink as tears welled.

Albus didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to know, not really. He didn’t want to think about Scorpius, alone, scared, and hurt. But he had to know, didn’t he? 

“Albus.” Harry’s voice again, filled with concern. “Don’t. We need to focus on finding him. This won’t help.” He glanced at Draco, cocking his head slightly as if to warn Draco not to press the matter.

Knowles laughed, the same bark he made when he was duelling Scorpius. “You want to know, don’t you?” He looked at Draco now, licking his lips in anticipation. “Come on, let me give you the highlights. Who knows, it might help somehow.”

The breathing next to Albus was measured, controlled. Draco was tense, trying not to react. His face was carefully neutral, the practiced Malfoy stare.

“Just yesterday,” Knowles started, deciding that he was going to share whether anyone asked or not. “We waterboarded him. Tried to see if he knew anything about that terrorist attack. Don’t reckon he knew anything.”

“Stop.” Harry warned, throwing a harsh look at Knowles before gauging the reactions of a now very tense Albus and Draco. Both were gripping their wands, but not moving.

“Little rat didn’t know when to quit.” Knowles’s turn to ignore Harry. “You saw his hand? Yeah, he got that after trying to run on us. Stole my wand, that piece of shit did. Didn’t make it far, but crushed his wand hand for good measure.”

Albus was nauseous, picturing Scorpius, terrified, running, trying anything he could to escape. His eyes pricked with tears as he felt the hope of fleeing, the chance of freedom, crushed under Knowles’s boot.

Another smirk, noticing Albus on the verge of tears. “He cried for me, too.” Knowles’s eyes flicked across Albus’s face.

“That’s enough.” Harry spat down at Knowles, urging Albus and Draco to move along. “He doesn’t know anything useful to us.” 

Albus knew Harry was right, this Knowles was just antagonizing them, wasting their time. But…wasn’t it his responsibility to learn what happened to Scorpius? To piece together the puzzle?

“We made him eat on all fours, like a dog.” Knowles didn’t relent, clearly unconcerned about consequences. “One day, he gave us some lip for it. I broke his arm. You should have heard the noises he made when I snapped it.” He laughed, taking in the shocked looks on Draco and Albus’s faces.

Drawing his wand, Albus pointed it sharply at Knowles. Draco didn’t move, but Harry grabbed Albus’s shoulder.

“Why?” Albus emphasized his question with a sharp flick of his wand.

Another laugh. Hoarse, wheezing. “That’s the best part, Potter.” Knowles shifted, wincing as he grabbed at his ribs. “Call him a Death Eater, and we could do whatever we wanted.” He let out a sharp, pained breath before continuing. “Squad of fucking lunatics. You heard them, didn’t you? Talking like they’d been chosen , like this was some divine mission to cleanse wizardkind.”

Draco’s voice was quiet, but his words cut like glass. “And you’re not a lunatic? The one whipping and branding my son?”

Knowles grinned, unbothered. “No. I’m no lunatic.” His eyes gleamed, excitement evident. “They thought they were saving the world. Me? I just thought it was fun .”

Silence.

Then Draco lunged. Harry was barely fast enough, shoving himself between them. For a moment, Draco fought against the restraint, breaths coming fast, wand half-raised like he was deciding if it was worth it. Then, with a growl of frustration, he yanked himself free, turning on his heel and stalking away, his fists clenched tight at his sides.

Knowles watched him go, and if he felt fear, he didn’t show it. Instead, he let out another quiet chuckle, voice drenched in satisfaction.

“We’re done here.” Harry said to Albus with authority, guiding Albus away from Knowles with his hand on his back. Harry gave Auror Ironwood a quick wave. “You can take him in, we’re through.”

“Hey, Potter!” Knowles called out. Both Harry and Albus reacted, turning to face him. He looked amused, before waving his hand toward Albus. “He used to cry out for you. When he was alone in his cage. Fucking pathetic.”

Albus was shaking, holding his hands against his sides to stop from reacting, lunging like Draco did. Harry was guiding him again, wordlessly, away from the goading.

Taking a few steps from the gallows, Albus was staring at the stone pillar, the one Scorpius was chained to as he was whipped. “Oh.” He said quietly, staring down at the smattering of blood glistening on the stone.

Reaching out, Albus touched the metal cuffs, feeling the spot that Scorpius’s hands were not 15 minutes earlier. He slipped a hand into one, just to feel the metal that Scorpius had felt. 

The discarded whip was being examined by a couple Aurors, the sand surrounding it soaked in blood. Albus’s eyes skimmed over the crude metal tip, a fresh wave of fury boiling to the surface. 

The body of a witch, the one that had touched Scorpius, caressed him, was lying near the brazier. Her eyes were open, glossy and unseeing. She appeared otherwise unharmed. 

The Killing Curse. That’s what took the life of one of Scorpius’s tormentors. Quick. Clean. Undeserved. She looked too peaceful, too whole. Albus wanted worse. She should have bled like Scorpius, she should have been broken, torn to shreds.

Small voices echoed through the back of his skull. Voices that made Albus’s stomach twist, dark and insidious. I should have done it myself. I should have made her pay.

Looking away from the corpse for a moment, Albus took a deep breath. This wasn’t him. He couldn’t afford to think like this. 

Again, Albus focused on the body, trying to see her as what she was, a corpse. A dead woman. Someone’s family member. A monster. The bitch who put her fucking filthy hands on-

Another deep breath. Albus pressed his knuckles into his temple, a feeble effort to clear his head. He forced himself to turn away from the corpse, the urge to spit on it becoming overwhelming.

Albus tried, desperately, to focus on investigating, seeking out clues, looking for anything that might guide them to Scorpius. His eyes couldn’t stop roaming along the divots in the sand, the ones Scorpius made as he was dragged, or the scuffs on the wooden gallows, made by Scorpius’s shoes in a fevered attempt to breathe.

All around them, there was an echo of Scorpius. They had been so close, mere minutes away from saving him. They failed.

The brazier was naught but ashes, the brand resting inside. An Auror pulled the iron rod to bag it as evidence. Charred bits of Scorpius’s flesh were still clinging to the metal, the acrid scent of the burning flesh lingering in the air. The only pieces of Scorpius Albus had left.

Scorpius didn’t know how hard they’d tried. Didn’t know Albus had spent sleepless nights tracking every possible lead, hoping for a sign. Didn’t know Draco had begged the Ministry for help. Didn’t know the tears that had been shed in desperation.

11 days. That’s how long it had been since Sorpius had last seen Albus. 11 days alone with people that hated him, that looked at him and saw a monster. 11 days wondering if Albus even cared, if Albus loved him enough to fight for him. 

What if Scorpius had given up? What if he thought they had abandoned him? The thought twisted Albus’s gut, a bitter pain he couldn’t shake. 

Knowing what Scorpius had been forced to endure, Albus couldn’t blame him if he had given up. What Knowles had done, what they all did, it was unforgivable. 

Harry’s hand was resting on Albus’s shoulder, and Albus fought the urge to flinch away. “Albus. I think we’ve found everything we can here.” He breathed in through his nose, buying time. “We are meeting with Minister Granger in a few minutes. Anything you want to talk about before we go?”

Albus’s throat tightened. All these thoughts, saying them aloud, it made them feel too real. The words were lodged in his throat like broken glass. 

He wanted to tell his father how every time his eyes closed, he could see Scorpius, cowering, scared, and hurt. He wanted to talk about how he was quite positive Scorpius believed that he was alone, that no one cared enough to help him.

“No,” was what his hollow voice responded with instead.

Harry frowned. “Al-”

“What do you want me to say?” His voice was sharper than he meant, but he couldn’t stop it. “That I keep thinking about what they did to him? That I can’t stop imagining it? That I’m scared he thinks we aren’t looking for him? That we gave up on him?”

Harry said nothing. Shaking his head, Albus let out a bitter laugh.

“What’s the point? Let’s go.” Albus didn’t give Harry the chance to respond this time.

Making his way toward Draco, Albus followed his gaze. Draco’s eyes were studying the gallows, flicking up every now and again to the Mark suspended above them. Albus moved to touch his arm, an attempt at comfort, before quickly recoiling his hand. Draco didn’t notice the movement.

The three gathered again, silently, preparing to apparate to the Ministry. Albus took one more glance around the arena before being yanked, landing on the familiar black tile of the Ministry.

The atrium of the Ministry was bustling. Several Aurors were examining the projectors, casting a variety of spells. Memos soared through the air, the sound of fluttering parchment overhead. No one noticed Albus, Draco, and Harry as they made their way to the Minister’s office. It was a small blessing. 

Hermione Granger was sitting behind her desk, stacks of files so high that they were being piled on the floor. She looked exhausted, and not at all surprised to see the three of them in her doorway.

Waving them in, she made her way to the door. Leaning out, she took a glance left, then right, before shutting the door slowly.

Minister Granger sat back at her desk, avoiding looking at the trio in her office. She had been expecting them, but perhaps not looking forward to the conversation they were about to have.

“I know why you’re here.” Hermione began, finally looking the three of them in the eye. “There’s not a lot I can do right now, as things stand.” She gestured to her desk and the mountain of paperwork adorning it.

“Why not? We know who took Scorpius. We need to move. Now.” Albus was blunt, unconcerned about whatever it was that these files contained. 

Nodding, Harry seemed to agree with Albus. “And we know this is bigger than Scorpius. The Dark Mark. We need to act before more people are hurt.” 

Hermione absentmindedly drummed her fingers against her desk, looking at Harry with what appeared to be irritation.

It was Draco who spoke up next. He had been quiet of late, the sound of his voice surprising Albus. “Granger, we can’t wait. They’ll kill him.” His voice was cold. “If they haven’t already.” He added in a hushed voice, more to himself than to Hermione.

With a quick glance at the ceiling to gather her composure, Hermione exhaled sharply. “I know. I want nothing more than to launch an attack, rescue Scorpius, and disrupt Death Eater activities, but all of us know it’s not that simple. We need more information, we need the bigger picture before we rush in blindly, risking our Aurors.” She bit her lip before shooting Draco a quick glance, like there was more she wanted to say, but hesitated.

“Minister, we don’t have time to wait for information. We know everything we need to! The Death Eaters already attacked Diagon Alley, they kidnapped Scorpius, what more do we need?” Albus felt the recently familiar rage boiling his blood as he stated what he felt was quite obvious information.

Pressing her fingers into her temple, Hermione seemed prepared to respond. “Mass panic. We need to find a way to control the hysteria that will follow a Ministry led attack on Death Eaters. This wouldn’t just be an investigation, Potter, this would be a declaration of war.”

“So we declare war. Who is against a war with Death Eaters?” Albus was leaning over Hermione’s desk now, skimming over the headers of the files before looking at Harry, hoping his father would back him up again.

Harry seemed more hesitant now, looking at Draco with an anxious expression. Draco responded to his look with a knowing one, clearly communicating something that Albus didn’t understand, but made his stomach twist.

Hermione studied Albus for a few moments, considering her words carefully. “Albus, I wish it were so simple. Right now, the public sees a rogue group of Death Eaters, terrorists, a threat, but not an army. If we send the full force of the Ministry, we legitimize them, and the public will panic.”

With a grunt of frustration, Draco turned and commenced his usual pacing around the room. Harry eyed him cautiously, but quickly turned his attention back to Hermione.

“Not to mention, they very well could be an army. We have no idea what we would be sending our Aurors into. It could be a small group of radicals, or it could be an organized force. I can’t risk sending our people into the unknown, sending them to their potential deaths.” Hermione continued her well-rehearsed speech.

Albus was starting to share Draco’s frustration. “So what? We just wait? Let the Death Eaters have Scorpius?” Albus’s short voice revealed his growing anger.

“If we go in blind and fail, we only embolden the Death Eaters, expose the weaknesses of the Ministry, and give people even more cause for panic.” The speech continued, ignoring Albus’s protests.

Harry stepped forward. “Hermione, I know rushing in, wands blazing, is not the perfect plan. You’re worried they’re stronger than we think. We let them be, and they’ll only get stronger.”

The rebuttal gave Hermione pause, considering Harry’s words carefully. “You’re not wrong. But it doesn’t change the fact that we know nothing about their forces right now. It doesn’t do us any good to try to consider the effects of inaction, when action might get Aurors killed. ”

“And inaction doesn’t also embolden Death Eaters?” Draco turned on Hermione, voice clearly louder than he intended, lowering it as he continued. “If the Ministry doesn’t retaliate, the Death Eaters will act again. They’ll see inaction as weakness.”

“Maybe.” Hermione responded sharply, her tone notably more aggressive when speaking to Draco. “But I don’t want to send my Aurors into a death trap. I won’t.”

Another noise of frustration and Draco continued with his pacing with no reply to Hermione. 

“Not to mention,” Hermione continued. “Even if I did want to act, send a force to the Death Eaters, I might not have a Ministry to lead anymore. Getting the approval and support of some other Ministry officials is a tall order. Many are arguing for more defensive measures, not offensive. Many still remember the effects of the last war and aren’t so eager to rush into another. Others are - well others don’t agree with some of the goals of an offensive.”

This seemed to strike a nerve with Draco. He stopped walking and pressed his fist against his mouth. “And what goals do they disagree with?”

Hermione inhaled slowly. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this.” She glanced between Albus and Draco. “Other officials, the public, they know one of our goals would be to recover Scorpius. That’s a goal that quite a few disagree with. Unfortunately, that group of so-called vigilantes and the article from the Prophet poisoned public opinion. There would be outrage if it was uncovered that Ministry resources were being allocated to finding Scorpius.” She was watching Albus and Draco warily, as though waiting for an outburst.

“And you, Minister?” Draco asked, his voice accusatory. “Do you think it’s a waste of resources to rescue my son? Do you think he’s getting what he deserves?”

There was a hesitation, just long enough to make Albus’s heart sink. This was a practiced weighing of words from a politician, but Albus couldn’t help but think it meant that even Hermione had her doubts about Scorpius.

“It doesn’t matter what I think.” Hermione finally responded, a carefully crafted impartial reply, painfully noncommittal. “If we send Aurors in to rescue a perceived criminal, the public will doubt the intentions of the Ministry. We can’t show any signs of weakness now.”

Draco stared at her, unmoving. “It does matter what you think.” His voice was hoarse. “You’re the Minister, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got this whole platform, preaching second chances. Former Death Eaters granted immunity, reintegrated into society. You swore people like me wouldn’t be hunted anymore. But my son?” His voice was wavering, an unfamiliar sound from Draco Malfoy. “He’s just acceptable collateral damage, is he?”

Tensing, ready to stand, Hermione leaned back to look up at Draco. “That’s not fair, Malfoy. You know that’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it? What would you be doing if it was one of Potter’s kids? Or your kid? What if one of them was kidnapped, tortured -” Draco’s breath hitched, but he swallowed it down. “And nearly hanged. If it wasn’t my son, if it wasn’t a Malfoy, you’d be standing in front of the Wizengamot screaming for justice.”

Albus looked to his father, feeling tensions start to bubble in the room. Harry was tense, alert, but watching the volley without intervention.

“Malfoy!” Hermione was growing increasingly frustrated. “We have to look at the bigger picture. You’re oversimplifying it. Rushing in might make things worse. Like I said, if we send the Aur -”

“Worse?” Draco’s voice was livid now. “Worse than my son being walked to the gallows? Worse than my son being tortured while you sit here whining about what’s written in the papers?”

“This isn’t just about Scorpius anymore!” Hermione was standing now, staring down Draco. “I have to weigh the consequences. That’s my job. I risk sending our entire system into chaos. I have to protect more than just -”

“Just.” Draco spat, his voice dangerously low. “Just my son.” He nodded slowly, deliberately. “He’s not worth it.” He took a moment to glance at Harry, then Albus, before glaring down at Hermione. “I thought you were better than this.” Shaking his head, Draco turned to leave.

“Malfoy,” Hermione’s voice was stern. She waited until Draco faced her again. “We’re investigating. Collecting evidence, information. We’re not doing nothing .” She paused for a moment, considering Draco. “Don’t do anything you might regret.” The threat was clear.

Draco sneered before turning back to the door, but didn’t say anything as he left, cloak billowing behind him.

“Albus,” Harry’s hands were clenched, knuckles white. “Give us just a moment. Wait for me in the hallway.” When Albus hesitated to leave, Harry placed a hand on his shoulder, lightly guiding him to the door. “I promise, I’ll just be a minute or two.”

Albus followed Draco out, glancing behind him for one more glance at Harry and Hermione before the door shut behind him.

Leaving the office, Albus saw Draco leaning against the wall, bracing himself on his forearms. Draco noticed Albus approach and quickly straightened himself, as though ashamed at his sudden show of humanity.

Standing beside Draco, there were a few suffocating moments of silence, only broken by Draco’s breathing. Glancing up at Draco, Albus felt the urge to say something, seeing the pain and rage etched on Draco’s face.

Before he could find any words, Draco laughed, bitter and hollow. “Hypocrite.” The word was spat out like something exceptionally unsavory. “All these years - giving speeches, passing laws, pretending her Ministry was different.” His lips curled into a sneer again. “But when it actually matters, she does nothing.” 

Albus nodded stiffly, still unsure what to say, opting to allow Draco the space to vent.

Fists clenched at his side, it looked almost as though Draco was physically holding himself back. “They’re letting my son die.” He looked at Albus, and almost seemed surprised someone was listening to him. “They’re letting Scorpius die.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Albus opened his mouth to say something, to soothe some fear, to alleviate some panic. But he couldn’t understand. Draco was right.

“We won’t let them.” Albus’s voice was hoarse, quivering with uncertainty. Those short words were all he could manage.

Draco again seemed surprised. “ How? ” Desperation. “The Aurors won’t help. The Ministry won’t act. What’s left?”

Albus didn’t answer. Because he didn’t know. And it terrified him.

Glancing at the office door, Albus pictured his father and Hermione. Harry would surely be able to talk some sense into Hermione. He always knew what to say, and how to say it. 

A lump of doubt that had crawled up Albus’s throat was swallowed.

Looking at Draco, Albus couldn’t stop hearing the desperation, the panic, and the fear in his voice. Draco was always in control. He was calculated, deliberate, precise. Now? Draco was unraveling, fraying, and looking to Albus for answers.

Answers Albus did not have. 

“It should be me.” Draco was breathing out, unfocused eyes still searching Albus’s face. “It’s my fault. It should have been me.” 

Much to Albus’s relief, the office door opened and Harry emerged. At the same time, Ironwood was rounding a corner, perking up when he noticed Albus.

“Potter!” Ironwood called out, picking up his pace. “We’ve got the location of where Scorpius was being held the past 11 days. Knowles gave it up, without much resistance. We already sent a team to see if there were any signs of life. Everyone seems to have cleared out, so we are heading over to investigate tomorrow, it’s getting late today. Feel free to tag along.”

There were a few beats of hesitation as Ironwood reached into his robe pocket, fiddling with something inside it. He looked at Draco, then Albus, before revealing what he was holding.

It was Scorpius’s wand. Ironwood held it out, seemingly unsure of who to hand it to. “That Knowles fellow had it on him. We already inspected it and thought it would be of more use to you.”

Restraining himself, Albus waited a few moments, expecting Draco to take the wand. Draco’s hand reached forward, shakily, before stopping, hovering over the wand. He wrapped his fingers around it, inhaling slowly as he turned it over, eyes combing the familiar wood.

Ironwood was relieved to be rid of the wand and quickly excused himself. He nodded briskly to Albus. “See you tomorrow, Potter.”

Clenching the wand with white knuckles, Draco took one more shaky breath. His other hand grabbed Albus’s wrist, abruptly, but gently. Albus gasped as the wand was pressed into his hand. He could feel Draco trembling as he closed Albus’s fingers around the wand.

“Keep it safe for him.” Draco’s voice was hushed and pained. His eyes were red-rimmed as he looked at Scorpius’s wand now held tight by Albus before his gaze flicked to Albus’s face. 

Staring down at the wand, Albus was startled by the weight of it - by the weight of the request just made by Draco. He held the wand between them, half-expecting Draco to change his mind and take the wand back. 

The weight of the wand, the surge of magic that flowed up Albus’s arm, magic that had chosen Scorpius, reminded him of what Ironwood mentioned. They had learned the location of the prison Scorpius had been held in.

He wanted to feel relief, knowing they had another piece of the puzzle. There would be more evidence, more clues about who else was involved in the kidnapping, torture, and attempted execution of Scorpius Malfoy. 

But his stomach twisted as he pictured standing where Scorpius stood. Where he was drowned. Where his arm was broken. Where he was forced to eat off the floor like a dog.

“Albus.” Harry’s gentle voice broke through his thoughts. “Albus, you don’t have to go. We don’t know what we’ll find there. And I’m not saying that just to protect you, I’m just -” He hesitated, eyes filled with concern. “You’ve already seen enough.”

Draco scoffed, throwing an arm into the air. “You think seeing it is worse than what he’s already imagining?”

Feeling Draco’s eyes on him, Albus couldn’t help but admit to himself that he was probably right. The thoughts were crashing through his mind, a flood of horrors. Draco must have been seeing the same horrors.

“I have to go.” Albus’s voice was tight. “I need to see it. I need to know.”

“Albus -”

“He was there for 11 days. Being - being tortured. And we -” The words were fighting against the sobs in Albus’s throat. “We weren’t there for him. The least we can do is face what he went through. Learn more about who did this to him.”

A few beats of silence followed.

“I want to see it, too.” Draco’s hoarse voice added with a sense of finality, still wavering.

Rubbing a hand down his face, Harry sighed. “Then we go tomorrow. But -” His eyes swept between the men, but settled on Albus, ensuring his son knew these words were for him. His voice was soft, the weight of old scars lingering beneath the words. “Prepare yourself. Wanting to know what happened is one thing, but being there…it’ll be different.”

A jerky nod from Albus satisfied Harry.

Good.

He wanted it to be different. He wanted it to sink into his bones, to carve itself into his memory. He wanted to understand - not just in words, not just in the secondhand horror of Knowles’s taunts or the medical reports or the brands left on Scorpius’s skin.

He wanted to stand where Scorpius stood. Even if Scorpius never knew he was there. 

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Scorpius woke up abruptly, hands moving to his throat sluggishly, trying to claw at a rope that wasn’t there.

He shouldn’t be awake. He shouldn’t be anything.

Gasping for air that flooded his lungs with surprising ease, Scorpius’s eyes darted around the room, wide with panic. His hands were still pawing at his throat, searching for the noose.

Another infirmary, unfamiliar and far too quiet. Scorpius was alone, in a cot pushed against a wall opposite the door. 

Heart slamming against his ribs, Scorpius tried sitting up, readying himself to move, to run. His limbs were unresponsive and heavy. They obeyed, but certainly not with the urgency that Scorpius commanded them with. 

With great effort, Scorpius propped himself up on his elbows. The world was a blur, spinning in and out of focus. His hands grasped at the sheets, trying to steady himself. 

Somewhere in his muddled brain, he realized his right hand was functioning, still sending bolts of sharp pain up his arm, but functioning nonetheless. 

That didn’t matter. 

Run. Hide. His brain was a broken record.

His legs swung over the side of the cot, reluctantly. Pushing himself up, his legs buckled immediately, the sudden movements forcing bile into the back of his throat.

He knew he was weak, malnourished, wounded, but this lethargy was unfamiliar. Poison? Some type of restraining spell?

Run. Hide. Scorpius couldn't run. He was now prone on the floor next to the cot. Looking up, he hissed as he was rudely reminded of the brand on his neck, abused skin twisting.

Reaching an arm out, Scorpius heaved his body forward, crawling across the stone. He started panting from exertion almost immediately. 

One drag. Then another. Each inch was agony. He only made it one body length before stopping, trying to catch his breath. His body trembled, arms threatening to collapse under his weight.

Keep moving. Go. Fighting against his leaden limbs, Scorpius dragged himself just a couple more inches before wheezing.

Scorpius closed his eyes, body relaxing onto the stone. It felt good. Rest for a bit, try again later. The temptation of sleep danced across Scorpius’s mind.

No. Run. Hide. Scorpius bargained with his body, begging it to move. His arms barely managed a twitch before sprawling back onto the floor. 

His blood felt thick as he flailed uselessly on the floor, a strange haze clinging to him. Even though his heart raced with adrenaline, his body ignored his requests.

Run. Hide. Taking in another stolen breath, Scorpius groaned as his arms pulled his limp body one more pace toward the door. 

A thought of Albus stumbled through Scorpius’s mind as he tried convincing his leg to push off the ground. Albus would be here. Maybe Albus was here. The door. Scorpius had to get to the door.

I have to run. For Albus.

His muscles burned and screamed. Scorpius bit down on the inside of his cheek, the taste of iron pooling into his mouth, the pain grounding him for a moment.

Another drag forward forced Scorpius’s eyes to screw shut as the room spun and a wave of nausea crashed over him. 

A new thought of Albus, one that accompanied his nausea quite well.

He’ll be disappointed if I fail. I can’t let Albus down.

Cracking an eye open, Scorpius measured his distance to the door. He had made it less than a quarter of the way there. 

It was a sick joke. It had to be.

Soon the door would open, surely. Knowles would break his leg for trying to run. Rachel would pounce on him, taking advantage of his paralysis. Jonah would whisper sweet lies in his ear.

This was a game.

He’d been so stupid to think he had a chance. There was never any chance for survival, this was just another way to toy with him.

I can fix this, I can fix this .

Scorpius grunted as he twisted his neck again, looking back at the cot. If he could somehow convince his body to climb into the cot, maybe they wouldn’t know he tried to run. Maybe it would hurt less.

His arms trembled feebly as he asked them nicely to help turn around. They didn’t respond. He was trapped.

All he could do was wait. Wait for the inevitable. Wait for the pain. Wait for the humiliation. 

More nausea churned in Scorpius’s guts, not from whatever was weakening him, but from the shame. He couldn’t save himself. Again. 

And now he waited, disgusted with himself as he scripted ways to convince Knowles that he wasn’t escaping, that this wasn’t what it looked like. He wouldn’t do it again. He would be good.

Scorpius was tired. He was tired of being hungry, he was tired of being scared, he was tired of being hurt, he was tired of being alive, because being alive meant being hungry, scared, and hurt. 

He shouldn’t even be alive. 

As he brainstormed new ways to grovel, he couldn’t help but hope that his next punishment resolves that glaring issue, resolves the unhappy accident of his survival.

Notes:

I promised you wouldn't have to wait long. I wish I could tell you to breathe a sigh of relief, but I’d be lying through my teeth. I haven't quite finished bathing in your tears.

Chapter 13: Welcome Home

Sleep tugged at Scorpius, repeatedly. Each time it did, a surge of panic would flood through him, tensing his muscles and quickly dispelling the hazy cloud of relaxation.

They were coming.

He couldn’t sleep. They would be here any moment.

The foreign numbness that left Scorpius incapacitated on the floor was slowly waning. His body was feeling lighter, just a little more responsive. Unfortunately for Scorpius, the induced paralysis was a mercy that was slipping away.

His back was in agony, shredded skin twisting with every attempt to crawl. The fresh burn on his neck stung sharply as sweat slithered into the craters carved by the searing metal. 

The door opened. Scorpius felt the familiar wave of fear. He pressed his body into the floor, hoping maybe he’d fall through it.

“Merlin, where were you off to?” It was a man’s voice, unknown. The voice sounded like it was said through a smile, a tone of amusement mixed with concern. 

Scorpius closed his eyes, waiting. He’d be forced to fight again, maybe hobbled to keep him from running.

Hands were on him, pulling at him gently, lifting him off the floor. The touch was light and deliberate. It was only a matter of time before that soured, before the pain came.

The hands deposited him back onto the cot, slowly, adjusting his legs into more comfortable positions. Scorpius recoiled when the man reached for the pillows behind him.

“Hey, hey.” The man put his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He was staring at Scorpius, as though waiting for permission to continue.

For the first time, Scorpius looked at the man. He was slightly older than Scorpius, his brown eyes settled on Scorpius, face neutral. 

“Who are you?” Scorpius asked, throat burning. His heart raced, immediately regretting his question, positive retaliation would ensue. 

The man smiled. Smiled? It wasn’t a sneer of malice, it wasn’t the smile of satisfaction Knowles gave him after making him scream. It was a disgustingly warm smile, unnatural. 

“It’s not important who I am.” The man turned quickly, his black robe snapping at the sudden movement. “All that matters is that you’re safe now.” 

A glass of water was offered to Scorpius. He eyed it cautiously. There was a catch. A trick. It was poisoned, perhaps with the potion that made him weak. They wanted him docile, unable to fight back. They were planning something.

But his throat was sandpaper and his lips cracked. His shaky hand reached out for the oasis, unable to resist his need for water. He held the water to his bloody lips, sipping slowly, watching the man closely for any reaction.

Scorpius’s body screamed for more as the cool water soothing his throat. He made a conscious effort to continue slow sips, not wanting to reveal his desperation for hydration, not wanting to reveal any weakness.

“Good.” The man said softly, but not with the condescension Scorpius was used to. “You’ve been through a lot.” His eyes raked over Scorpius. Hunger? Lust? 

Concern? No, no that couldn’t be right. The man was obviously skilled, controlling his reactions, hiding his emotions.

He was grabbing a rag, dabbling a bit of a potion onto it, before turning back to Scorpius. “I’m going to clean some of the wounds again. You dragged them all over the floor.” He flashed another smile, easy and quick. “Don’t have a very skilled healer, but we’re doing our best.”

The man leaned forward, focusing on Scorpius’s neck. Fibers from the rag caught on the scorched skin, eliciting a hissed breath from Scorpius. Flinching away, Scorpius waited for the laugh.

When no laugh came, Scorpius looked up, watching the man’s face. His lips were pursed in concentration, the rag moving slowly, carefully navigating the wound. Surely Scorpius had missed the smirk, or maybe a small hum of satisfaction to have inflicted some pain.

“They used some kind of enchantment.” The man was speaking, more to himself than Scorpius. “These wounds will be a bitch to heal.” He met Scorpius’s eyes with a head tilt. “Probably going to leave permanent scars, hate to tell you.” 

Scorpius swallowed, baring his neck unconsciously for the man to continue his work. 

They. They used an enchantment. 

“Why are you helping me?” Scorpius tried again.

There was a small beat of hesitation, the man’s hands hovering over the brand. The cleaning continued, with no response. 

“Where am I?” Scorpius kept pushing, desperate for some information.

This time, the man leaned back, looking down at Scorpius. “You’re home.” He said simply before turning his attention back to the potions, dousing the rag once more.

“What does that mean?” His voice sounded strained and Scorpius hoped the man couldn’t detect the panic rising in his throat.

“Relax.” The hands were pushing him into the cot, gentle. “You need to focus on getting better. You’re safe. You’re where you’re supposed to be.” 

Safe. Home. Scorpius’s mouth tasted like bile. He wasn’t safe and he most certainly wasn’t home. 

The rag was back at his neck. Scorpius had to admit that the brand was soothed as the potion was pressed into his broken skin. He resigned himself to his treatment, expecting his questions would continue to be met with cryptic and unhelpful answers.

A nudge on his arm encouraged Scorpius to roll onto his side, exposing his back to the man. His shirt was lifted and a small gasp of disgust followed. Scorpius pressed his hand into his mouth as the rag dragged across mangled skin, biting down to stop himself from crying out. Again, the potion worked wonders in relieving the throbbing pain.

Laying on his back again, Scorpius watched the man leave his side, washing his hands, before returning with another glass of water. “You need to stay hydrated. You’ll need your strength.”

The words the man was saying were hauntingly familiar and Scorpius saw Knowles taunting him, mocking him. 

As the man extended the water to Scorpius, his sleeve shifted, sliding up his forearm, revealing the head of a jet-black snake. 

Scorpius recoiled, but not before throwing his arm in front of him to protect himself, smacking the cup onto the floor, glass shattering. The man was surprised, slow to respond. Scorpius leveraged this pause by swinging his legs over the cot again.

He had to run.

His legs trembled as he stood, but his adrenaline forced him to move. The pain in his body evaporated as he stumbled toward the door, unthinking.

Making it only a few paces, the man was grabbing at him, not aggressively, but firmly. “Scorpius.” A hand pressed against his chest, not punishing, but friendly, oddly calming.

“Please.” Scorpius fell to a knee, overwhelmed. “Please. I want to go home.” He said with a sob, clutching at the man’s hand, deciding whether to push it away or pull it closer. “Let me go. Please.” 

The man crouched with Scorpius, continuing his comforting touches, much to Scorpius’s confusion. “It’s okay.” The man whispered. “You are home. You’re not a prisoner here.” 

Scorpius couldn’t think, couldn’t breath. He needed to escape, right? He did. Death Eaters. He had to move.

Pushing hands away, Scorpius looked to the door. He couldn’t break free of the arms around him for more than a few heartbeats.

“Shhh. Shhhh.” The man was whispering again, petting his hands over Scorpius, as though he were a wild animal to be tamed. “Relax. You’re okay.” It became a mantra, repeated as Scorpius felt his racing heart begin to slow.

“That’s it.” The man felt the muscles in Scorpius’s body start to relent. “You’re okay.”

The door swung open and any semblance of relaxation in Scorpius fled. It was another man, equally unfamiliar. His gaze settled on the two men huddled on the floor, the disdain evident in the way his face scrunched.

“ This is the Dark Lord’s heir?” His voice was disappointed.

The man tending to Scorpius stood quickly, and the abrupt movement made Scorpius flinch. He stood in front of Scorpius, as though shielding him from the newly arrived wizard. 

“Give him time. We can’t rush him.” Scorpius’s defender kept his voice calm and even.

The newcomer was unconvinced. He looked at Scorpius through the legs of the other man, clearly frustrated at the sight of him.

“We haven’t any time. Have you forgotten our mission?” The newcomer’s voice was loud, booming. “He needs to assert himself. He’s meant to lead. Does that look like a leader to you?” He asked, taking a few steps toward the cowering Scorpius.

“And he will lead. Give him time. He has a lot to learn.” The soothing man took a step to the side to continue standing between the two.

The intruding wizard scoffed. That was a noise Scorpius was well acquainted with. “You’re too soft. Get him in line before someone else does. He has a purpose to uphold.” 

“Yeah.” Scorpius’s defender took a dramatic step forward. “He does have a purpose. As I have one. And you have one. Mind yours.” 

The newcomer gave a smirk before stepping backward toward the door. Another quick glance at a kneeling Scorpius and he was gone. 

The man breathed out a sigh of relief, shaking out his hands. “Whew.” He whistled out. “Sorry about that.” He sat back down next to Scorpius.

Scorpius’s eyes flicked between the man and the door. The conversation made him nauseous. The Death Eaters had plans for him.

“I suppose we should start properly, then.” The man said, with another deep breath, steadying himself. “Gabriel,” he said, offering his hand.

Pretending not to notice the handshake request, Scorpius glanced at Gabriel for a brief moment before looking back at the door, uncomfortable with the normal interaction.

“Scorpius.” Gabriel scooted closer, his voice urgent. “This is the path to greatness. You were born for this.” His eyes searched Scorpius’s face. “You know, I had doubts too.”

There was a cadence to his words. They were recited with a tone of patience. He paused, observing Scorpius again, giving his words room to breath, giving Scorpius time to process.

“I know it might not make sense now, but this is for the betterment of our world. You’ll see for yourself one day.” A small smile, too friendly, too reassuring. “I’ve seen young witches and wizards struggle, Scorpius. But you’ll see.” There was no threat in his voice. It was a subtle invitation. One that Scorpius was not keen on accepting.

A hand patted Scorpius’s shoulder, a gesture he recoiled from, one that felt far too familiar. Gabriel didn’t seem concerned about Scorpius’s reaction.

“I’m not your enemy, Scorpius. Some of the others here…they want to rush things. They’re eager, impatient. But I see potential in you. You can be great.” Another soft pat, one that Scorpius’s didn’t have such a visceral reaction to.

Gabriel moved to his knees, sitting on his heels in front of Scorpius. The familiarity in their interaction dissipated when Scorpius noticed the way the other man stared at him. It wasn’t disgust, disdain, hatred, pity. No, it was something foreign. Reverence . A look of admiration. A look of expectation. A part of Scorpius, buried deep, liked it.

A faint quirk of Gabriel’s lip, a barely perceivable expression change, revealed just a spark of satisfaction. “That’s enough for now,” Gabriel murmured, pushing himself to his feet with easy grace. “You need rest. We’ll talk soon though.” 

He bowed toward Scorpius, presenting his arm to the still kneeling man. His movement was so fluid, so refined, it almost felt programmed. Scorpius hesitated for a moment before taking Gabriel’s arm. He was led back to the cot where he opted to sit, legs hanging over the edge.

Gabriel dusted off his robes. “Think on what I’ve said.” A lingering glance. And then, with quiet confidence, he strode to the door. His robes seemed to know the choreography as they flowed theatrically behind Gabriel as he shut the door.

A lock clicked into place. Not a prisoner . 

Scorpius sat on the cot for a few moments, uncertainty keeping him in place. His hand was absentmindedly touching his shoulder, the same one Gabriel touched, in a weak attempt to soothe himself. 

When he noticed his own calming touch mimicking Gabriel’s, he moved the hand to his neck, softly rubbing at the brand. The pain was grounding. Real. Familiar.

He felt his stomach clench, not from hunger, from something deeper. 

Disgust.

It had to be disgust. He pushed away the lingering memory of how Gabriel was looking at him.

Or he tried to.

But he was tired . Safety, power, just the absence of pain, were all alluring. 

He had been tempted before.

A flash of memory - his fourth year at Hogwarts. A world where people had looked at him the way Gabriel did now. Where they had followed him. Respected him. Feared him.

He had hated it. Hated who he was. Hadn’t he?

Scorpius exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to physically dislodge the thought. That wasn’t real. That wasn’t him. But the ghost of it lingered, curling around the edges of his mind like smoke, impossible to grasp yet impossible to ignore.

Maybe this could be different. Maybe he didn’t have to be cruel or merciless. Maybe -

A bitter laugh caught in his throat. No. He knew better.

He stood. His legs twitched under him, but held. One step reminded him cruelly of the gash on his calf. It had been tended to, but not numbed like the other wounds. 

He heard the lock slide into place, but he pulled at the door. It was locked.

Scorpius paced, from the cot to the door. The repetition was soothing as his mind raced. 

That pit in his stomach festered. Gabriel’s face seared in his mind, not unlike the brand on his neck, reminding him of what could be. He tried shaking it. He tried pushing down the thoughts of desir- no .

He swallowed down the thoughts of disgust - disgust, it had to be disgust. He won’t be swayed. He’ll die before joining the Death Eaters. 

But the flush on his skin persisted, an unshakable heat that he couldn’t quite dismiss. His heart beat just a little faster, an odd sensation of anticipation coiling in his chest. He felt it again - the rush that came with being seen, recognized. With being important.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

An unnatural quiet settled in the room as Albus scanned the dining tables for any shred of evidence, any clues that might point them in the direction of more people involved with the group of fanatics.

They had apparated together again - Albus, Draco, and Harry - this time to the lair of the self-proclaimed vigilantes. The den where they held Scorpius, put him on a mockery of a trial, and tortured him. 

When their feet hit solid ground, they were in a dining room of sorts. Long wooden tables filled the room. It had largely been picked clean, presumably those that fled made a pit stop to clean up before disappearing. 

The group dispersed, along with a handful of Aurors, desperate for any scrap of information. 

Albus breathed in, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to imagine Scorpius in this space. Ironwood had helpfully provided the details of Knowles’s testimony. Albus knew Scorpius endured horrors in this very room. 

His hands curled into fists as he saw Scorpius kneeling on the floor, forced to fight, having his hand broken, left to bleed out. 

Albus sat on one of the benches, suddenly lightheaded. He pulled his shirt away from his chest, as though it were constricting his breathing before leaning forward, trying to alleviate the fresh nausea. 

Hands wrapped around his. His father’s hands. Harry was crouching in front of Albus, studying his son’s face.

“Albus.” Harry waited for a moment. “We can leave.” His voice was quiet, ensuring the others wouldn’t hear. “We can go home. You don’t have to see this.” 

There was a weight crushing Albus’s chest, a weight that had been slowly getting heavier. It was nearing unbearable. 

“We can’t leave.” Albus’s voice was hoarse. “We need to know. In case -” A sob interrupted him. “In case he doesn’t get the chance to tell us.”

Harry didn’t respond, just squeezed his hands around Albus’s a little tighter.

“Besides,” Albus used his shoulder to absorb a tear threatening to fall. “I’m not the one you should be worrying about.” 

A short sigh. “I am worried about you. I’m worried about you, Scorpius,” Harry shot a quick glance at Draco, who had found a newspaper. “And Draco.”

Albus followed Harry’s eyes, finding Draco skimming over the same article they had read just a few days prior. “We can’t leave him. I can’t leave Scorpius.”
Harry nodded. “Okay.” He squeezed his hands again. “I won’t leave you.”

He stood, looking down at Albus for another few moments before continuing his search, walking to the far side of the room. 

A deep breath. Albus had to keep looking. He had to distract himself with work. He stood, glancing around, finding a pile of board games. Shrugging, unsure what he expected to find hidden amongst the games, he began sifting through them.

He was picking up an outdated Wizard’s Chess board when he heard a sharp gasp. It was Draco. He was holding a whiteboard that had slid between a table and the wall.

Harry was at Draco’s side, reading the whiteboard over his shoulder, eyes flicking between Draco and the words. As Albus approached, Harry moved to block him from seeing the writing. 

Draco was staring down at the board in horror as his breathing became more frantic. “This was…” Draco cleared his throat. “This was just a game to them.” His eyes darted across the board.

Trying to push past Harry, Albus craned his neck to read. Draco set the board on the table, sliding it in Albus’s direction, whether it was just to get it out of his sight or let Albus read it was unknown.

A quick glance at the writing was all Albus needed to feel ill. It was a list. A list of ways they had brainstormed to kill Scorpius. There were little notes, little scribbles, all so casual, like doodles he would make in Charms class.

The annotations made Albus see red. They were playful, as though they were having fun working on their group project, revising ways to kill his partner. 

‘No drop, too quick.’ That note was underlined after the first option of hanging, the one they seemed to have settled on. They wanted him to suffer. They, somehow, looked at Scorpius, his Scorpius, and made this list of horrors, this list of things they wanted to see happen to him.

At some point while reading through the list, Albus had leaned against the table, resting his weight on it. The table was now vibrating, betraying Albus’s rage and pain.

“Do you think Scorpius saw this?” Albus asked, gripping the edge of the table to resist his need to wipe the board clean. “Do you think he knew? Did they tell him which one they picked?”

Silence followed, answering Albus’s questions. 

Ironwood broke the silence, cutting through the tension that had settled between the trio. He hesitated for a moment as he scanned the content of the board. “We found the cage. It’s just down the corridor.” He pointed beyond a heavy door. “I’ll bag that board as evidence and meet you down there.”

The board was scooped up, moved out of sight, but it didn’t matter. The words were seared on the back of Albus’s eyelids.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Still pacing, Scorpius was lost in his own debate. He had searched through the cupboards and cabinets, finding nothing but gauze and disinfectant potions. After a few laps around the room, Scorpius would try the door again, just in case. 

Another revolution around the room and the door opened, Gabriel poking his head inside. He smiled when his eyes landed on Scorpius, the same warm, welcoming smile.

“Glad to see you up and about.” He leaned casually against the door frame. “Convenient, too. I was coming to ask if we could take a short walk.” 

Scorpius’s eyes flicked to the space behind Gabriel, the space beyond the door. It was brightly lit, unlike the shadowy corridors he was used to. 

“Walk to where?”

Gabriel’s grin widened at Scorpius’s question. “Not far at all, just the room next door. Thought I’d introduce you to some friends, seeing as you’re sticking around.” He gave a jerk of his head, beckoning Scorpius.

Sticking around, am I?  

Already striding away, Gabriel left the door open, expecting Scorpius to follow. Against Scorpius’s better judgement, he did. 

Sunlight was streaming into the hallway, from a window with the blinds pulled open. Scorpius slowed when walking by the window, scanning his surroundings. It was an empty cobblestone alley, not entirely unlike the one he was kidnapped in. 

“Come on,” Gabriel was in front of a door, his voice reminding Scorpius that he wasn’t alone. 

The air in the room is tinged with the smell of burning logs and aged parchment. Shelves line one of the walls, packed with books, while a fire crackles in the hearth, reflecting off the polished wooden floor.

The room was comfortable. It reminded Scorpius of the quiet nooks he would find in the library at Hogwarts, taking refuge to enjoy a book in peace. The coziness was unsettling.

Witches and wizards lounged on lush chairs, flipping pages or chatting amongst themselves in hushed voices. 

No, not just witches and wizards. Death Eaters.

This wasn’t how Death Eaters lived. 

They weren’t cackling maniacally, they weren’t brewing poisons, they weren’t casting Unforgivables on Muggles.

They were reading, chatting, and eating chocolate from Honeydukes.

They were people.

Gabriel didn’t rush him. He watched, arms folded behind his back as Scorpius’s gaze traveled back to the bookshelves. Scorpius’s fingers twitched, fighting the impulse to peruse the texts.

“Go on,” Gabriel said lightly, smiling again. 

Scorpius didn’t move at first, still standing at the entrance of the room. But he couldn’t resist. His eyes scanned the spines picking out familiar titles - some he’d read before, and some he’d only heard of in passing. Old magical theories, histories, spellcraft. Books he might have sought out in another life, another place.

“See? You’d fit well here, I think.” Gabriel had stepped behind him.

Not taking his eyes off the books, Scorpius didn’t respond.

Gabriel chuckled. “You’re still resisting. A habit, I understand, considering what you’ve experienced.” Scorpius could feel Gabriel’s eyes boring a hole through him. “But let me ask you this - if we are as terrible as you want to believe, why are we offering you warmth? Healing? Knowledge? A place among us, rather than a cell?”

No response. Scorpius refused to look at Gabriel, refusing to give into the temptation, focusing instead on a book with a title that suggested a correlation between yew wands and an aptitude for the Dark Arts.

“Take one, if you like.” Gabriel urged, still watching Scorpius closely, following his stare to the book in question. 

Scorpius once again didn’t respond. But he didn’t move away either. He continued sweeping his gaze along the bookshelves, searching for more titles of interest.

Instead of a noteworthy book, he noticed a small glass display case. Encased was a ring, with a large carved stone or gem of some kind, glinting in the firelight. 

A ring that Scorpius recognized. A ring that Scorpius studied and wrote about at length. 

Reaching into his memory, he recalled the description he had written not two weeks ago about this very artifact. A ward-dispelling ring of this make could bypass even the strongest Ministry enchantments…

Gabriel was still following his gaze. He smiled and pressed a finger against the glass. “Ah. That caught your eye, did it?” The case was turned so the ring gleamed in the light. “Beautiful, isn’t it? You recognized it, of course.”

Finally, Scorpius met Gabriel’s eyes. Gabriel relaxed as he knew he now had Scorpius’s attention.

“Your work, it’s brilliant.” Gabriel ignored the ring, dropping his hands, and focusing solely on Scorpius. “It’s a shame, truly. They never appreciated you. Never saw your worth.”

There were a few beats of silence as Gabriel appraised Scorpius, squinting a little.

“You worked so hard for them.” His voice was soft, perhaps sympathetic. “You did everything right. You followed their rules. You tried to prove yourself. And what did they do, Scorpius?”

Scorpius swallowed down the surprise. The Death Eaters had done their homework.

“They treated you like dirt, didn’t they?” Gabriel’s voice was still gentle, but was becoming more assertive. “They mocked you, ignored you when you had valuable information.”

Another look, not pit, maybe regret. Scorpius still didn’t respond.

“And the Ministry itself, what a shame,” he continued, feigning a sigh. “Granger makes such lovely speeches about justice. She signed all these flowery policies, made all these grand plans about forgiving people like us. But tell me Scorpius, what has actually been fixed?” He gestured vaguely, as if bored. “Prejudice still festers. Corruption still rots at its core. They all smile for the press, shake hands, pat themselves on the back. But nothing has changed.”

The worst part was that Gabriel wasn’t entirely wrong. The Ministry made claims, about equity, about progress, but Scorpius was still ridiculed and Draco was still sequestered to the Manor.

“Even now, they do nothing. Do you know where we are, Scorpius?” Gabriel pointed toward a window, looking out onto another cobblestone street. “Knockturn Alley. The Ministry knows we rescued you. This is the first place they would come sniffing. And we haven’t seen a single Auror. They’ve abandoned you.”

Scorpius felt his stomach drop. Again, Gabriel was right. Albus should have been here by now. 

“Not to mention the Ministry letting groups of vigilantes run rampant.” Gabriel scoffed, another vague gesture, this time toward Scorpius. “If they had been doing their job, you never would have had to go through that.” There was genuine irritation in his voice.

Another gut punch. Scorpius was starting to feel irritation as well, not because of the Ministry’s failings, but because Gabriel made too much sense.

“No,” Scorpius finally said, making Gabriel snap to attention. “No, that’s not fair. Albus is looking for me.” 

Gabriel was nodding. “Maybe so. But then why isn’t he here? Why did he leave you to die?” Gabriel pointed out the window again, at the empty street sprawling in front of them. 

“No, they’re coming.” Scorpius’s voice was shaking. But he was exhausted, right? He believed his words, he had to. “They - they didn’t leave me to die. They -” His voice faltered.

A hum was Gabriel’s response. He lowered his voice to a whisper, as though he were sharing a secret. “They’re not here. You don’t have to defend them.”

Scorpius was tired. It was admittedly getting more and more difficult to convince himself that he was right. That they still cared. That they were still coming.

“You’ve been alone too long.” The look was back, admiration. “Stay with us, Scorpius. You belong here. Everyone already thinks you’re one of us. You won’t be welcomed back out there with open arms. You’ve already joined us, you just don’t realize it yet.”

Another falter, this one in Scorpius’s mind. He exhaled, trying to suppress the momentary validation he felt as Gabriel confirmed his fears. He was a Death Eater, in the eyes of everyone else. He would be starting over, trying to persuade them that they were wrong all over again. He had never been successful in the first place. 

Gabriel leaned closer. “You don’t have to decide now. Take some time. Read. Rest. Let yourself breathe. No one will hurt you here.”

Before he could stop it, Scorpius felt himself nod, just a small nod, but an involuntary agreement with Gabriel’s words. 

No one hit him. No one cursed him. No one made him kneel or beg or humiliate himself for food. For the first time in nearly two weeks, Scorpius wasn’t cold, hungry, or terrified waiting for the next abuse.

And maybe - just maybe - he didn’t have to be.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The cage was empty, besides a thin, crumpled blanket in the corner, fabric not nearly thin enough to ward off the frigid cold of the dank room. It was, apparently, the only comfort Scorpius was allowed. 

Albus balled the blanket in his hands. It was fraying, probably before it was even used by Scorpius, and had crusted smatterings of blood. For a reason unknown to him, Albus brought the blanket to his face and inhaled, breathing in a relievingly familiar scent. It reminded Albus of the warm summer mornings when Scorpius would chase Albus down for a hug after going for a run.

Kneeling on the floor of the cage, Albus found himself rooted to the spot. He stared down at the blanket, seeing Scorpius pulling it around himself in desperation, trying to sleep despite the icy stone that was his mattress. 

The cage was in the center of a large, vacant room. Had they watched him like he was an exhibit at a zoo? Caged him like an animal and watched as he tried to survive?

His hands twitched, itching to do something. Draco was also restless, his wand drawn as he examined the bars, not casting anything, but on edge with the need to act.

A clinking sound on the other side of the bars made Albus’s head snap up. Harry had kicked something and was using his body again to shield it from Albus’s view, pressing the something under his shoe.

Draco heard the noise as well, stalking slowly, cautiously toward Harry, wand still drawn. Harry hesitated, glancing between the others before reluctantly lifting his foot, knowing that trying to hide evidence was a losing battle.

It was a pair of handcuffs, shiny and silver. Draco crouched to pick them up, revealing stains of dried blood caked on them. Not only had Scorpius been locked in a cage, but he’d also been restrained, defenseless as they -

The cuffs were thrown back to the ground, Draco holding his wand out like he might curse the offending metal. He slowly dropped his wand arm, leaning back against the iron bars for support, sliding down them until he was sitting.

Draco turned to Albus, reaching between the bars to join him in touching the blanket. Draco’s fingers brushed against the blanket, tracing the frayed edges, stopping where the blood had dried. 

“It was all he had.” Albus murmured to no one in particular.

Draco said nothing. His fingers explored the fabric, recoiling slightly whenever they came into contact with a red stain. 

Albus should have let go. He should have let Draco take it, should have stood up, should have done something - but he couldn’t move. His grip tightened. Draco’s did too. Neither of them willing to let it go.

“He must have been so cold.” Albus whispered, seeing Scorpius shiver against the bars, the dead woman standing on the other side of the bars, smiling and laughing.

Draco shut his eyes. His hand curled tighter, twisting the fabric between them. “He should never have been here.” His voice was low, but no longer sharp. Just hollow.

Albus didn’t know if he meant the cage. This hideout. The world.

They sat in silence, iron bars separating them, clinging onto their lifeline of a blanket. 

“We need to do something.” Draco’s voice shattered the silence, making Albus flinch minutely. “We’re not waiting for Scorpius to be killed. We’re going to Knockturn Alley. We don’t know where they took him, but I know we’ll find people there that do know.”

Blinking, Albus took a few moments to realize that Draco was speaking quietly, for only Albus to hear. “Do you think there’ll be a fight?”

Draco nodded, clenching his hand in the blanket absentmindedly as he considered. “Albus, P-your father needs to help. He knows people that can fend for themselves. Granger was right about one thing, we don’t know what we’re walking into.” His voice was urgent with a tinge of desperation. 

It was Albus’s turn to nod. “We can convince him, I’m sure of it.” Some of the tension in Draco released, but his dilated pupils betrayed his gnawing fear. 

Albus hoped he was right. They were running out of options.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Scorpius had found a discarded book that was now sprawled open on the table in front of him. He scanned the words, but they were meaningless, his eyes glossed over in thought. 

No one had come. Albus wasn’t here. His father wasn’t here. The Death Eaters had rescued him from his execution. Death Eaters rescued him. 

Gabriel was right. He hated himself for thinking it, but it was true. If he escaped, if he was rescued now, what would he do? Would he be arrested? Another trial finding him guilty of being a Death Eater? Or would he just join his father, living in isolation, forced to hide?

He was safe here. People liked him here. Maybe not for the reasons Scorpius necessarily wanted, but for once, people didn’t look at him with disgust, fear, or hatred.

Gabriel was approaching, hopping up on the table with grace. “How’re you doing, Scorpius? Found a book that caught your eye?” He leaned over the pages, quickly trying to glean what Scorpius was reading about.

“I’m okay.” Scorpius’s voice was quiet and he continued to stare blankly at the book. 

Smiling at Scorpius’s willingness to speak, Gabriel leaned back, lounging on the table. “I don’t want to rush you, but we need to start thinking about what you want to do next.” He was looking at Scorpius expectantly.

Hands fiddling with one of the corners of the book, Scorpius looked up at Gabriel. “What comes next?” 

Gabriel’s smile widened. “That’s up to you.” The answer was kept purposefully vague. 

Scorpius chewed his cheek, tapping a hand against the parchment. Gabriel’s eyes slid to Scorpius’s hand, then his face.

“Anxious?” His tone was concerned, not mocking nor accusatory. “I can help with that.”

Reaching into his robe pocket, Gabriel procured a potion. It was a vial of sky blue liquid, swirls of green snaking through the potion. 

“It’s a potion to help you relax. Clear your head.” He set it on the table between them. “You’ve been through so much, Scorpius. This will help you rest, help you find some peace, at least for a little while.”

The offer was tempting. Scorpius was well-versed in Potions, his father helping him brew his first when he was four years old. The potion looked like a Calming Draught he had often brewed for himself when revising for an exam or getting ready for a date with Albus. Scorpius’s sleep-deprived, exhausted brain didn’t notice the silvery, metallic sheen glimmering in the otherwise familiar liquid.

After a moment’s hesitation, Scorpius uncorked the potion, downing it in one gulp. It tasted sweet, honey and lavender coating his throat. 

Warmth spread through Scorpius, the immediate relaxation feeling like bliss. The tension in his shoulders melted away. His obsessive thoughts relented. The sharp edges of anxiety dulled.

Gabriel was watching with anticipation, with a knowing smile, as he watched Scorpius slump ever so slightly into his chair.

“That’s it,” Gabriel encouraged, voice soft like silk. “How do you feel now? You look better.”

Scorpius gave another small nod, letting the potion flow through him. His thoughts had already become sluggish, slow to arrive and quickly fleeting. He felt good. That’s all that mattered. When was the last time he had felt like this?

“Good job,” Gabriel continued, his voice soothing. “You deserve a break, don’t you? You’ve fought so hard. Just let go.”

He couldn’t stop himself from letting go if he tried with all his might. The potion was settling in his limbs beautifully. They were light and heavy at the same time, a perfect balance of exhaustion and tranquility.

Gabriel was resting his hand over Scorpius’s, rubbing small circles. “You’ve suffered enough, haven’t you?”

A small noise of agreement escaped Scorpius’s lips as he barely comprehended the words. He didn’t want to suffer anymore.

The instinctive noise lit Gabriel’s face with excitement. “You belong here. With people that respect you. People that love you. People that actually appreciate you.”

The words slipped into his mind so easily, so naturally, that Scorpius didn’t even think to reject them.

No one else had appreciated him.

His father loved him, but it was complicated, full of expectations and fears.

Albus never truly understood what it meant to be Scorpius Malfoy.

The wizarding world sure thought they did know, and they despised him for it, treating him like a stain. 

But Gabriel? Gabriel understood.

A small part of Scorpius’s drug-addled brain protested, trying to claw its way into the forefront of his mind. A small part screaming that these words shouldn’t feel good. 

They shouldn’t.

But they feel so, so good.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Scorpius.” Gabriel’s voice joined the ones in his head. 

Scorpius didn’t want to be afraid anymore.

He didn’t want to fight. Or beg. Or scream.

“All you have to do is say yes.” 

Say yes. That’s easy. 

The annoying thoughts surfaced again, interrupting Scorpius’s euphoria. 

Say yes to what?

Oh, there was something more here. Something important. Something he should be questioning.

“You deserve this. You’ve earned this. You belong here.” Gabriel’s voice was hushed, like he was tucking Scorpius into bed.

The word ‘belong’ planted in Scorpius's chest, blooming into a sense of happiness.

This was it. This was what he wanted. What he’d always wanted. He was being offered a chance to be happy, to never be scared again.

Scorpius nodded. This was right.

Gabriel’s smile widened and he tucked the potion vial back into his pocket before closing the book in front of Scorpius, clearing the table. 

“Good job,” Gabriel whispered again, the praise sending a tingle up Scorpius’s spine. “We just have to let everyone know that you belong here, alright? We have to show the world that your home is here.” 

No, something wasn’t right. Why was he nodding? 

If it wasn’t right, then why did it feel so good?

Gabriel slid his hand up Scorpius’s left arm, turning it over. “That’s all you had to do, Scorpius. You’ll be safe now.”

Pull away. Say no.

The annoying thoughts were intruding again, desperately trying to convince Scorpius something was very, very wrong. 

His arm was being pinned against the table, gently, still being massaged by Gabriel. Scorpius watched with idle curiosity. 

Thankfully the intrusive thoughts were slippery, sliding their way out of Scorpius’s brain before they had time to take hold.

Gabriel pulled his wand out and Scorpius flinched, feeling the familiar pit in his stomach. He gave one small pull against Gabriel’s grip, but Gabriel held fast against the weakened attempt.

“Hey, hey,” Gabriel held his wand up, letting Scorpius see it clearly. “It’s just going to be a little sting, alright? Just a small burn and then you’ll be safe with us.”

That tiny part of Scorpius’s brain was howling, unsuccessfully trying to clear the haze in his brain preventing him from recognizing that this was no good, very bad.

The wand tip pressed against his forearm. Another small flinch, but Gabriel soothed Scorpius with whispers of ‘good job’ and ‘you’re almost there.’

He interrupted his own assurances to mutter an incantation, one Scorpius wouldn’t have recognized even if he wasn’t actively losing consciousness.

First, there was warmth. 

Then, a creeping sting - a sensation that Scorpius noticed far too late.

There was a burn, but it was barely a mosquito bite compared to the pain he’d been enduring. 

A small price to pay for safety.

“There you go,” Gabriel retracted his wand and ran his hands up and down Scorpius’s arm. 

Finally, Scorpius looked down. A dark, inky serpent slithered around his arm, entangling itself with a skull. 

The Dark Mark.

Burned into him - permanent and binding.

Scorpius’s breath caught. The warmth of the potion did nothing against the icy, creeping dread.

The haze didn’t lift immediately, the potion still coursing through him, but Scorpius knew.

He knew what he had done.

His eyes met Gabriel’s, distant, unfocused, and betrayed. But Gabriel only smiled.

“Welcome home, Scorpius.”

Notes:

Little delay on this one, editing took longer than expected. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Things are heating up :)

Chapter 14: Still Beautiful

Notes:

So sorry for the delay, I have no excuse. Have fun.

At the request of Harry, Albus was now sitting with Draco at his and Scorpius’s apartment idly holding a warm cup of tea. Albus and Draco had been poring over the Auror reports, making little progress, exhausting themselves.

They were now sitting in awkward silence, Draco throwing Albus glances every few minutes and Albus avoiding his father’s gaze as he tried to find a way to convince him to defy the Ministry.

“Dad,” Albus began. “What if we went to Knockturn Alley?” When Harry gave Albus a sharp look, Albus quickly added, “Just to see if there is any evidence of Death Eater activity.”

Draco was staring at Harry now, a combination of hope and hesitation in his wide eyes and clenched jaw. 

“Albus,” Harry sat down next to his son. “I wish it were that simple. If anyone sees you, an Auror, or Draco, for that matter, sniffing around, it could easily be interpreted as offensive. We could start a war, Albus.”

It was evident that Draco was disappointed in this answer with the way he huffed. “That’s it, then? We just wait for Death Eaters to kill Scorpius, if they haven’t already? All to protect the poor, innocent Ministry?” Though his words were harsh, his tone lacked aggression.

Turning his attention to Draco now, Harry gave him a dangerous look. “Draco,” his voice warned. “You know that’s not it. If we’re going to do anything, we need a plan. And I’m open to suggestions.” Harry opened his arms to Draco, welcoming his ideas.

Draco opened his mouth to respond, something seething based on his furious expression, but hissed a pained breath in through his teeth instead as he clutched his left forearm. His face morphed from rage to panic in a heartbeat as he pulled his sleeve up.

The charcoal snake was twisting around the skull, constricting around the eye sockets, before baring its fangs. Draco had to hold his left hand with his right to steady his shaking.

The tattoo shifting beneath Draco’s skin was unnerving to Albus, his forearm rippling as the serpent repositioned. More unsettling was the sheer horror on Draco’s face as he dropped to his knees, hyperventilating.

“What does it mean?” Albus asked, leaning forward. 

There was no response, but Draco looked up at him in terror. His hand was clenched around his forearm, knuckles white, as though it would somehow stop the snake from moving. Harry stood to crouch next to Draco, careful hands pulling Draco’s away from the Mark, trying to inspect it.

Relenting, Draco allowed Harry to view it unobstructed. Draco was trembling, struggling to catch his breath.

“Draco,” Harry was now holding his own hand over the Mark. “Draco, talk to us. What does this mean?” 

Rocking himself back and forth, Draco was staring straight ahead. “They’ve Marked him, Harry,” he breathed out, between shaky inhales.

Harry moved his hand, looking at the brand again. Albus did the same. The Mark didn't look much different than usual, and Albus saw no evidence that it was related to Scorpius.

“How do you know?” Harry voiced the same question Albus was thinking.

Draco looked at the Mark through the corner of his eye. “I don’t…I don’t know.” He held the Mark out. “I just know. They’re rallying Death Eaters. I think they all felt it. It felt like a…like a celebration.”

Draco’s breathlessness was contagious, as Albus was now also finding air in panicked gasps. “Scorpius would never - he’d never take the Mark.” Albus was standing now.

“No, no he wouldn’t.” Draco agreed before looking Albus in the eye. “Not everyone with the Mark took it willingly.” There was a coldness to his voice, but once again, it lacked anger.

Harry shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. What’s important now is what this means.” His voice was expectant, as though he believed Draco had the answer.

“He’s been tried and found guilty of being a Death Eater and the heir of Voldemort.” Draco sat up on his heels, regaining some composure. “It doesn’t take the Order of Merlin to figure out that he’s a tool - or a symbol - for something big. Your guess is as good as mine.” 

“What do we do?” Albus’s voice wavered. 

There was a pause, the three of them processing, considering. Harry sighed before speaking. “We go to Knockturn Alley. The Ministry won’t believe you, Draco. That this is a message.” He pointed at Draco’s Mark. “You two are right. We need to act. But I stand by what I said, too. We need a plan, or at the very least, a few allies.”

Albus nearly dropped to his knees in relief. “Where do we start?” He asked, eager to draft their plan.

“How many Aurors do you think would be willing to risk their careers - maybe even their lives - to help save Scorpius?” Harry stood as well, grabbing a piece of parchment and a quill from a drawer.

A big ask. Albus considered for a few moments, thinking about Ironwood and a handful of other young Aurors, ones that had been frustrated by the Ministry’s lack of initiative in the past. “Three, maybe four.” Albus responded.

Nodding, Harry jotted down a quick note. “That’s good, that’s good.” He leaned back to think for a moment. “Your mother wouldn’t let us go without her.” He shot Albus a quick smile. “I don’t have any connections that I can ask to help fight, but plenty to help provide some intel.”

“What about your other friends?” Draco asked. “The ones from school?” He spoke slowly, as though scared to ask.

“I can’t ask them to fight for me again. I’ll reach out though. Luna’s always got her finger on the pulse of current events and Neville may have picked up some news from Hogwarts. But I won’t ask them to fight.” Harry was busying himself with writing, the quill scratching across parchment feverishly.

Still holding his arm in front of him, Draco sighed in resignation. “Can’t say I have anyone that would fight for Scorpius, but I’ve spent a fair amount of time learning how Death Eaters fight, learning how they strategize.”

Harry nodded again. “That’s great. That’ll be a big help. No use having Aurors to fight alongside us with no direction.” 

“I’ve also learned enough to know this very well might be a trap, Harry.” Draco continued with a sense of urgency in his voice. “They know I felt it. They might be expecting us to move.”

The quill stopped scratching for a few seconds. “That’s a risk we must be willing to take. It doesn’t change what we have to do.” Harry’s voice was resolute, it had none of the waver that Albus’s did. 

“Right, then.” Harry set his quill down after a few minutes. “Albus, get in touch with your Aurors. Draco and I will chat with some old friends, see if we can learn anything before we set off.”

Albus nodded, but he didn’t miss the way Draco’s eyes flicked to Harry with uncertainty at the mention of ‘old friends.’

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Mark’s burn was still present, barely cutting through the haze of the potion. Scorpius held his arm out as though it was something repulsive, because it absolutely was.

The Death Eaters in the room were celebrating, gathered in small groups, laughing and cheering. Scorpius’s sluggish memories brought him back to the gallows, the last time he heard nauseating cheers. 

Gabriel grabbed him, forcing him to stand despite the lingering effects of the potion. He dragged Scorpius through the room by his arm, showing it to each group, displaying Scorpius’s fresh Mark as though it were a trophy.

That was all Scorpius was to them. He was just a trophy, not a person. 

He was led to another group, who took turns admiring the Mark. Scorpius tried pulling away, wrenching his arm from Gabriel’s grasp. Gabriel smiled and tightened his hand, a bruising grip now held on his wrist.

Being led by his arm, Scorpius was yanked to a secluded corner of the room. Gabriel grabbed his shoulder, the one with a still healing wound from Jonah’s betrayal. “Don’t fight me, Scorpius.” His voice was still suave and smooth, but his tone was condescending. “You will comply. I have more than potions in my arsenal.”

Scorpius relaxed just slightly, just enough for Gabriel to smile and nod. “Good boy,” Gabriel whispered and Scorpius nearly tensed again, disgust curling in his gut.

Gabriel forced Scorpius back in front of the group of Death Eaters. Their conversation fell silent at their approach. They took a moment to appreciate the Mark, as the groups before them, muttering small approvals. 

One of them, a tall wizard, reached out to touch the Mark without warning. Scorpius instinctively jerked away. Gabriel grabbed the back of his neck threateningly, a warning Scorpius couldn't ignore as fingers dug into the brand. Scorpius stilled, exposing the Mark to the crowd.

The group didn’t notice Scorpius discomfort - or if they did, they didn’t care. The man who had touched the Mark was smiling a sick, triumphant smile. “The Dark Lord’s heir, brought into the fold. They said it would happen…but seeing it for myself.” He trailed off, eyes locked on the Mark, not even glancing at Scorpius’s face. “It's something else.”

They spoke of him as though he weren’t standing in front of them, as though he wasn’t anything more than the Mark on his flesh.

Another voice chimed in, the same one that had first ridiculed Scorpius and Gabriel in the infirmary. “I see he took some ‘convincing’ to take the Mark.” His tone was dismissive. “What’s he supposed to do for us when he can barely stay awake?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Gabriel spat back, his grip on Scorpius tightening. “He’s Marked and obedient. That’s all we need right now.”

The other man scoffed. “I thought we were finding a leader, not your next pet project.” He waved at Scorpius, who was staring at him with glazed over eyes.

Gabriel took a threatening step forward. “He’ll learn.” Fingernails scratched the brand and Scorpius couldn’t swallow the small grunt. Gabriel glanced at him with disgust. 

“Whatever you say.” The man was sitting back down, watching Scorpius disapprovingly. 

Time wore on in a similar fashion, Scorpius being paraded around to various Death Eaters. He was forced to listen to their comments about ‘bloodlines’ and ‘purity.’ It sickened Scorpius to his core.

With the passage of time came the wearing off of the potion. The cloud swirling through Scorpius’s brain was slowly dissipating, the pain of his poorly healed wounds edging their way back into his awareness. His body was becoming more responsive, standing was easier, perhaps running and fighting would be too.

Gabriel was dragging him again, this time pulling him back into the hallway, away from the celebrating Death Eaters. He was led to a small room, with a bed and a desk.

Guiding Scorpius, Gabriel pushed him into the chair at the desk. He pulled a vial from his pocket, containing the same liquid that Scorpius had willingly drank several hours ago. The offending vial was placed on the desk and Gabriel looked at Scorpius expectantly.

Scorpius recoiled, shying away from the potion, only just having regained his ability to have a clear thought. 

“Scorpius,” Gabriel picked the vial back up. “This is a condition of your stay here. You keep taking this potion, and I don’t have to find more creative ways to keep you in line. You have a role to play, Scorpius. I know you don’t believe in our cause yet, but we can’t have you fighting against it.” He offered the vial to Scorpius.

Hands clenched around the arms of the chair, Scorpius didn’t reply, refusing to accept the potion.

“Scorpius,” Gabriel repeated and Scorpius was growing fatigued from hearing his own name. “You will learn to take it. I’d much rather you did it willingly.”

Gabriel stalked closer, pressing the glass against Scorpius’s chest. “You can take it now,” Gabriel’s voice low and coaxing, “or I can find a way to make you take it. The choice is yours. It’ll make you feel good, I promise. Remember how soothing it is? You don’t have to be in pain.”

Nausea swirled in Scorpius’s stomach not unlike the green streaks in the potion. He couldn’t lose his thoughts again. His heart dropped thinking about what else Gabriel might convince him to do when he couldn’t find the logic to reject.

“Please…” Scorpius was begging to yet another person who didn’t care. A small mocking voice in the corner of his mind mocked him for not having improved his begging skills after such frequent practice. “Please Gabriel…I can’t. I won’t.”

Gabriel just stared into Scorpius’s face, looking at him like an object of both disgust and amusement.

“You can’t,” he repeated, mockingly. “Oh, but Scorpius, you can and you will. Look at that.” He pointed to the Mark on Scorpius’s arm. “You're ours now. What you want, what you don’t want, none of that matters.”

The way Gabriel stared down at Scorpius made him feel the need to squirm away from view. It was predatory, but it also revealed a sick sense of enjoyment, supported by the amusement in his voice.

“Don’t worry,” Gabriel continued his sweet reassurances to the very worried man under him. “I’ve seen this resistance before. You’ll take the potion. Every time you do, it gets a little easier. You’ll start to crave it, the dullness, the relaxation. It felt good, didn’t it? Soon you’ll be asking for these vials.”

Scorpius’s jaw was gripped suddenly. “Save us both some time and energy, Scorpius. Don’t make me force you. You don’t want that, do you?” 

The words were suffocating. He didn’t want to lose himself again, didn’t want to forget who he was.

He tried begging one more time, but when he moved his jaw to say Gabriel’s name, the hand squeezed, forcing his mouth into a vulnerable, open position. Reflexively, Scorpius clawed at the hand, but its grip couldn’t be dislodged.

“You’ll feel better after.” Gabriel uncorked the vial. Scorpius tried shaking his head, but Gabriel’s fingers pressed into the tender skin of his cheeks, unyielding. The liquid was poured unceremoniously into Scorpius’s mouth.

Gagging and sputtering, Scorpius tried to stop the liquid from sliding down his throat. A few droplets splashed against his face, but the rest of the honeyed liquid flowed down into him, uninhibited. 

Gabriel released his face and Scorpius bent forward, heaving and choking from his feeble attempt to avoid swallowing. 

It only took a second or two before the numbness creeped into his body. Oh, it felt amazing. His wounds immediately stopped complaining, the stress he had felt just moments before was a distant memory.

“That didn’t take long, did it?” Gabriel’s smooth voice danced through Scorpius’s foggy brain. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Scorpius didn’t respond, vision blurring slightly when he looked up at Gabriel. Sleep sounded absolutely fantastic, but even his fuzzy brain knew he had to stay alert with Gabriel present.

“Look at you,” Gabriel continued, his eyes raking over Scorpius not unlike Rachel’s used to. It was an excited look, one with implications that made Scorpius taste bile.

“No,” Scorpius managed to whisper. His mind was screaming at his body to stand, run, push Gabriel away and sprint. But his legs simply trembled at the request.

A hand was on his thigh, pushing his leg down, steadying it. “Still scared?” Gabriel’s expression could easily have been mistaken for concern. “You won’t be soon, the potion will take care of that.”

He was being lifted off the chair. Scorpius kicked out, tried fighting back, but it was as though he were moving through water.

Gabriel threw Scorpius onto the bed. The potion was doing shockingly little to slow his panicked heart as he waited, since there was very little for him to do but wait.

“A part of me wants to thank that self-righteous group of zealots for what they did to you.” Gabriel crouched at the edge of the bed, gingerly touching the brand on Scorpius’s neck, breath tickling his ear. “They already did so much of the leg work to make you compliant.”

Climbing onto the bed, Gabriel took Scorpius’s left arm again. His fingers traced over the Mark, following the shape of the snake, massaging the skin lightly where the black skull was now inked. 

“You’re beautiful like this.” Gabriel murmured, focused on Scorpius’s arm. Summoning all the energy that hadn’t been soaked up by the potion, Scorpius yanked at his arm, managing to just barely twist it from Gabriel’s grasp.

The Death Eater made a small noise of surprise before pouncing on Scorpius, straddling his hips, forcing him to relive another memory of captivity, memories that previously ended in him being choked or stabbed. 

“You’re still resisting, Scorpius.” Gabriel took both Scorpius’s wrists and pressed them against the headboard with ease. “Just relax, let it happen.” 

Scorpius’s muscles were refusing to tense, forced into involuntary relaxation. He was petrified, having never felt so utterly defenseless, so at the mercy of another person, a person who wanted to hurt him, who wanted to dominate him.

“There you go,” Gabriel was cooing, releasing Scorpius’s wrists and watching them fall limply onto the bed. “See? You can feel good now.” 

Gabriel looked over Scorpius’s vulnerable body. Scorpius was forced just to stare up at him, whispers of pleas escaping his lips, the only defiance he could muster.

“I could do anything to you right now.” Gabriel’s voice kept its smoothness. “You couldn’t stop me.”

A whimper was Scorpius’s response. He flexed his hands, trying to barter with them, asking them to push Gabriel away. 

“But I won’t.” Gabriel pushed himself off the bed, lifting his weight off Scorpius. “Not yet, anyway. Keep defying me, especially in front of the others, and we’ll have to get more…creative.” 

Scorpius kept his eyes locked on the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with Gabriel. The Death Eater was waiting, for what Scorpius didn’t know. 

After what felt like hours, the door finally creaked open, then shut, followed by an echoing click of a lock. 

Not bothering to look at the door, Scorpius let his body relax, sinking into the soft mattress. His anxieties were starting to flee, and Scorpius couldn’t be certain if it was the effects of the potion or being free from Gabriel’s clutches.

Sleep was far too appealing to resist. The small, still rational part of Scorpius’s brain thanked Gabriel for the potion. Sleep was only an option because of the heavy numbness the potion was kindly supplying.

Even so, snakes slithered their way into Scorpius’s dreams, coiling, preparing to strike.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The air in the cramped upstairs room of Flourish and Blotts was thick with dust and old wards. Forgotten tomes were stacked on shelves, left to decay. Six Aurors filled the space, three leaning against the walls, two seated at a worn table, and one pacing, wooden floorboards creaking with every step. They were in plain clothes, but their posture gave them away. Alert. Suspicious. Dangerous.

Draco stood off to the side, arms crossed, saying nothing, keeping his gaze centered on the grimy window. Albus was tensely hovering near the door, feeling woefully unprepared to rally his colleagues into defying their superiors.

Harry stepped forward, flanked by Ginny. “Thank you for coming.” His voice was even and assured.

“I won’t waste your time with Ministry lies or half-truths.” A few of the Aurors snapped their heads up in attention. “There was a Death Eater attack just down the street from where we are meeting now. Innocent people died. Many more were injured. The Ministry barely raised a wand.” Harry took a few moments to assess the room before continuing. “You saw it. You heard the excuses. No arrests. No statements. Nothing but silence.”

The pacing Auror halted. One that was leaning against the wall had pushed off it, now leaning forward with interest.

“Eyewitness testimony suggested that the Death Eaters were seen walking to Diagon Alley from Knockturn Alley, so we intend to investigate. We intend to bring those responsible to justice while the Ministry worries over their headlines.” Harry finished his opening remarks, taking a small step back to signal that the floor was open to those who wished to respond.

A veteran Auror stood from their seat at the table. He was older, appearing close in age to Harry and Draco. “This hasn’t got anything to do with your kid that the Death Eaters rescued, does it?” He rounded on Draco as he spoke.

Draco didn’t flinch, but pulled his crossed arms tighter into his chest. His eyes didn’t leave the window, not giving into the desire to spit back a sharpened retort.

Taking a step forward again, Harry claimed the space between Draco and the Aurors. “It has everything to do with the Death Eaters that killed civilians in broad daylight. As far as we know, Scorpius is a prisoner. This is about more than just him, though.” Harry chose his words carefully, notably not mentioning the Mark.

“Even if it were?” Ginny cut through, calm and assertive. “Would that make it any less just? Any less necessary?”

The room fell silent. 

The Auror that had been pacing rubbed his neck in thought. “You’re asking us to disobey direct orders. For what? Vengeance?”

“No,” Harry quickly interjected. “We’re asking you to do the job you signed up for.”

Harry was usually skilled in finding the right thing to say and this was, in fact, the right thing. There were a few murmurs of agreement and nodding heads. 

Ginny gestured to the Aurors. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t already questioning the Ministry. If you didn’t think the Ministry was starting to turn its back on what’s important.”

More agreement. Albus felt words forming at the back of his throat. He wanted them to know saving Scorpius was important too. But instead, he squeezed his eyes shut, letting his parents motivate their team.

“I’ll do it.” Albus was shocked that the first to speak was the veteran at the table. “I’m in. Not for Malfoy.” A quick glance at Draco. “But because I’ve been ordered to stand down and stay quiet by our superiors, when it was wrong. When I knew it was wrong.” His attention flicked back to Draco, an unspoken challenge.

Draco finally met the Auror’s eyes. “I’m not here to ask for your forgiveness.” The Auror raised his eyebrows, but Draco didn’t back down, his expression unapologetic. “You know what it’s like to look away. I did that once, too. I won’t do it again.”

The Auror maintained eye contact, his jaw clenching as he prepared his response. He was interrupted by another Auror chiming in, one of the younger ones, more familiar to Albus. “I’m in, too.”

One by one, the Aurors gathered in the decrepit room agreed, much to the relief of Albus. A small army of well trained duelists and investigators. It was more than Albus could ask for. It was more than any of them could ask for.

The plan was simple. In pairs, they would comb through Knockturn Alley, looking for any changes - no matter how small. Maybe a door left ajar, boards added to a window of a long deserted storefront, or the glimmer of protective wards.

Albus walked alongside Ginny, Harry opting to accompany Draco after noticing the side eye that some of the Aurors were giving him. The other Aurors paired up amongst themselves. 

It was far from the first time Albus had turned off Diagon Alley into the musty Knockturn Alley. More than a few investigations led him down this path, but the wet brick, the long shadows cast despite the shining sun, were all more than a little unsettling.

Albus clenched his wand, his thumb tapping against the wood in an uneven tempo. Ginny was taut beside him, head swiveling toward any new sound. Harry and Draco were just a few paces to their right, Harry making an obvious effort not to stray too far from his family. The Aurors fanned out methodically, scouring side streets.

The cobblestone pathways were remarkably vacant. It was wrong.  

A voice, lazy and lilting, slithered through the gloom. “Well, look what the kneazle dragged in.”

A figure stepped out from behind a shuttered apothecary stall, robes dark and unmarked, hood pulled low. 

Wands raised in an instant.

The smirk beneath the hood was unmistakable. “Potter, Wesley, Malfoy. Brought the whole family, did you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Harry responded coolly.

The Death Eater chuckled, slow and cruel. “Tired of playing fetch for the Ministry? Or are you just here for your precious little heir?” 

Draco’s wand rotated, as though he were twisting a knife. 

“Doubt you’d even recognize him.” The Death Eater was stalking forward, with unnerving confidence. 

Ginny held Albus’s arm, feeling it tense, stopping Albus from lunging toward the hooded man.

The man turned toward the mouth of the alley. “I suppose we will see soon enough.”

He raised his wand.

“No!” Harry yelled, surging forward, but it was too late.

A green light shot into the air, blossoming into a terrible snake. The Dark Mark spread across the sky, casting a pallid glow over the alley.

The Death Eater lowered his wand, smiled, and just like that - disappeared with a crack that echoed down the alleyway like a warning shot.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Scorpius writhed, clawing at the stone floor, desperately seeking any relief from the pain. It was peeling him apart from the inside - nerve by nerve, thought by thought. The only thing he could hear over his own strangled screams and gasping breaths was Gabriel’s even voice.

“I don’t want to ask twice.”

The end to the pain was abrupt, leaving Scorpius shivering on the ground, focused on breathing.

“I gave you a chance. I warned you, remember?” Gabriel was standing over Scorpius, his tone disappointed. “Take the potion, Scorpius.” 

The venomous vial was perched on the chair in Scorpius’s room. Scorpius let his eyes flick to it, before looking back up at Gabriel.

Gabriel clicked his tongue. “No?” He asked with a short sigh. “Scorpius, you’re starting to irritate me. I don’t know what you’re playing at.”

There were a few moments of silence as Gabriel appraised the prone man, twirling his wand before training it on Scorpius. “Crucio.”

The pain crashed over Scorpius again, muscles too tight, too wound to even produce a scream, the noise caught in his throat. He was worried his body might start tearing itself apart with how strained it felt. His legs kicked out aimlessly, as though trying to run from the agony.

Scorpius gasping in a breath as the pain relented, his chest loosening enough to inhale. He swallowed to help soothe his raw throat. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Gabriel crouched over Scorpius, who was staring up at him blankly. “I don’t understand why you make me do this to you. Scorpius, for both our sakes, take the potion.”

Breathing starting to steady, Scorpius looked back at the potion, tempted. Surely Gabriel would find some way to force him to drink it. Why resist? Why not just let the pain stop now?

Scorpius shook his head, a jerky movement. He wasn’t a Death Eater. Let Gabriel force him. That would be the only way he would give in.

Sighing again, Gabriel leaned his head back. “We’ll try something else then.” His wand was pointed at Scorpius again, who flinched so suddenly that his jaw connected with the floor. “Imperio.”

The curse slid into Scorpius’s brain like warm syrup, silky and smooth. Thought ceased. Worry ceased. The noise inside him, always spinning, always clanging… gone.  

You want the potion.

And he did. Every inch of him did. He crawled forward, stone biting into his knees, moving with a fluidity he didn’t know his body was capable of in its current state. He reached Gabriel’s boots and looked up at him expectantly.

Beg.

Naturally. Scorpius bowed, stretching his hands upward like a child reaching for sweets.

More.

“Please,” Scorpius whispered, the voice wasn’t his, it was being muttered from some place far away. “Please. I’ll be good. Please, give me the potion. I swear I’ll be good.”

Gabriel said nothing, just stood there, watching Scorpius grovel.

Then, the spell lifted. The world slammed back into place like a tomb sealing shut.

Scorpius recoiled, scrambling backwards, slipping on the sweat drenched stone. Trembling, Scorpius felt the shame catch up. Gabriel was simply watching Scorpius come to his senses, holding the potion out.

Staring at it, Scorpius tried swallowing the horror rising in his throat. He’d begged. In that moment, he’d meant it. 

He couldn’t remember deciding to move. To crawl. To speak. It had all been taken. Not dulled, not softened like the potion, but stripped away. He wasn’t himself. He wasn’t anyone.

At least with the potion, some flicker of thought remained. Muffled, fogged, but his.  

This? The Imperius? It was obliteration. It was erasure. A kind of death.

Scorpius accepted the potion. He swallowed it in a single gulp, pleasing Gabriel based on the smile spreading across his face.

“The Imperius, huh?” Gabriel asked, inspecting his wand with curiosity. “I’d have thought you’d be keen on a chance to forget who you were.” He shrugged.

The words bounced off Scorpius as his body sprawled against the stone. Oh, this was certainly the correct choice. That now familiar sense of peace was washing over Scorpius. 

Hands were scooping him off the floor and he felt his heart beat a little faster. They didn’t throw him on the bed this time, but rather half-carried, half-pushed Scorpius through foreign doors.

The tiny, rational part of Scorpius’s brain left intact was screaming.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The tiny army was mustered beneath the Mark watching as Death Eaters streamed into the alley, black cloaks melding together. A tiny trickle of water, flowing from a nearby sewer, divided the two groups of witches and wizards.

The Aurors had regrouped, joining the other four after the Mark was cast. All ten of them were still, holding their wands up defensively, uncertain of the Death Eaters’ plans.

Albus’s grip on his wand tightened as he noted a flash of blond hair standing out starkly against the sea of black cloth. 

A wizard was leading - no, dragging - Scorpius into the lineup. Scorpius was stumbling, leaning on the man holding him upright. His skin was pale, unbearably pale, the sun reflecting on him harshly, giving him a ghostly appearance. There was a small trail of blood dripping down his chin, a bruise crawling up his jaw.

And his eyes - the eyes that had always met Albus’s with something quiet and wry - were glassy and vacant, drifting past Albus’s face without recognition. 

Albus’s throat locked. His mind went blank. Blank of all thoughts besides the thought of holding Scorpius. Of wiping the blood from his mouth and whispering in his ear about how everything would be okay.

The man holding Scorpius was sneering, giving some grand speech about loyalty, about proof, about choosing sides. It was all but static to Albus. A hand grabbed the back of Scorpius’s neck, forcing him to straighten his stance, the man putting him on display like a hunter would his prey.

Scorpius.

His name reverberated through Albus’s mind, a silent scream he couldn’t voice, not yet. 

And he didn’t have to. Draco did instead.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The light was blaring. It wasn’t like the aggressive white light that buzzed above his cage. It was warm, assaulting him with heat and comfort.

The potion was replacing the fear in his chest with something soft and sticky. The corners of his thoughts were going dark as a gentle film settled over his brain. 

Outside. It smelled of rain, but not the earthy smell of soaked soil, rather the smell of sopping, dirty laundry. He blinked against the sun’s rays, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Gabriel was helping him stand, supporting him in a line of Death Eaters. Scorpius couldn’t help but lean against Gabriel as he spoke, feeling the vibrations of his smooth voice in his chest.

“Scorpius.”

He blinked again. That was a familiar voice. An achingly, hauntingly familiar voice. Scorpius drifted his eyes over the group standing across from him again. He found faces that were achingly, hauntingly familiar. Ones he hadn’t expected to see again. Ones he wasn’t sure he trusted anymore.

“Scorpius.”

The voice came again, the only voice he had heard all his life. A voice that he had only now just realized he never wanted to hear for the last time.

The realization drenched him like cold water. It pierced the fog and sent a shiver down his spine. For a brief, impossible moment, Scorpius was himself again. He was Draco Malfoy’s terrified, trembling son again.

His body reacted without thinking.

Gabriel gestured with both arms, granting Scorpius another golden opportunity to pull away, sliding out of his grasp, without elegance, but with purpose.

____________________________________________________________________________

The vacant stare painted on Scorpius’s face sharpened for just a moment. The wizard’s grip on him faltered and Albus bit back a cheer as Scorpius yanked his arm free from his grasp. 

It was all Albus needed. It was a flicker of Scorpius. Of his Scorpius.

His body reacted without thinking.

“ Expelliarmus! ” 

The spell burst from Albus’s want, a snarl of light and rage. 

The single spell ignited chaos in the alley. It struck a Death Eater that hadn’t been holding her wand. She stumbled back with a grunt and vanished amongst the scramble of black robes.

Harry’s wand was flourished next to Albus, wordlessly, and a protective gust of wind blasted Scorpius against the brick wall of one of the buildings. Scorpius barely noticed, head lolling lazily against the wall, seemingly appreciative for the newfound support.

Most of the Death Eaters had drawn their wands, though some fumbled through their pockets. One wand clattered to the cobblestone, no disarming spell required. 

The Death Eaters that managed to arm themselves surged forward, shouting to one another between flicks of their wand. Some spells were cast precisely, forcing out protective shields and countercurses. Others sent out wild flares of energy that crackled against stone and brick, erratic and desperate.

Albus fell into rhythm with his fellow Aurors, moving as a single unit, casting and shielding and pivoting, years - or decade for some - of experience boiling to the surface. Two Death Eaters dropped before crossing the stream of filthy water cutting the alley in two. One fell to the ground screaming, robes alight with blue flames, before being silenced by a stunning spell.

Eyes flicking to Scorpius, Albus felt a curse whizz past his shoulder. Close. Too close. 

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. His wand slipped just a millimeter in his sweat-slick hand.

Scorpius.

Hurling a ‘ Stupefy’ at the nearest masked figure, he rushed into the center of the battlefield, pushing closer to Scorpius. His spell connected, knocking one Death Eater off balance. 

Someone behind Albus shouted something - maybe praise, maybe warning - but Albus didn’t hear.

The space between him and Scorpius felt like lightyears. He barely registered the flashes of light above his head. Yells of ‘ Petrificus Totalis’ and ‘ Confundo’ crashed around him like thunder. A curse grazed his cheek, but he didn’t slow down.

Scorpius was slumped against the crumbling brick. His face was obscured by the shadows of Death Eaters and Aurors, but seeing him, pale and limp, stirred something deep in Albus’s chest.

The ground exploded beneath Albus. He leaped to the side, away from Scorpius, as a massive burst of blue light sent debris flying in all directions. 

“Albus, get down!” Harry’s voice shouted from somewhere nearby, but Albus’s focus was already back on Scorpius.

The world shrunk. All that mattered was right in front of him. Right there , but so out of reach. 

A shrill laugh pierced through the clash of battle. One of the Death Eaters - familiar with the game - turned on Albus, throwing a spell with an overly emphasized brandish of his wand. “ Expulso!”

The shockwave pushed Albus off his feet, throwing him into the wall with a crack. Pain bloomed across his back and the air was rushed from his lungs.

“No!” Albus choked out, standing, pushing through the agony in his ribs. The irony taste of blood blossoming across his tongue.

His eyes locked back on Scorpius and the spells shattering against the brick, each one threatening to rip him apart.

Another curse - a streak of green, flew just inches above Albus’s head. Albus forced his attention back to the battle, avoiding the thought of just how close he was to losing everything in an instant.

“ Protego,” was said by Albus just in time to deflect a couple stunning spells. He took the opportunity to glance back at Scorpius, still so far away. Too far away. 

“Avada Kadavra!”

Instinctively, Albus ducked, panicked eyes searching for the telltale flash of green. When none came for him, he whirled around, scanning for where it landed - relief flooding him when he saw his companions still standing.

That relief was dammed when he realized the curse hadn’t come from the enemy.

It had come from Draco.

The flash of green struck a Death Eater square in the chest. The masked woman crumpled, like a puppet with its strings cut, like all her bones had turned to rubber.

Albus stumbled back, gasping as he stared at Draco, mouth agape. For a fraction of a second, their gazes met. Draco didn’t seem to notice, or maybe didn’t care, turning his attention to another Death Eater, another enemy to be eliminated. 

Wildly, Albus glanced around the battlefield, scanning for anyone that may have seen Draco deliver a killing blow. His other companions were locked in their own duels, paying the former Death Eater no mind. Oblivious.

The Aurors were largely still standing shoulder to shoulder, casting defensive and offensive spells in well practiced patterns, almost like musicians conducting an orchestra of life and death.

Harry and Ginny were fighting side by side, covering each other’s flanks with expertise. There was an elegance to their movements and a synchronization that made it more than abundantly clear they had fought as one many times over.

A scream tore through the clash and Albus’s head snapped in its direction. A maskless Death Eater knelt at the body of the woman Draco had killed. The kneeling man looked young, maybe even younger than Albus. His wand fell from his hand, clattering to the ground. An Auror behind Albus took advantage, a stunning hex hitting the Death Eater in the chest as he opened his mouth to let out another sound of anguish.

The sharp crack of disapparition boomed through the battlefield followed by a screeched “coward!”. The disapparition made a few Death Eater wands lower, making the dire mistake of hesitation in front of the rehearsed Aurors.

Advantage was pushed again. Disarming spells were cast and more Death Eater wands were clattering against stone. One witch dropped her wand and held her arms up, trembling and muttering pleas for mercy.

“Hold your ground!” A voice bellowed out and a barrage of spells raced through the air. Albus ducked again, a stunning spell crackling against the stone above him. The Death Eater’s offensive was short-lived as the Aurors returned their own volley of spells, with more accuracy and speed.

The battle was quickly becoming a scattered frenzy, at least on the one side of the sewer stream. Some Death Eaters still advanced, now hopelessly outnumbered. Others cast blindly behind them as they turned their back on the combat. A few cowered on the ground, trying to make themselves small.

Only a few Death Eaters were left standing and the Aurors were marching forward with an intensity that left the few remaining fighters stumbling. One more blast of red fire illuminated the alley, quickly dispelled by an Auror’s muttering of “ Aguamenti ,” and the final Death Eater wand was lowered.

Albus slumped against the wall, chest heaving with exhaustion he hadn’t felt until this moment. The alley stank of smoke and sweat and blood. His fingers reached up to brush his cheek, leaving red-tinged. 

The screaming had thinned. The lightshow had dimmed. 

It was over.

Albus didn’t feel triumphant as he surveyed the carnage. 

He felt dread.

Dread as he looked at the crumpled figure leaned against the wall.

Albus was under water. The piercing sounds of Aurors yelling instructions and Harry yelling his name were muffled.

He didn’t move.

He couldn’t move.

Something primal rooted him to the spot. Moving might make it real. Moving might confirm what Albus already was certain of. Scorpius wasn’t moving. Wasn’t twitching. Wasn’t breathing.

He was -

No.

He was alive. He had to be alive.

Albus felt a hollowness bloom in his chest, filling it with an ache. An unbearable ache. Every part of him was screaming to run, sprint to Scorpius, get to him, touch him, fix this.

But he didn’t.

Because if he was wrong - if he was right -

He willed Scorpius to move. To groan. To whimper.

“Come on,” Albus whispered to no one. Or maybe to both of them. “Come on, please.”

Albus’s numb legs dragged him forward, each deliberate step sinking his heart deeper into his stomach. Each step brought him closer to whatever truth lay with Scorpius and he hated it. He hated the uneven cobblestone, he hated the dust he was blinking from his eyes, he hated the seconds for not rewinding. 

Maybe he even hated how that flash of green light hit the wall behind him, cruelly missing its target.

He could still pretend now.

Right now, in this moment, Scorpius could be alive. He could just be unconscious, easily roused with a shake.

Or maybe he was already -

No. No.

Albus was close now. The time left to pretend was slipping through the cracks in the stone. Scorpius was still. Too still.

Surely he wasn’t breathing. 

Was he?

Crouching down, Albus held his hand out, hovering near Scorpius’s neck, the untarnished side. He took one more breath before he pressed two fingers against Scorpius’s clammy skin.

There.

There it was.

A flutter so faint that Albus thought at first it was the ghost of his own pulse. 

But then, a quiet, steady, thrum. It was weak, but real.

Albus made a choked sound, a strange mix of laughter and sobbing. His head fell against the wall and he fisted his hands in Scorpius’s stained shirt, anchoring himself to the only thing that mattered.

His father’s hands found him seconds later, firm and familiar, winding themselves around him tightly. Albus leaned into the embrace, his body thankful for the support as sobs wracked through his body. 

“I’ve got you.” Harry’s voice was gentle and quiet, a small voice meant only for Albus.

Albus couldn’t answer. He buried himself in his father’s chest and sobbed loud, gasping cries that shook his body. He was being turned inside out, the fear spilling out of him like a tidal wave.

He’d nearly lost him.

For a moment, he did. He believed it.

He knew it.

Harry didn’t say anything. Words didn’t matter. He just held Albus tighter, rocking him as he’d done so many times over the past several tumultuous days. 

The sobs slowed as Albus’s chest ached and throat burned. His body sagged into his father’s arms. Voices were all around him, shouting commands, sending Patronuses to St. Mungo’s, giving reports.

“Albus,” Harry finally said, running his fingers along Albus’s scalp. “We need to get Scorpius ready for transport to St. Mungo’s.”

Albus didn’t respond and mutely watched as his fellow Aurors lifted Scorpius’s frail body onto a conjured stretcher and covered him with an orange blanket.

Scorpius’s arm slipped off the cot and Albus cried out as it dangled limply off the edge. Ever so carefully, Albus took the slim wrist in his hand and crossed the arm back over Scorpius’s chest. 

The rise and fall of Scorpius’s chest seemed impossible. Like some kind of borrowed magic, fragile and doomed to vanish if the wind blew too hard.

A voice called out to Harry, something about being ready to apparate.

They could take him. They could take him to the safety of St. Mungo’s, with potions and salves and spells.

It just didn’t feel real yet.

And Albus needed just a moment longer. Just one more second to live in this new reality. This reality that now included a living, breathing Scorpius. A Scorpius that Albus could touch. 

Because despite all of it - despite the ruin of him, the ruin they let happen - Scorpius was still the most beautiful thing Albus had ever seen.

Albus didn’t care that Scorpius was scarred and Marked, that his clothes were dirtied in battle, that his pale skin was mottled with purple, that he was barely being held together by the strands of his own will.

Scorpius was his.

And as the stretcher was levitated gently into the air, Albus rose with it, not daring to blink.

Because he didn’t want to look away. Not now. Not ever again.

Notes:

This chapter marks over 100,000 words written for this story. I didn't think I'd get this far. What began as a project to reignite my passion for writing has, I think, done just that.

I appreciate every single person who's taken the time and energy to read what I've written. I love you all very much, and thank you from the bottom of my heart for joining me on this fantastic journey.

Here's to what comes next! (don't worry, there is a 'next,' this isn't some flowery way of discontinuing this fic, I'm just feeling sentimental tonight, sue me)

Chapter 15: Waiting

A swirl of Scorpius’s blood circled the drain before being sucked down into the pipes. Albus remembered the dried blood on the ground in the dirty alley, the droplets of blood on the sand, the stained blanket, he remembered all the little pieces of Scorpius that reminded Albus his lover was still real. Now, another little piece of Scorpius was being rinsed from Albus’s hands.

He didn’t need any more reminders.

Scorpius was thankfully unconscious, cocooned in blankets free from blood, oblivious to the agony coursing through his body.

The healer was finished dabbing a salve onto the angry red brand, a stubborn part of Scorpius that seemingly refused to heal. Something about enchantments or cursed metal, something Albus would concern himself with later.

The only thing Albus was concerned with now was watching Scorpius’s frail chest rise and fall. Watching Scorpius’s eyes dance behind closed eyelids. Watching Scorpius’s tendons in his hands flex ever so slightly.

Standing to leave, the healer rested Scorpius’s arm back on the bed after taking his pulse. Albus’s shoulder was squeezed as the healer left.

Like clockwork, Draco’s eyes followed the healer as he left, rising from his usual chair when the door clicked shut. Draco gingerly raised Scorpius’s left arm and tucked it under the blankets, pulling up the sheet to the crook of Scorpius’s elbow.

The black snake nestled between warm layers.

It had been nearly two full days. The expertise of the witches and wizards at St. Mungo’s determined that it was best Scorpius stayed asleep for a few days, giving him some time to heal physical wounds before starting to heal the deeper, unseen wounds.

The hours were agony. Albus knew Draco felt the same. Neither had left Scorpius’s room for longer than 30 minutes at a time. Together, they held vigilance over Scorpius, protecting him. Albus was fulfilling his promise. He would never look away again.

Harry visited often, though he had agreed to be a guest instructor for several Defense Against the Dark Arts class sessions. It was a strange sensation, watching Harry leave for Hogwarts. It echoed a sense of normalcy, one that Albus desperately yearned for.

Hermione had visited too. Perhaps ‘visited’ wasn’t the perfect description. She had burst into Scorpius’s room, mere hours after their arrival, demanding answers and pointing accusatory fingers. Her anger was largely directed at Harry, then she glared at Draco before looking at Ginny. Her face softened when she saw Albus holding Scorpius. 

She had followed up a couple more times, checking in on Scorpius’s progress. Occasionally, she would mutter about the mess they had made, but the gentle protectiveness in her eyes when she stared down at Scorpius told a different story.

Now, it was just Albus and Draco, sitting at the small oval table in the room, listening to the music of Scorpius’s rhythmic breathing. 

“Albus,” Draco began, slowly, looking over Albus’s right shoulder as he spoke. It was a surprise to hear him speak, especially to hear him speak to Albus. Draco looked down at his hands, folded on the table, and shook his head.

Albus hesitated, glancing behind him to see a still sleeping Scorpius. “What is it?” Albus coaxed, keeping his voice low, though he knew the potions and spells could keep Scorpius asleep through a hurricane.

“I wanted to…” Draco trailed off, looking at Albus’s coffee cup and clearing his throat. “I wanted to thank you.”

“What for?”

Draco shifted, the chair creaking with his movement. “For helping. And ah…” Draco looked at the bookshelf to his right. “For not saying anything about the curse. I know you saw.” Finally, Draco looked Albus in the eye.

Now it was Albus’s turn to shift, spinning his coffee cup around so the logo lined up with the little cardboard skirt it wore. Albus lowered his voice even more. “I would have done the same. If I knew how.”

Draco laughed. Draco laughed. The strain that Albus thought was permanently etched on Draco’s face melted away, making Draco look remarkably like Scorpius. 

“Sorry,” Draco apologized after taking a deep breath. “No, Albus. I don’t believe for one second that you’d cast that.” He must have noticed the way Albus’s face scrunched defensively, because he added, “Don’t worry, Potter. It’s a compliment.”

Albus relaxed again, before taking advantage of Draco’s newfound vulnerability. “Was that the first time you cast it?” 

Lines of strain reappeared on Draco’s face and for a moment, Albus wished he had a Time-Turner on him. But Draco sighed in resignation. “No.” 

“You don’t talk about it much, huh?” Albus asked, not needing to specify what ‘it’ was.

Another sigh. “No.” Draco looked past Albus again. “I wanted to protect him from it. I thought maybe…maybe if I just ignored it - if he didn’t know what I’d done - he’d be spared from the consequences.” He looked back at Albus. “Clearly I was mistaken.”

“It’s not your fault.” Albus pleaded and Draco’s eyebrows subtly raised. 

“Maybe, maybe not.” Draco responded, unconvinced. “Though he learned a lot about the war from you. Being around the Potters and the Weasleys.” Albus tensed, ready to defend his father, but Draco raised his hands in surrender. “You had a lot of hard conversations, ones I should have been having with him. Ones I wish I had. I should have prepared him more. How do you tell the person you love the most that you…” He trailed off again, this time never finding the words.

Albus looked down at the bubbles floating at the top of his coffee. Questions burned inside him, though he feared he would press Draco into silence. “Why don’t you like my dad?”

More laughing. Albus couldn’t help but smile back, both of them basking for a moment in the strangeness of their conversation.

Draco stopped laughing and tilted his head in amusement. “I do like your dad.” Albus almost laughed again. “Only, I was taught not to. He was everything I was told to despise. He was - is - brave and honest and infuriatingly good. He never once tried to be anything else. I hated him because it was easy. It was a whole lot easier than admitting that I didn’t know who I was.”

There was a pause as Draco glanced around. “Even after the war, he kept doing the right thing. Helping the Ministry, teaching classes at Hogwarts, being everything the Chosen One should be and more. And I…I don’t know how to forgive him for being what I couldn’t be.”

Draco’s voice was free from venom or anger or malice. It was weary, as though these words were too familiar to Draco, ones he’d turned over in his head time and time again.

 “But,” Albus interjected. “But my dad did do some bad things. I know that he used Dark magic.” He was choosing his words carefully, navigating a minefield for information that had been long hidden from him.

Draco’s fingers traced his chest through his shirt, drawing long lines. He nodded. “He did. But when a good person does bad things, the world shrugs.”

“And when a bad person does good things?”

“...The world forgets.”

The two sat at the table in silence for minutes, a heavy weight settling between them. The steam from Albus’s coffee had long since dissipated, leaving him with cooled, bitter liquid.

“You’re good for him, you know.” The coffee jumped in surprise as Albus’s hand twitched at Draco’s voice. “I’ve never told you that. It’s true.”

Albus wasn’t quite sure how to respond, flustered after receiving yet another compliment from a man who Albus had been so confident despised him. 

“And not just because you’re a Potter here to tell him war stories.” Draco continued, widening his eyes in realization. “Actually, it has nothing to do with you being a Potter. Maybe it’s even despite you being a Potter.”

It almost felt like the words weren’t meant for Albus to hear, that they were just quiet ramblings of discovery.

Then, Draco looked Albus in the eye again. “I thought - I feared - you’d be just like him. That you’d see Scorpius the same way that your father saw me. That Scorpius would just be a burden or - or a reminder. Maybe he’d just be something to fix or pity.”

For a moment, Draco’s voice faltered. “But you didn’t. You never treated him like he had to earn your trust. You just gave it to him.”

Albus didn’t say anything yet. 

“You’ve been there for Scorpius when I wasn’t, when I didn’t know how to be. I think -” Draco swallowed. “I think you’re the reason Scorpius survived. I think you’re the reason I still have something to live for.”

Draco’s eyes darted away from Albus, as though he were ready to move on. The words hung in the air, but that seemed to be what Draco sought to accomplish.

Not wanting to break this strange, temporary truth between the two of them, Albus held his silence. Though with the silence came the thinking. And with the thinking came the same haunting question.

“What next?”

Albus hadn’t meant to ask it aloud. It was a question that tumbled around his brain, one that kept painting pictures of what Albus guessed would be their future.

“We wait.” Draco’s response to Albus’s question was simple. “Something the Potters have always struggled with.” He was looking over Albus’s shoulder again, eyes scanning over Scorpius.

A knock at the door made the two men jump. Before either could say anything, another healer shimmied into the room, opening the door just a crack. The noise in the hallway was growing louder. A crowd had gathered outside Scorpius’s room, hungry for a chance to see the Death Eater captured by Harry Potter himself or maybe it was the Death Eater deserter shown mercy by the Chosen One. Albus was avoiding the news, unsure of the story that was being spun.

The healer was irritated, his movements quick and clinical, jaw tense as he pushed the door shut behind him. He hurried to Scorpius’s side, pulling the sheets down to start the usual examination. 

Draco averted his eyes, keeping them on the table as the healer pulled at Scorpius’s hospital gown, exposing his wounds. Albus often did the same, not yet ready to see the truth.

Drawing a deep breath, Albus steeled himself. He stood near the bed, careful not to block the healer’s light or interrupt. The wounds had been described to him, in detail, but it was time to see for himself.

Scorpius’s chest was first, a smattering of lacerations and a gouge in his shoulder. A salve was applied to them. These wounds were unique, in that they were the only to be responding to the treatment appropriately.

Rolling Scorpius onto his side, the healer frowned as he assessed the deep slices on Scorpius’s back. The salve was applied nonetheless, but the wounds were still angry, not unlike the brand, and occasionally oozed sluggish red. Near Scorpius’s neck, where Knowles had pressed the metal into him, there was an especially tenacious cut, cavernous and constantly reopening.

“The whip had some enchantment.” The healer was gesturing to the wounds. “Prevent healing. If we’re lucky, it was a poorly done enchantment and it’s just slowing things down.” He spoke to Scorpius’s back as he worked, but was well aware that Albus was watching closely.

On his back again, the gown was pulled down, and the healer moved to his legs, folding the bottom of the sheets up. Scorpius’s legs were bruised - his whole body was, really - but his knees sported the most color. There was another gouge in his thigh, healing nicely. Then there was his calf, another wound refusing to cooperate. 

“Caused by magic, you know how it is.” The healer muttered a few spells under his breath, pointing his wand at Scorpius’s lower leg. “It’ll come around.” 

Tucking Scorpius back under the sheets, the brand was next. Albus found his eyes wandering to it more frequently than he appreciated when he was staring down at Scorpius. It was huge, filling most of the space between Scorpius’s jaw and collarbone on the side of his neck. It was black-tinged, making it harshly contrast the pale skin.

“More magic.” The salve was being applied again. “Maybe the fire, maybe the metal.” 

The healer straightened up, considering his patient before giving a curt nod.

“He’s ready.” The healer began. “The injuries are going to take quite some time to heal, but it’s important that we learn where he is psychologically. To continue his treatment plan.” 

Draco stiffened, joining Albus at Scorpius’s bedside. He was staring down at Scorpius, refusing to look at the healer.

Albus shared his anxiety. It was easy now. Heal the wounds. Wash them, use the potions, cast the spells, apply the bandages. Physical wounds were predictable. Albus felt ready for those. 

He was not ready to learn just how many wounds were hidden.

But Scorpius was ready.

And Albus was done making Scorpius wait.

“Okay.” Albus responded dumbly, not sure his tight throat could produce many more intelligent words. 

He could feel Draco shift next to him, though he didn’t say anything, didn’t object.

“I should warn you,” the healer continued. “He’ll be confused, his wounds are numbed, but he’ll be in pain. He might not be who you remember him as at the moment.”

Albus nodded, slowly, eyes locked on Scorpius as the healer raised his wand. Another spell was muttered and the three of them watched as Scorpius’s muscles tensed.

Scorpius didn’t open his eyes immediately, instead splaying out his hands, as though searching for information about his surroundings without betraying the fact that he was conscious. Albus didn’t know if speaking would startle him, so he opted to stay silent, letting Scorpius explore.

Finally, grey eyes cracked open, just a slit. They were scanning over his own body, hands clutching at the blankets as Scorpius continued his investigation. The eyes widened suddenly, glancing wildly around the room, Scorpius gasping as they found the three people standing near the bed.

Kicking away the sheets, Scorpius pressed himself against the wall, breathing in sharp gasps, dilated pupils flicking between the group watching, but lingering longer on Albus and Draco.

This standoff persisted for a few moments before Albus realized that Scorpius’s lips were moving. He took a small step forward to try to make out the words, making Scorpius yelp and recoil.

“Please,” Scorpius raised his voice slightly, perhaps hoping Albus would stop advancing on him. “Please. Why them? No, no, no.”

The mutterings continued and Albus glanced at Draco. He hadn’t moved and Albus could clearly see the tears collecting at the corners of his eyes.

“Scorpius…” Albus tried, keeping his voice low and calm. He raised his hands to Scorpius, showing he was unarmed.

“What are you?” Scorpius hissed out through gritted teeth. His eyes darted around the room and landed on a vial sitting on the table where the healers kept their salves and potions. Albus followed his gaze to an unassuming Calming Draught.

His eyes flicked back to Albus, as though he had just pieced something together, something that Albus surely had not puzzled out himself.

“I’ll take it.” Scorpius was whispering. “Please - just - please, I’ll be good.” His entire body trembled as he tried to sink into the wall, to be as far away from Albus as possible.

“...What?” Albus said quietly, under his breath, staring at the blue vial. He looked over to the healer, who was taking notes on his observations. The healer shrugged.

“Gabriel, please stop. Please.” Squinting his eyes, Scorpius was focused on Albus’s face, searching his features. His voice was hesitant, maybe an ounce of doubt raising it a few notes.

“Scorpius…who is Gabriel?” Albus’s voice was slow and deliberate, trying to enunciate clearly, as though that would somehow help Scorpius recognize him.

“ You. ” Some of the trembling stopped as Scorpius’s muscles were pulled taut. “I won’t play your game.” Scorpius’s voice was slightly stronger now. “Whatever you had planned, pretending to be him, I won’t fall for it. I’ll just - I’ll take -” His eyes narrowed at Draco. “Who is that?” 

Draco’s mouth opened and then snapped shut, a look of pure terror plastered across his face. Desperately, Albus looked at the healer, hoping for some explanation, but the healer was jotting a note down and inspecting the Calming Draught.

“It’s…Scorpius, it’s us.” Albus said plainly, pointing to himself. “I’m not - not this Gabriel. It’s me.” Albus was quickly joining Draco in the battle of fighting back tears.

Scorpius’s jaw clenched and his eyes followed the healer as he picked up the vial. “Why?” He asked, his voice wavering. “Why use them? I took the potion last time. Remember? Gabriel? After the Imperius?” Scorpius was glancing around the room, as though finding difficulties with looking at Albus or Draco. “Please don’t - don’t -” The rest was swallowed by a sob.

The healer handed Albus the vial. When it touched Albus’s hand, Scorpius flinched, the back of his head colliding with the wall. He didn’t mind apparently.

His wide, wary eyes didn’t leave the potion. Albus turned it over in his hands, examining it. It was a quite ordinary potion - like any other Calming Draught.

Slowly, carefully, he held it out.

Draco’s hand twitched like he meant to intercept it, but he stopped himself, fingers curling into a fist.

With a shaky arm, Scorpius extended his hand, keeping as much distance between him and Albus as possible. He took the vial and eyed Albus cautiously. “How’d you - what did you do to them?” 

Albus was growing more and more exasperated. “What did we do to who?”

Scorpius made an indignant noise before swallowing the contents of the vial. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, sinking back onto the bed on his knees. As he slid down the wall, a streak of blood stained the clinical white and the healer groaned in frustration.

For a moment, there was silence. Scorpius’s breathing slowed. His eyes were half-lidded now, fixed on the empty vial in his hands.

Scorpius’s eyes widened again, giving the empty vial in his hand an accusatory glare. “This isn’t - what is this?” Scorpius held the glass out to Albus.

“A Calming Draught. That’s all, Scorpius.” Albus said gently, though unease was growing in his voice.

Scorpius stared at the vial. “It’s not right,” he whispered. “But... I can still move. I can still think.” He flexed his fingers. Rubbed his temple. Checked his legs like he expected them to be locked in place.

There was a flicker of something in his expression. Not relief - maybe doubt. A fracture in his certainty. In his certainty that Albus was a cruel disguise, in his certainty that he was still a prisoner.

“This isn’t right.” Scorpius was still muttering. “This isn’t what he gave me.”

He held the vial up to the light, studying the remnants at the bottom. When nothing revealed itself, he dropped it onto the sheets like it had betrayed him.

His hands moved to his face, palms pressing hard against his eyes. “Where am I?” His voice was weak, quiet and tired.

“St. Mungo’s.” The healer helpfully responded, prompting Scorpius to drop his hands and look around the room again in disbelief. 

Albus moved slightly, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope. Scorpius tensed, his eyes finding Albus and his gaze freezing him in place. 

“You’re not real.” Scorpius whispered, but there was a doubt in his voice, like he was saying the words to convince himself. “Polyjuice. Something..”

Clenching and unclenching his hands, Albus resisted the urge to step forward. “Okay.” Albus said slowly. “Then test us.”

Scorpius’s eyes narrowed, flicking between Draco and Albus. His jaw kept tensing as though he were about to say something.

“Fine, then. I’ll start.” Albus looked at the ceiling, sorting through memories. “You practice Divination on Sundays. Not well, mind you, but you read our tea leaves every time and always say the same thing: ‘Trouble’s coming, but the tea is good’.” 

Albus paused, watching some of the scrutiny in Scorpius’s eyes dissipate. The eyes then snapped to Draco, expectant.

Breathing in a shaky breath, Draco pressed his fist against his mouth. “Remember when you were offered an interview at the Ministry?” Draco lowered his hand, the corners of his mouth twitching at the memory. “We had dinner and I gave you a wand holster to celebrate. I was so proud, Scorpius.”

Eyes kept staring at Draco, the hint of tears as they became glassy. Then, Scorpius shook his head. “What if you told someone else that?” His hands clasped together to stop the shaking. “What if they took it from you? Pulled it from your head -”

“Scorpius.” Albus’s gentle voice interrupted. “Ask us something else.” He was pleading, begging Scorpius to find a question that would alleviate the doubt.

“They can. They can make you say things, believe things. You don’t know until -” Scorpius was muttering again and wrapped his arms around himself. “That owl. The one in the Owlery that was missing a leg. What did I name it?”

Albus had a hand clamped against his own chest, trying to hold his heart together. “Horatio. He was ancient and grumpy. Loved you, though.”

The expression on Scorpius’s face twisted. He shook his head again. “Sixth year. The prank in the Great Hall. With Peeves. What did Peeves drop on you - no, on Albus - from the ceiling?”

You . 

“Pumpkin juice.” Albus said with a little more confidence. “We had Herbology straight after. You offered me your jumper, then stole it again right after we got to the greenhouse.” 

Scorpius hugged himself tighter. “What happened when I first touched a wand?” His voice was uneven and shaky.

Draco’s inhale was even shakier. “You dropped it. The moment you touched it, it started shooting sparks. You dropped it and apologized more times than I can count.” 

A tear tracked down Scorpius’s cheek. “I don’t know if this is real.” He breathed in. “But it’s the kindest lie I’ve ever heard.” He breathed out. 

No one spoke.

The room felt too full - of breath, of heartbreak, of things unspoken. Scorpius stared down at his hands like they belonged to someone else, fingers twitching, uncertain. Albus didn’t move. Draco didn’t breathe.

“I’m tired.” Scorpius’s voice broke the silence. “Even if this is a lie, I don’t want it to end.” His tone was resigned. “When I wake up and you’re both gone, I’ll be grateful I got to see you one last time.”

Albus’s hand moved to his throat as it tightened. He wanted to scream, to shake Scorpius until he recognized him, to kill every last person that made Scorpius so untrusting.

Scorpius shifted, laying on the bed, not bothering to slide between the covers. He cast a longing look at Albus, then at Draco, as though he were working to memorize their faces, as though he feared he would forget them.

“Scorpius,” Albus was begging now. “It’s not a lie, Scorpius.” He wanted to run to his bedside and hold him. “We’ll be here when you wake up.”

A small head shake was Scorpius’s response. His eyes fluttered shut and his breathing slowed nearly instantly, the Calming Draught helping his body relax into sleep.

Albus collapsed, falling to his knees, still clutching his throat. It felt like his heart had been swallowed.

He had known. It was going to be a long journey. It was going to take time. 

But he hadn’t been ready. The person he loved the most didn’t trust him. The person he loved the most was safe, but couldn’t believe it.

Draco hadn’t moved. He was staring down at his son as he sunk into a deeper sleep. Scorpius’s features hadn’t fully relaxed, the remnants of fear still evident in his curled body.

The healer was hesitating and Albus didn’t blame him. What could he say to soothe these fresh wounds? They’ll be even more stubborn than the ones inflicted by magic. He gave a tight “I’ll be back soon” before shuffling out of the room with the empty vial and his notes.

Albus rose and slumped himself into the chair, looking back into the comforting black swirls of his lukewarm coffee. Draco was a statue, lingering over Scorpius.

“I thought when he saw us…” Albus was struggling to find words. He hadn’t anticipated the fear and distrust. Scorpius was safe. Why didn’t he feel safe?

Shaking his head, Draco stiffly walked back to his seat across from Albus. “It was like he was trying to convince himself not to trust us.” 

But why?

“He thought we wanted him to take that Calming Draught.” Albus started listing his observations, hoping perhaps the two of them could piece together some explanations. “It was like he was following a script or something. He thought he was supposed to take the potion.”

A nod from Draco. “And it didn’t seem to have the effect he thought it would.” He bit one of his knuckles as he thought. “He mentioned the Imperius.” His voice was lower, as though fearing someone might overhear.

Albus traced the grain of the wooden table with a finger. “Do you think that’s how they made him take the Mark?” 

“Maybe.” Draco responded too quickly. “When we first saw him in Knockturn Alley, he seemed out of it. I thought he was just wounded and in shock. But maybe there was more to it. Imperius. Or this potion.”

The cot squeaked as Scorpius turned over and Albus whipped his head around. Scorpius was now facing away from them, the line of fresh blood seeping through the back of his shirt. His breathing was even and steady.

Draco’s voice called Albus’s attention back to him. “No use speculating.” He seemed to be reminding himself more than Albus. “We give him time.”

“You’re right though.” Albus was smiling and Draco cocked his head in surprise. “I’m dreadful at waiting.”

A small huff of a laugh escaped Draco as he looked past Albus, watching the small figure in the bed. “He’ll come around.” Was all Draco added.

He has to. Albus was nodding without realizing. 

Another silence. But the silence wasn’t empty. It was full. Full of hope and doubts and fears. Perhaps most importantly, it was full of comfort. If someone told Albus that he would be sitting with Draco, relieved to be sharing the same fears with Draco, Albus would have hexed them on the spot.

But here he was. 

“Who’s this Gabriel?” Albus broke the fragile silence with a question that had been eating away at his already feeble Potter patience.

Draco gave him a tired look. “One of the Death Eaters, if I had to take a guess. Not a name I’ve heard.” 

Albus pursed his lips in frustration before letting out a long sigh. “Well, one thing’s for certain.” Albus paused for dramatic effect, grinning as Draco raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be teaching me that curse before we meet Gabriel.” 

Some of the exhaustion in Draco’s features vanished as he smiled again. “That so?” He taunted. “The only Dark magic a Potter’s ever managed was by accident. Leave it to the experts.” Though there was a truth to his words, Draco’s voice was light.

And there they sat, enjoying each other’s company, finding some comfort in sharing the same pains. 

Through their quiet conversation and muffled laughs, they didn’t notice Scorpius shifting again in the cot. They couldn’t see grey eyes staring blindly at the bloodstained wall. They didn’t notice how the tension in Scorpius’s body eased with every laugh.

A third person was finding some comfort in that room. 

Notes:

Apologies for the slightly shorter than average chapter! It’s a quiet, reflective moment that I realized worked better on its own rather than being folded into the next part.

As I mentioned last chapter, I never thought I’d get this far. But apparently, when it comes to the comfort side of hurt/comfort, I… yap. A lot. Who knew. Imagine my surprise.

I really want to give this third act the space it deserves - more than just a single chapter’s worth. I already bumped up the original chapter count (it was supposed to be 12!), but… yeah. It’s probably happening again. I’ve made a few spontaneous decisions that ended up expanding the story in ways I didn’t expect. (curse you, Albus and Draco)

Thanks so much for sticking with me. <3

Chapter 16: Familiar Made Foreign

Notes:

First, sorry for the delay. I do have an excuse this time. Oblivion Remastered was shadow dropped lol. Mehrunes Dagon waits for none.

Second, this is not the final chapter. I spent some time thinking about how I could craft an ambiguous, but hopeful ending to this in a single chapter. No, thank you. I'm not through with this. To be honest, I rarely get to the comfort in hurt/comfort, so I want the practice and catharsis. (As you can tell, I'm a huge fan of the hurt).

Third, I don't know exactly how many more chapters this will be. My best guess is 4-5, but best laid plans and all that. So here's to one of my first attempts at actually comforting a character after putting them through immense hurt.

Enjoy and I love you all <3

Scorpius sucked in a shaky breath that hitched in his throat as he tried to silence it. Slowly, carefully, he twisted away from the wall, turning toward the table in the hospital room, the slices on his back protesting. 

There were two sleeping figures in his room. Squinting, he could see Albus, or whoever was pretending to be Albus, sitting on a chair, resting his head on his arms against the table. The imposter charading as his father was curled in a chair from the waiting room, head propped against the wall at an awkward angle.

It had been hours, surely. Their voices had gradually quieted and they came to the silent, mutual agreement to sleep. But it had been hours. And they were still remarkably Albus and Draco.

Scorpius hadn’t allowed the hope to blossom. No, he couldn’t go through the biting sting of disappointment yet again. Though despite these attempts to beat back the hope, it took seed.

What if this was Albus and his father? What if he was at St. Mungo’s? 

“Albus…” Scorpius nearly bit his tongue as the whisper escaped his mouth without permission. The figure at the table jerked awake, eyes locking onto Scorpius in a heartbeat. 

“Scorpius.” He whispered back, standing slowly and picking up his chair. Albus glanced at Draco as he lowered the chair to the stone a few inches from Scorpius’s bed. “Scorpius…” He whispered again as he sat, folding his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry.” Finding it difficult to look Albus in the eyes, Scorpius resorted to letting them dart around the room.

Albus’s hands raised, reaching for Scorpius, before he pulled them back into his chest. “For what, Scorpius?” His voice was desperate.

“I didn’t fight hard enough. I let them -” Scorpius’s throat closed when he looked at Albus, seeing the pained expression. Albus was hurting and it was all Scorpius’s fault . 

Hands hovered over Scorpius, hands that wanted to touch and comfort, but didn’t dare do so. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Albus’s voice was so assertive, so confident, that it made Scorpius flinch into the mattress. The hands dropped to the arms of Albus’s chair.

“That’s not true.” Scorpius managed to push through his uncooperative throat. “If it were you…you’d never let them. You’d have been so strong.” Only now did Scorpius feel the tears sliding across his face onto the pillow.

Albus’s fingers were exploring the grain of the wood on the chair. “Scorpius…” His voice was wavering. “You were so strong - are so strong. You survived. You did fight.” His eyes searched Scorpius’s face.

Shaking his head, Scorpius picked at the sheets. “Not hard enough.” Pulling his left arm from under the sheets hurt in a foreign way. He fought against himself, fought against the parts of him that wanted to hide his betrayal forever. “I’m…I’m…”

“I know, Scorpius.” Albus’s hands were ghosting over the sheets as Scorpius struggled to free his arm. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about it.” When Scorpius finally looked up from his battle with the sheets, Albus was freely crying, not wiping the tears that tracked down his face.

“It does matter, Albus.” Scorpius resorted to gesturing with the arm still concealed. “I’m Marked. Don’t lie to me. This changes everything.” He was what they all believed him to be. A self-fulfilling prophecy? Who knows, Scorpius was never good at Divination.

Albus opened his mouth before closing it, hands clenching around the arms of the chair. His eyes were again searching Scorpius for answers to a question Scorpius didn’t know. “You know,” he started, a small smirk twitching onto his lips. “I wouldn’t leave you because you got a shitty tattoo.” There was barely detectable apprehension in the cadence of the joke.

For a moment, all Scorpius could do was stare blankly up at Albus, watching the smirk slowly drop. His chest felt lighter as the stone of doubt that was pressing on him started to crumble. Oh, this was most certainly Albus. 

“I haven’t - I haven’t,” Scorpius started, noticing how his words immediately brought a smile back to Albus’s face. “I haven’t checked a mirror yet, but I think there might have been a two for one special on shitty snake tattoos.” A sob shook Scorpius as he finished his own joke, cocking his head to bare his neck at Albus. 

It was now Albus that was staring in awe at Scorpius, like he was a piece of art. He pressed a trembling hand against his mouth as he let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. 

The moment passed all too quickly for Scorpius and the warmth that had started filling his chest chilled. The lightness that spread in the room was glass and, unfortunately, Scorpius’s anxiety wielded a sledgehammer. “Albus…you weren’t there. I wasn’t -” He cut himself off, looking away.

Albus twitched slightly, with what looked like irritation. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Scorpius. I’m here now. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there sooner.” 

The door opened, without a knock. Scorpius slammed his back against the wall and Albus’s head whipped around to see the intruders. Draco woke with a start, eyes flicking between Scorpius, Albus, and the two healers who were standing in the doorway.

The crowd was still gathered outside the door and the flashes of bulbs on their cameras bounced off the concrete walls. Draco huffed in irritation as these healers were slow to preserve the privacy and sanctuary in their room, showing little urgency as they pushed the door shut behind them.

“Scorpius.” Draco’s voice was low and gentle as he approached the bed, pulling a chair next to Albus as Albus scooted out of the healers’ way. 

The healers advanced on the bed, Scorpius continuing to press himself against the wall. He could feel himself trembling and a flush of shame spread across his cheeks as he considered how pathetic he must look.

“Scorpius,” one of the healers started, his voice not low and gentle. “You’re doing so well. We’re just going to treat your wounds and you can get back to spending time with your family. You’ll be more comfortable.” 

A shaky nod was all Scorpius could manage as he used all his willpower to stay still. One of the healers gingerly slid Scorpius’s gown up to reveal the laceration on his calf. Scorpius couldn’t help but gasp at the massive wound, surprised at the space it took up on his leg.

The healer drew his wand and Scorpius hissed as he flinched away, his shoulder colliding with the wall. Albus was whispering to him, Scorpius didn’t make out the words, but the even tone of the familiar voice stilled his movements.

They encouraged him to roll onto his stomach, moving his gown again to expose his back. “Scorpius, we need to clean each cut. They’ll sting a little, but then they’ll feel much better.” The healer dabbed a potion-soaked cloth onto the largest wound on his upper back.

Scorpius tried to stop the noises from escaping his lips, but he feared his ragged breathing gave away the sharp pain of the treatment. 

“You’re doing well. Nearly done.” Scorpius heard his father muttering small words of affirmation. “Last one.” His father reassured as the healers moved to his neck.

The healer gave a sympathetic glance down at Scorpius as he pressed the cloth against the brand. Scorpius yelped and recoiled, grabbing at the hand holding the cloth.

Backing away, the healers held up their hands, showing they were not continuing. “We’ll leave that be. It’s been enchanted, Scorpius. We are working on finding a way to treat it.” The healer hesitated before putting the cloth down. “This potion,” he pointed at the table, “will help numb the wound. Use it if you’d like.”

The healers moved to leave, clearly eager to allow Scorpius room to breathe. One hesitated for a moment as they neared the door. “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be paying you a visit, now that you’re awake. We tried to convince them to wait. Until you were ready to talk to them. But,” a glance at Albus, “you know how they are. I thought you deserved a warning.”

Scorpius didn’t respond. The door clicked shut and their sanctuary was restored. 

“Scorpius.” Draco repeated, sliding his chair to the bedside as Albus did the same. “Scorpius, we’ve missed…missed you so much.” Scorpius would be the first to admit his father had never been very eloquent when it came to affection. “Thank you, for waiting for us.” 

“It’s not like I could have gone anywhere.” Scorpius tried another lighthearted jab, but it didn’t have the effect he was hoping for. His smile slipped before it even formed as he saw iron bars in a frigid room.

Draco’s hands were gripping the arms of his chair, his knuckles white. “I love you, Scorpius.” A quick glance at Albus. “ We love you.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry we took so long. I never wanted - I didn’t mean -” Somehow his grip was even tighter on the chair. Scorpius wondered how it didn’t splinter.

Glancing between Albus and Draco, Scorpius was struggling to find meaningful words. He thought about the last time he was speaking to Albus and Draco, a camera in his face and a noose around his neck. Briefly, he was tempted to make another joke about having a second chance for last words, but decided against it. 

“I know, father.” In the same way his words entranced Albus, they enthralled Draco. “I’m sorry I let them take me. I’m sorry I -” Scorpius again shifted his left arm, but this time couldn’t find the words to apologize for being stained.

“Do not apologize.” Unlike Albus, Draco’s voice didn’t change from the gentle whisper. “None of this is your fault. You don’t believe me, but I’ll never stop telling you, never stop showing you.” He looked like he had more to say, but they were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door.

Both Albus and Draco stood, Draco shooting Scorpius a quick glance before walking to the door. “Who is it?” The gentle whisper was gone.

A crisp voice answered, muffled slightly by the door and the bustling reporters. “Auror Muldoon. I need to speak with the patient.”

Draco stiffened, eyes narrowing at the door handle. Albus shifted, positioning himself in front of Scorpius as though shielding him from the unseen threat.

“The patient isn’t taking visitors. Come back another time.” Draco’s voice was aggressive, a dangerous tone when an Auror is the recipient.

There was a pause as the Auror considered. Scorpius recognized the name. It was an Auror that Albus had complained about several times over. Muldoon was by-the-books, rarely using discretion or empathy. Albus had frequently disagreed with some of her actions, but she was very popular with her superiors. For obvious reasons.

“Ministry protocol requires a preliminary statement while the patient is stable enough to speak.” Her voice was clipped and professional.

The door opened without a second knock. A woman entered, middle aged, brown hair pulled into a tight bun. Her uniform was immaculately tailored, boots shined to perfection, and wand holstered near her right arm.

The final chair at the table was grabbed by the Auror and dragged across the floor, scraping roughly against the stone. She sat next to the bed, lowering herself carefully as she pulled out a notepad and a quill.

“State your name for the record.” She stared down at Scorpius, who stared back with blown pupils. 

Draco was back in his chair. “He’s barely conscious. Now is not the time for -”

“I wasn’t speaking to you, Malfoy.” Muldoon snapped, her eyes never leaving Scorpius. “State your name, Mr. Malfoy.” A small gesture of her quill pointed to Scorpius.

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” His voice was quiet.

The quill scratched against parchment. “You were, until recently, in the custody of Death Eaters, were you not?” 

A sharp noise of protest came from Albus. “That’s not -”

Muldoon turned her gaze on Albus, who lost the sentence he started. “Potter, you know as well as I that interfering with an investigation is grounds for obstruction. I suggest you mind your tongue.”

Albus’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t retort, opting instead to glare daggers at the fellow Auror.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Muldoon prompted.

“Yes, I was taken - I was with…they were Death Eaters.” Scorpius knew how he worded each answer would only be used as ammunition against him.

A curt nod was followed by more scratching. “And did you provide any assistance to these Death Eaters? Magical or otherwise?”

Draco’s chair screeched as he stood up, shoving it backward. “You are out of line. He won’t be answering these questions.”

Muldoon turned slowly, licking her lips as though savoring the moment. “Careful, Malfoy. As I have just reminded Potter, interfering with an active investigation could be interpreted rather…unfavorably.” Her voice was lazy, amusement laced through it, as though she were hoping to make good on her words.

Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut. “No, I didn’t help them.”

“Interesting.” Muldoon made a few more notes. “Let’s talk about the group you were with before the Death Eaters. This…vigilante group. Describe the nature of your relationship with them.”

Draco didn’t even try to hide the scoff. “Nature of their relationship?” He repeated, voice revealing his bewilderment.

“Yes.” Muldoon responded simply. “What happened? What did you do when in their custody? What did they do?”

There were iron bars again. A tub of water. A small knife held by a friend. A wand full of betrayal. 

“Mr. Malfoy?” The gratingly professional voice set Scorpius’s teeth on edge. 

“The nature of our relationship?” Scorpius mocked in a voice not dissimilar to Draco’s. They kept me in a cage. Forced me to eat off the floor. Broke my arm for defending myself. Tricked me. Beat me. Drowned me. Whipped me. Cursed me. Branded me. Hanged me. “Unpleasant.”

Muldoon gave a strained, pitiful smile. “Right.” Her sharp voice responded with displeasure. “I was told by the staff here that your wounds were rather…extensive. They seemed quite worried about your state. Can you tell me where they came from?”

The wounds suddenly felt fresh again, searing as though the whip or the blade or the spell had only just split his skin. Panic clawed at his throat and he wished he had one of Gabriel’s potions, he wished he had something to help him forget.

“He’s not ready to answer those questions.” Albus was standing, once again shielding Scorpius from the Auror. 

Muldoon made a sound of disapproval as she scribbled another note. “Fine. Though we will be requesting your medical records. It is important information for our investigation.” She waved Albus away as if he were a mosquito as he tensed to respond. “Back to the Death Eaters. More specifically - the Mark.”

There was a pause in her professional cadence. She stared at Scorpius in a way that made him want to shrink. He tried to hold her gaze, but he felt himself flush and his eyes focused on the wall behind her. 

Another note was added. “Mr. Malfoy, if you’d be so kind as to show us your left arm. For the record, of course. It’s rumored that you now wear the Dark Mark and it’s a pivotal part of my investigation to determine the truth in these accusations.”

Scorpius’s arm instinctually tensed, tucking against his body. His eyes shifted to the ceiling above him, fighting back the tears. He hadn’t even looked at it since…since…

Muldoon gave him a cold smile. “Refusing to cooperate?” She cocked her head. “Mr. Malfoy, this is an official investigation. I gave you a lawful order. Obey or I shall have no choice but to carry out the order with force.”

Albus stepped between Scorpius and Muldoon, and Draco shoved Albus’s discarded chair against the wall with a clatter. 

“You’ll do no such thing.” Draco’s voice was hostile, his stance defensive as his wand hand hovered over a pocket.

With practiced precision, Muldoon drew her own wand, aiming it at Draco. “Malfoy, I need not remind you that threatening an Auror carries a heavy sentence. Wouldn’t want you falling back into old habits.”

“No, please.” A small voice came from the bed and Muldoon’s wand tip found Scorpius for just a moment before she dropped her hand. “Stop, I’ll show you.” The entire bed was vibrating, metal frame clanking against the wall, as Scorpius pulled his left arm from between the sheets.

The jet black snake was still lined with red, irritated from the sinister magic that seared it permanently on Scorpius’s flesh. His eyes avoided it, instead settling on Albus, then Draco, both of whom also seemed to struggle with looking at it.

“It’s true, then.” Muldoon’s voice could have easily been mistaken for excitement as the quill danced. 

Scorpius was quite certain he would puke if he looked down. He focused on breathing and continued his study of the very fascinating cracks on the ceiling. 

“The Mark isn’t…” Muldoon feigned a face of deep concentration. “How shall I put this? The Mark is willingly taken. The magic doesn’t work without consent, or so our research suggests.” Her eyes flicked pointedly at Draco, the grip on her wand tightening. “Which means that you, Mr. Malfoy,” she glared down at Scorpius, “accepted the Mark of your own free will.”

“Free will?!” Draco’s voice boomed through the room and Muldoon twitched ever so slightly. “Look at my son’s wounds, look at the notes from our search of where he was held, and say that again. Tell me again about free will and consent.” He took a step forward, his hand wrapping around his wand.

“No!” Albus lunged at Draco, catching Draco’s hand in his own, forcing it back down at his side. “Don’t.” The whisper was barely heard by Scorpius, who was unconsciously searching the sheets for his own wand, feeling utterly defenseless, a feeling he had grown woefully intimate with.

Despite the small flinch, Muldoon regained her composure with grace, already taking notes. “We’ll, naturally, be opening an inquiry into the circumstances of Mr. Malfoy’s…branding.” The corners of her mouth twitched as she stared at the Mark. “And into any affiliations with Death Eaters, both past and present. ” Another fleeting glance sent Draco’s way.

Albus released Draco’s hand to spin around, squaring up with Muldoon himself. “You’re investigating him ?!” He didn’t draw his wand, but his hand clenched and unclenched. “He was kidnapped, tortured, and nearly executed. Last I checked, that makes him the victim here, you daff, pompous bitch.”

Muldoon was unfazed by the insult and simply added another note. “You boys really ought to learn some manners. Don’t want any of you getting into trouble.” She didn’t contain her smirk as she glanced at Scorpius. “More trouble.”

The door opened quickly, swinging until it bounced off the wall. A handful of healers stormed in. “We must ask that you leave, Auror Muldoon. I understand the import of your investigation, but our top priority is the wellbeing of our patients. You’re threatening the wellbeing of one of them.” The healer that had previously tended Scorpius’s wounds led the charge.

“I got what I needed.” Muldoon stood while flicking her notepad shut. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, for your cooperation. We will be in touch once you’re…feeling better.” 

Scorpius didn’t respond. The Auror gave a curt nod to the platoon of healers before leaving without a glance over her shoulder. 

“We apologize for that…intrusion.” The healer was muttering as he pulled the door behind him, leaving Scorpius alone with Albus and Draco again. 

There were a few beats of silence, Draco’s hand still wrapped around his wand, Albus picking up the thrown chair, and Scorpius gasping panicked breaths. The silence was not the peaceful quiet the room had been filled with just hours before, but a prickling silence, tight with apprehension.

“She’s gone.” Albus stated the obvious, not to inform, but to reassure. 

Draco gave his wand a surprised look as though he didn’t expect to be holding it before stowing it away. “I’m sorry.” The anger was gone. “I don’t know what came over me. I wasn’t going to…” he watched Albus carefully, “I wouldn’t have done anything.”

Albus was nodding, setting up his chair at Scorpius’s side again. “You okay?” His eyes were searching Scorpius once again. Scorpius’s only response was a small nod, though it was barely noticeable as he trembled.

“Do you…can I touch you?” Draco’s low voice hesitantly asked as he gestured to Scorpius’s exposed left arm. Another trembling nod.

Inhaling to ready himself, Scorpius watched familiar hands touch his wrist. His stomach churned and he fought the urge to pull his arm free. Draco lifted the sheets and gingerly tucked Scorpius’s arm between them, hiding it away.

The touch that had always been calming, always grounding, was soured. His body fought against his father, some deep, primal fear surfacing, muddling the fond memories of comfort. The touch was once a tether. It was now stained, just like Scorpius. 

“We’re going home.” Albus said abruptly, surprising Scorpius. “We’ll bring home some potions and…whatever else the healers want. We need to get away from here, the public, those reporters.” He was pacing, rubbing at the back of his neck.

The anxious and sudden movements made Scorpius’s heart pound. But the thought of going home made a new tightness coil in his stomach, one he thought he wouldn’t feel again. Beneath the fear, impossibly, was excitement.

Draco didn’t protest, but he sighed loudly, eyes following Albus as he paced. “I’ll fetch a healer.” He cracked the door just wide enough for him to slide through, closing it quickly behind him.

“You’ll feel better when you’re home. We can be alone. You don’t have to worry about strangers walking in. Strange noises all the time.” Albus was speaking quickly, his voice gradually raising. “Who do they think they are, sending an Auror to the hospital?” He muttered, thinking out loud.

The door opened again, revealing Draco with a healer in tow. “I must advise that Mr. Malfoy remain in our care for a few more days. He’s only just regained awareness. We need to observe him.” The healer sounded out of breath as he explained and Draco lifted his arm in Albus’s direction.

“We’re taking him home,” was all Albus said.

“Mr. Potter, I cannot stop you from leaving, but we must ask that you allow Mr. Malfoy to stay. He needs time to rest and recover, especially after the Auror visit.” The healer was gesturing vigorously.

Albus just shook his head. “He can recover at home. We will observe him.”

The healer shrugged. “Mr. Malfoy, would you like to be discharged?” The room’s attention was now on Scorpius.

“I…” He wanted to be home, more than anything. It was all he’s wanted for the past two weeks. “Yes, I want to be home.”

“So be it.” The healer handed Scorpius a piece of parchment to sign. “Please, I ask that you come back if any symptoms worsen. Take that potion home. We will be in touch with updates about those enchantments.” The healer left, leaving Scorpius with a small list of instructions.

Albus was crouched beside the bed. “Let’s get you up.” He didn’t move to touch Scorpius, but gestured for him to try to stand. 

Slowly, Scorpius swung his legs over the side of the bed. He pressed his weight on his legs with caution, and was pleasantly surprised with how little the wounds ached. His balance was unsteady, but he was upright, shuffling carefully to the door.

“Good, that’s good.” Albus continued encouraging him with each step. Draco took a blanket off the bed and draped it around Scorpius’s shoulders, taking an extra moment to pull it up his neck, concealing a portion of the brand.

Both Albus and Draco were flanking him, their hands wanting to help, hovering over his body. They didn’t touch him, which Scorpius was thankful for. And ashamed of. 

Albus pulled the door handle and Scorpius shut his eyes for a moment when the droning of the crowd crashed over him. Quills hovered in the air like a swarm of insects, scribbling every twitch of Scorpius’s body into a headline. Reporters barked questions, each syllable scraping across his nerves like a knife.

“Show us the Mark!”

“Let’s see your arm. Come on, just a glimpse!”

“Did you confess?”

“Why did the Death Eaters protect you?”

Scorpius didn’t want to hear them, but their words were mauling his eardrums. Camera bulbs flashed in his face. Air refused to enter his lungs. The noise, the light, the frantic movement, it all made his brain feel like it might implode.

He stumbled, taking a step back, pulling the blanket tighter against himself, his left arm instinctively curling into his body. He needed air. His chest was too tight.

“Back off!” Albus was shoving his body against the reporters, a human battering ram forcing space open. “Move!”

Draco’s hand was resting on his wand, eyes scanning, watching Scorpius, watching the crowd. When one especially bold wizard reached out to grab Scorpius’s arm, Draco’s wand was drawn in a flash. “Don’t touch him.” Draco’s voice was quieter than Albus’s, but far more lethal.

The man raised his arms with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, as if Draco were being theatrical. The rest of the reporters edged back, whispering and gesturing toward Draco, a few lowering their quills.

Scorpius didn’t remember walking, but they’d reached the apparition point. He leaned against the wall, nausea cresting in his stomach like a wave.

“I need to touch you, Scorpius.” Scorpius’s head snapped to Albus as he spoke, noticing his partner holding a hand out. Scorpius’s own hand trembled violently as he reached out, resting it on Albus’s - no entwining of fingers, just contact. Barely.

With a wrenching pull, St. Mungo’s disappeared.

The view of the waiting room, the white coats of healers, the scratching of quills, was replaced by home. 

Or what should be home.

It was, by all accounts, the same apartment that Scorpius was in just two weeks ago. The sitting room where Scorpius watched Albus disappear from the fireplace. 

So why didn’t it feel like home?

Scorpius’s breaths were coming in panicked gasps still as he knelt on the carpet, staring at the facade that was once his life.

There was a framed photograph of him and Albus on the coffee table, eye level with Scorpius. They smiled, hugged, then laughed on repeat. Scorpius stared at himself in the moving image. 

It was him. Without a doubt. There was this foreign feeling that it wasn’t. That the person in this picture was an actor, pretending to be Scorpius. 

This wasn’t Scorpius. Except…it was. 

There were voices in the room, but Scorpius couldn’t hear them over the rush of blood flooding past his ear drums. 

For two weeks, Scorpius had wanted nothing more than to be home. He was home now, but he’d never felt so much like he didn’t belong.

He recognized everything. The coffee cup left on the countertop, the chairs surrounding the tiny dining table, the robes draped over the side of the sofa. Only, none of it recognized him.

“Scorpius.” Draco’s voice was finally louder than the roar that was diminishing. It reminded him of the way he used to call out his name when he was playing behind the Manor, with gentle urgency. The tone evened out Scorpius’s breathing.

Suddenly disgusted, Scorpius stood quickly, the white blanket pooling onto the floor and gown hanging awkwardly off his shoulders. His knees ached when he knelt, the bruises documenting memories of stone floor.

“Let’s get you into some fresh clothes.” Albus beckoned him toward the bedroom, already searching through a wardrobe. He handed Scorpius a soft shirt and sweatpants and turned back toward the sitting room, leaving Scorpius alone in the bedroom.

He was thankful for the clothes, excited to be rid of the exposure of the hospital gown. It slid down him and he startled as he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. He reminded himself of one of Hogwart’s ghosts - gaunt, half-there, stuck between worlds.

Inching closer to the mirror, he felt the compulsion to both complete a full body examination and shatter the offending glass. His torso was scarred, heavily. He couldn’t see his back, but he was certain that it shared a similar fate as his chest. The brand on his neck still radiated heat and looked just as furious as it felt.

His left arm twitched. He knew what he’d see if he looked down. But his eyes kept fighting his judgement, like when he was reading and his eyes wandered to the next paragraph, spoiling the tension. 

Before he gave into the temptation, he slid the shirt on. It had sleeves - something Scorpius rarely wore, but clearly chosen by Albus with love. The sweatpants were looser than he remembered, and he had to pull at the strings to tighten them.

Scorpius took another breath that wavered at the end. He listened for a moment. Neither Albus nor his father were talking. Scorpius couldn’t blame them. He didn’t have the script either.

Stepping out, Albus was on the couch and nearly jumped out of his seat as Scorpius approached. The sudden movement made Scorpius halt, feeling his heart jump with Albus. “Sorry.” Albus whispered as he lowered himself down.

Draco was working on making a fire in the fireplace, lighting some of the wood that had been collecting dust. It was rare they made a fire, but Scorpius was strangely relieved to have something to focus on.

“Do you want to sit?” Albus was coaxing Scorpius into one of the loveseats near the fireplace. Scorpius lowered himself into it, careful not to lean his back against the cushion. Albus lingered, like he wanted to sit next to Scorpius, but went back to the couch.

Standing, Draco closed the fireplace grate. “We didn’t -” he started, then stopped abruptly. “We weren’t sure what you’d want. To eat. To do. Or…” 

“It’s okay.” Scorpius responded quietly. “I don’t know either.” He didn’t. Nothing felt right. He wasn’t hungry, though he should have been. And how could he do anything? What was he supposed to do after…after…

The silence was only broken by the crackling of the fire. It was a quiet that Scorpius liked, comfortable and peaceful. It wasn’t the quiet he had grown used to, a promise of more pain.

Albus was in the kitchen, making tea by the sounds of the kettle and mugs. His suspicions were confirmed when a mug was gently set on the table in front of him, Albus staring at him as he delivered the gift. 

The warmth of the mug spread into his palms like a balm when he cradled the mug. It was peppermint, a brew Albus wasn’t fond of, but one that Scorpius often used before bed the night before some exceptionally stressful days.

He took in his surroundings again. Nothing had changed. The tables were the same. The mugs were the same. The color of the carpet was the same. The little holes in the walls they had accidentally drilled and hastily repaired with unfamiliar spells were still there. Nothing had changed.

Nothing except Scorpius. 

Scorpius could feel the eyes on him, quick glances as if to confirm that he was still there. There were no words exchanged, perhaps for hours. Words wouldn’t be what made this feel like home again. 

If home had to start somewhere, maybe it was here - a long-sleeved shirt, a cup of peppermint tea, and the quiet company of those who hadn’t left.

Chapter 17: Three Times

Notes:

My sincerest apologies for my delay. Don't worry, I've steered clear of the AO3 curse and this has certainly not been abandoned. I've started a few other works, so I went on a couple side quests over the past few weeks. If you've stuck with me, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy <3

Scorpius wasn’t allotted many opportunities to be alone these past few days. This moment was rare. Sitting in the rapidly cooling bathtub, Scorpius let his hands float on the surface. He could see the shadows of Albus’s legs under the door every few minutes, surely straining his ears for any noises.

He had to take baths, the pressure from showers was too strong for his wounds, but sitting in a tub made him feel childlike, small and incapable. Albus had insisted on helping him the first couple days, but Scorpius was too ashamed to continue accepting that help.

Sinking lower in the water, Scorpius hissed as it lapped at the burn on his neck. The water slapped against ceramic as he lurched forward. He pressed a hand against the brand, which was always hot and angry, before digging his fingernails into it, just slightly. It hurt , but in a way that was oddly comforting. 

Even rarer than solitary moments were the ones when Scorpius looked at himself. He usually opted for staring at the ceiling while he dragged a soapy washcloth across his body, keeping his left arm tucked against his thigh, praying he won’t accidentally catch a glimpse of it in passing. 

One deep breath later, Scorpius looked down at what he could see. His chest was irritated by the warm water, but the lacerations were nearly healed, a smattering of reddish-white stripes. The stab wounds on both his shoulder and thigh were also healing well, the tissue looking not unlike chewed pieces of bubblegum stuck to his skin. The Diffindo gash was slow to heal. The wound was closed, but the pain was still sharp and present.

The washcloth pressed against the slice on his calf and Scorpius caught sight of the black snake, rippling beneath the surface of the disturbed water. He closed his eyes as he felt the nausea, the pit that always opened up in his stomach when he remembered. The thought of the Mark set his skin on fire and made his blood boil. It was a shock the water in the tub was still tepid. Instead of trying to claw the Mark from his flesh, Scorpius resorted to pressing it against the wall of the tub, out of sight for now. 

He wished he had his wand to warm the water as the temperature was growing uncomfortably cool. It was found with the Death Eaters and logged as evidence. Albus had already tried to free it from its prison in the Evidence Room, but to no avail. 

Rising, slowly and shakily, Scorpius eased himself out of the tub. The mirror was his next nemesis as he dressed himself with deliberate movements. He kept his eyes cast down, sliding the sweatpant leg over his calf wound carefully. His long-sleeve shirt tugged at the slices still carved on his back as it settled. The collar was subjected to a few tugs, stretching it to avoid contact with his neck. 

When Scorpius opened the bathroom door, Albus tensed like he might rise from his anxious seat on the sofa - but didn’t. A small change from his usual jump into action.

Scorpius lowered himself onto the sofa a few inches from Albus. A few minutes of silence ticked by and Scorpius could feel the burn of Albus’s eyes studying him. 

“I want a wand.” Scorpius said without looking at Albus.

“Oh,” was Albus’s small, evidently involuntary response. “Scorpius…we’ve talked about your wand. It’s at the Ministry. I don’t know when they’ll release it.”

“I know,” Scorpius’s voice was more clipped than he intended. “I don’t need that wand. I just want a wand. Any wand.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel -” Pathetic, weak, useless, vulnerable, defenseless, dependent. “It would make me feel better.”

Albus inhaled a slow breath before letting out a short hum. One of those hums that often accompanied a “we’ll see.”

Knowing better than to press the subject, Scorpius lifted his hands that were resting on his knees, a small conceding gesture.

“I just…” Albus pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “You’re safe. We’ll get your wand when the investigation is through. It might be best if you…if we…just stick to my wand.” His eyes were focused on the corner of the coffee table.

“Why?” 

Still avoiding eye contact, Albus stared at the pillows behind Scorpius. “It’s just better. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t need a wand.”

“You don’t trust me?” Scorpius wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. 

Turning to face Scorpius, Albus’s eyes were wide and his hands were reaching out in front of him. “No, no, that’s not why, Scorpius. Please, I just want to focus on you getting better. Let’s start there. It’s been less than a week.”

Scorpius mimicked Albus’s hum. It was worth a shot.

“Speaking of, let’s get some salve on that burn before bed.” Albus stood quickly and Scorpius’s hands clenched. “I think the redness is starting to go down.” It wasn’t, but Albus told the same lie every night.

“I can do it myself.” Scorpius snapped, reaching a hand out for the salve Albus held. “I don’t always need help.”

Albus turned the jar over in his hands. “I just want to help.” He kept hold of the salve as he sat closer to Scorpius.

“You want to help?” Scorpius echoed, his tone challenging. “Then, help me. Get me a wand. Albus, please, I want to take care of myself. You could go back to work. You wouldn’t have to worry so much.” He was standing now, looming over Albus.

“Oh, that’ll help?” Albus returned his challenge. He stood quickly again, squaring up to Scorpius, who stumbled backwards at the sudden movement. “What happens when you wake from a nightmare, grab your wand, and cast Bombarda ? Merlin, Scorpius, I just stood up and you tensed like you were ready for a fight. What would happen if you had a wand? Would you curse me?” 

Scorpius was holding the arm of the sofa for support as his heart hammered and sweat slicked his freshly washed skin. “I don’t -” His throat was closing. He sank to his knees as he pawed at his chest, at his lungs that couldn’t keep up with his demand for oxygen.

A hand was pulling at his arm, a hand that dragged him into that alley, a hand that led him to the gallows. “No, please.” He begged as he shrugged the hand off and curled into himself.

There was a voice, but it was muffled. It was surely giving some command. Perhaps he was meant to crawl or stand or say something. He didn’t know. He’d be punished. He had to focus. 

“Scorpius. Please, Scorpius, I’m sorry.” Albus . “It’s okay. You’re okay.” The voice repeated, gentle and soft.

Taking a shuddery breath, Scorpius looked up at Albus. “Sorry.” Scorpius whispered as he crawled back onto the sofa.

“No, no, no. Don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong.” Albus’s soothing voice was an effective salve against the panic. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

For a handful of minutes, Scorpius steadied his breathing and listened to the broken record that was Albus. 

“Are you okay?” Albus’s voice was hesitant, unsure of when enough time had elapsed to ask.

“Yeah,” Scorpius responded after another shaky inhale. “Yeah, I’m fine. Or close to it, anyway.” 

Albus handed the salve to Scorpius, who accepted it wordlessly. He didn’t use it, instead he screwed and unscrewed the lid, his hands thankful for a task.

“Come to bed when you’re ready.” Albus stood, slowly, his eyes never leaving Scorpius as the man still curled on the sofa nodded.

Another rare moment of solitude. Scorpius pressed his knuckles against his eye sockets. He was always tired, always exhausted, but sleep never came easy. This was his least favorite part of the day. For some reason, the quiet of the evening made his mind anything but. 

Reluctantly, Scorpius followed Albus, who was already tucked in, facing away from Scorpius’s side of the bed. Scorpius slid between the covers, still wearing his long sleeved shirt and sweatpants. 

Laying on his back, Scorpius rested his hands on his stomach and found the thrum of his heartbeat pressing back against them. He closed his eyes, though the more he willed sleep to come, the quicker the tempo of his pulse became. 

Albus’s breathing was slow and rhythmic. A small part of Scorpius wanted to shake him awake in rage. He had always been able to fall asleep with such ease. Instead, Scorpius matched his own breathing to Albus’s, slowing it to a more reasonable pace. 

It was dark. That sort of darkness that felt like a vacuum against Scorpius’s eyes, no change in perception whether they were opened or closed. 

Then, it wasn’t dark anymore. Scorpius was in the bathroom looking down at the tub. Only, it wasn’t the off-white ceramic he was sitting in just a couple hours ago. It was silver and metallic. The water churned angrily, a typhoon in what should be still water. 

Something forced Scorpius to his knees and he grasped the edges of the tub, staring down at the agitated water. Like a switch was flicked, Scorpius kicked out against the unknown forces holding him over the water, panic stopping him from vocalizing his feverish thoughts.

His head was pushed beneath the surface. The water was oddly viscous, flowing into his nose and mouth unnaturally, almost as if it were a living entity, choking him. His hands pressed desperately against the rim of the tub. The forces relented, and Scorpius lifted his head, clawing at his face to free it from the strange fluid.

Laughter. He whipped his head around the room and saw no one, but as the liquid dripped from his ears, he could hear them laugh. Laugh at the way he struggled. Laugh at the way he fought to survive. 

A rope slithered around his neck and pulled taut. Scorpius’s hands grasped at it hopelessly as it dragged him by his neck. He tried to find purchase, digging his legs into the ground, but his legs sank down. There was something wrapped around his torso, something soft restricting his movements. He thrashed wildly, eventually freeing himself. Rolling to the side, Scorpius fell from a few feet, hitting a much harder ground with a grunt. 

“Scorpius?”

It was Albus. He couldn’t be here. It wasn’t safe for him. 

“Scorpius…”

No, no, no. Albus was never here. This wasn’t right. 

Here? Where was here?

The bathroom was long gone. Scorpius was laying on his bedroom floor, hands wrapped around his own throat, face wet with tears, gagging and retching. And Albus…Albus watching from the edge of the bed, eyes wide and glossy.

“Scorpius?” There was fear in Albus’s voice as it trembled. Was he scared of what was happening to Scorpius or Scorpius himself?

Scorpius pulled his hands away from his neck with a hiss as he felt the heat radiating off the brand. He sat up on his elbows, panting. “Yeah.” His voice was ragged from his imagined asphyxiation. 

Albus’s face immediately relaxed. He slid off the bed and sat next to Scorpius on the floor. “Do you…” His eyes were focused on Scorpius’s neck. “Do you want to talk about it?”

There wasn’t much that Scorpius wanted to talk about less than his own drowning and hanging. “I don’t know how.” His quiet reply was honest. The only conversations they’d had about the elephant in the room were all clinical. Putting salve on a burn. Dressing lacerations. Observing color changes in a contusion. They had elegantly danced around talking about how the burn, lacerations, and contusions got there.

“I know. Was this one about…” Albus trailed off, fingers tugging at the hem of his pajama pants. “Was it…your hands - you couldn’t breathe?” 

Scorpius gave a jerky nod, watching Albus’s hands trail up and down his pant leg.

“Was it…” Albus’s voice lowered, as though he worried someone might overhear. “Was it what I saw?”

Another jerky nod. “Part of it, yeah.” Scorpius had tried to forget how much Albus had seen, tried to wipe clean the memory of the camera. 

“Okay,” Albus kept his voice even. “What was the other part?” 

Scorpius’s arms curled around himself. “Water.” He coughed out, as though he had just been submerged. “A tub of water. They - they held me -” His throat clamped shut and he felt the sting of new tears. He couldn’t even talk about it, how pathet-

“-brave. It’s okay, Scorpius. You were so brave. You are so brave.” Albus’s voice quieted the ringing in Scorpius’s ears. “I shouldn’t have asked. We can wait until you’re ready.”

“Sorry,” was all Scorpius mustered as he hugged his knees to his chest.

For just a heartbeat, Albus’s jaw clenched, then relaxed. “You don’t have to apologize for anything.” He opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out one of the many vials stored there. “Here,” he held the vial out to Scorpius. “You need some rest. We can talk more in the morning.”

A Draught of Dreamless Sleep. It had become a routine nightcap for Scorpius of late. It was the potion or dreams of suffocation, brands, whips, and snakes. Scorpius tilted the vial into his mouth as they crawled back into bed. 

Neither of them spoke as the potion slowed Scorpius’s breathing and made his eyelids heavy. He felt Albus watching him, but focused on the way his body relaxed into the mattress. 

The squeak of the shower handle brought Scorpius out of his potion-induced unconsciousness. His head pounded, an unfortunate side effect. He left the warmth of the bed on a mission for a glass of water. 

Scorpius set his headache cure on the kitchen table and frowned at Albus’s work satchel next to his glass. Albus hadn’t been to work in the past week. The satchel was draped over the loveseat last night. The satchel had either become sentient overnight or Albus was using it for something. Scorpius tapped the rim of his glass in thought.

Taking one glance over his shoulder to the bathroom door, he unbuckled the bag and dumped the contents on the table. 

His stomach dropped.

There were testimonies, written observations, a folded piece of parchment, but what caught Scorpius’s attention were the photographs. There were pictures of him, captures of just a few seconds of him in the arena. He watched the brand press against his neck or the whip strike his back over and over, the moving image restarting the moment it ended.

Scorpius pressed the back of his hand against his mouth, fearing the nausea might overwhelm him. A tear fell against the folded piece of parchment, prompting Scorpius to open it. Once unfurled, it was a timeline. It was Albus’s estimations of what happened during each day of Scorpius’s captivity, with shocking accuracy. 

There were notes filling the spaces between each day, notes on events that Albus shouldn’t know. Naturally, the day of his scheduled execution had a lengthy entry, detailing the events in the arena. But the day before had notes on using drowning to get intel. And the day before that was annotated with the betrayal by Jonah. 

The shower handle had squeaked again, but the blood roaring through Scorpius’s ears was loud. Albus knew…almost everything. 

“Scorpius…?” A hesitant voice called out from the doorway of the bedroom. Albus had a towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping onto the floor. “What are you doing?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. 

Scorpius stepped back from the table like it burned him. “How do you know this? I - I didn’t tell you all this. How - what happened each day - who told you?” The words fell from his mouth as he took a few steps toward Albus, pointing at the timeline. 

“No, you didn’t tell me.” Albus took a small step forward, freezing Scorpius in his tracks. “I’ve been piecing it together from testimonies. Scorpius, we arrested an Ian Knowles. He’s told me - and the other Aurors - quite a bit. I think he likes to talk. He likes to hear himself talk anyway and he didn’t always make sense, so I started taking those notes, trying to figure out when things happened and -”

“Knowles?” Scorpius wheezed out, interrupting Albus’s rambling. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Albus took another step forward, holding the edge of his towel. “I thought - thought it might upset you. I don’t know, Scorpius. I thought if you knew, you’d want to talk to him…or…or confront him or something. I thought it was better if you didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“You should have told me. You know…you know…” Scorpius gestured to the parchment, his legs struggling to hold him upright and his stomach threatening acid. “You know all of this.” 

“I should have told you,” Albus repeated. He tensed as though he might take another step, but decided against it. “I didn’t know how you’d react. I wanted to give you time. Talk about it when you were ready.”

“Knowles…” Scorpius chewed the inside of his cheek, paying no mind to Albus’s ramblings. “The others? Rachel? Jonah?” 

Rubbing the back of his neck, Albus looked at the ceiling. “Rachel is dead and -”

Scorpius’s head snapped up. “Did you…?”

“No.” Albus responded quickly with a head shake. “Death Eaters. I never spoke to her.”

“And Jonah?”

“Jonah.” Albus echoed in thought, craning his neck to look over his notes. “He’s the one that - Knowles had nothing nice to say about him.” He interrupted himself. “Not that he has much nice to say about anyone. But Jonah seems to have fled. Most vanished between the Death Eater attack and when we arrived on scene, unfortunately. Do you…do you remember any other names?”

Another glance down at the parchment dawned Scorpius’s realization of how little he had shared with Albus. Surely he owed him some information. “There was Cassius and Helena. Did they say their names at the…the…” He waited for Albus to shake his head ‘no.’ “And Nora. She was with Jonah usually. She cast a healing spell for me once.” The thought of healing flooded his mind with memories of the infirmary. “Eliza. She was a healer. Saved my life a few times, I guess.”

“Okay. That’s good, Scorpius.” Albus reassured as he walked forward, staring down at his documentation as Scorpius spoke. “I’ll need more of your help, eventually. With this timeline. Lots of blanks to fill in. And, well, Knowles is quite the embellisher. That is, unless you did steal his wand and cast Unforgivables.”

Scorpius gave a timid smile. “Not quite. I wish I had, though.”

“No, no you don’t.” Albus’s hand moved to playfully shove Scorpius’s shoulder, but jerked away quickly, hovering around Scorpius’s upper arm.

“No, no I don’t.” Scorpius agreed, smile widening.

“I’m going to put some clothes on, if you don’t mind.” Gesturing to himself, Albus started taking a few steps back toward the bedroom.

“Huh,” Scorpius took a moment to look Albus up and down. “Darn,” he whispered out with raised eyebrows.

Scorpius wouldn’t have been surprised if Albus had started jumping for joy by the way his face brightened as he retreated into the bedroom. Scorpius didn’t move, instead he combed his memories for more names. Surely he had heard more, even just in passing. They didn’t use names often. They used full names at the trial, though he couldn’t be sure they were even real names.

A brick hit Scorpius in the chest. “Emmett.” His voice was breathy, raspy like he was winded. His blood chilled his body as the edges of his vision went dark.

Something slammed in the bedroom and Albus stepped out, half dressed, still pulling his shirt over his head. “What was that?” He asked, out of breath.

“Emmett.” 

Albus cocked his head. “Wait - Emmett Emmett?” He prompted. “Emmett, your coworker?” There was a waver in his voice.

Scorpius nodded mutely. 

“Was he there?”

A head shake.

“Okay.” Albus paused for a few moments. “How was he involved?”

“A letter.” Scorpius swallowed. “Or testimony. Or whatever. During the trial. It was used as evidence. He wrote that I was doing forbidden research. That I was leveraging my job at the Ministry.” He started walking toward the sitting room. “He’s involved. You have to go…go arrest him.” Scorpius was speaking between panicked gasps.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Albus coaxed. “Are you sure? That’s a serious accus-”

“Seriou- yes, Albus.” His voice was louder. “I’m quite certain. He never liked me, but I didn’t think…yes. They said his full name. And the letter was about work. I only worked with one Emmett Cattermole.”

“Right, right.” Albus was nodding. “Do you remember exactly what the letter said? How did he send it?”

“I don - I don’t know.” Scorpius was pacing around the coffee table. “But you need to go. Arrest him.”

“Yeah,” Albus agreed, sitting on the sofa, watching Scorpius carefully. “I would if I could. On leave. But I could get in touch with Ironwood. But…” He was nodding his head side to side.

Scorpius shrugged at him. “But what?”

“No evidence. Nothing concrete.” Albus’s leg was bouncing. “No evidence,” he repeated, “except…” He looked up at Scorpius with squinted eyes, as though his words were painful. “Except your testimony.”

Shrugging again, Scorpius stopped walking. “So give Ironwood my testimony?”

“Scorpius, I’m not an Auror right now. A civilian giving secondhand testimony?” Albus explained slowly, shaking his head. “You’ve got to - you need to come with me.” 

“Oh.” Scorpius responded dumbly, freezing. “To the Ministry?”

Albus gave a small smile through his tense features. “That’d be the place. I can try to reach out, see what I can do. But I know the Aurors will want to speak with you. Directly.”

“Yeah.” Scorpius breathed out. “I’m ready.”

He got a noncommittal hum in response. “I’ll set up an escort. At the apparition point. Have them set us up in a private interrogation room.” Albus was mumbling more to himself than Scorpius as he set his plans in motion. He turned to the fireplace, using it to speak to an Auror on duty.

Scorpius pressed a hand against his chest as though it might somehow stop his heart from abusing his ribs. It would be fine. Albus would be there. They’d be safe. They’d be safe, right? If Emmett was involved, who else? What if there were Aurors? What if Ironwoo-

“Ready?” Albus asked, his smile tight.

“Yeah.” Another breathy response.

Albus held his hand out. “Is it okay?” He waited for Scorpius to nod before taking Scorpius’s hand in his. They both took a breath before the ground lurched beneath them.

Landing in the midst of the black tile of the Ministry, Albus moved to dislodge his hand from Scorpius’s, but Scorpius tightened his grip on their entwined fingers. There were three Aurors, one of which Scorpius recognized as Ironwood, that took up positions around them.

Hand in hand, the two made their way to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, flanked by a triangle of Aurors, ducking their heads to avoid any attention.

Scorpius felt eyes on him. Accusatory. Inquisitive. Angry. Pitying. His breathing was labored and his vision swam, from the tears and the light headedness. The hand wrapped around his own squeezed and the piercing gazes fled his mind. It became just a little easier to pull air into his starved lungs.

Ironwood ushered them into a concrete room decorated with only a metal table and four metal chairs. Scorpius squeezed the hand back, hoping it would make his memories of concrete and metal flee. It worked, to some degree, as he was now focused on the sweat that slicked his palm.

“Sorry.” He untangled his hand from Albus’s, wiping it on his sweatpants. “Little sweaty.” Scorpius mumbled, waving his arm, trying to dry his hand.

Albus laughed lightly. “All good.” He sat in one of the chairs and gestured for Scorpius to do the same as Ironwood shut the door behind the three of them.

“Right, then.” Ironwood’s voice was sharp in the tiny room. “Potter says you’ve got some new information. About a coworker? A Ministry employee?” There was a barely detectable tone of incredulity in the way he phrased his questions.

Scorpius nodded as he ran his hands along the edge of the metal table. “Yeah, about Emmett Cattermole?” His voice was so hesitant that his statement sounded like a question.

“Alright, Mr. Malfoy. Go ahead when you’re ready.” He pulled a notebook from his chest pocket and set a quill against it expectantly.

“When I was…when they-”

“Who is they?” Ironwood interrupted, not looking up.

Scorpius’s eyes darted to Albus. “They…the people that…” Kidnapped? Abducted? Held him prisoner? Captive? The room suddenly felt icy cold as he wrestled with the terminology. Terminology that he had yet to come to terms with himself. “The people that had me.”

“The first group, correct? Not the Death Eaters?” The quill was scratching.

“Not the Death Eaters.” Scorpius confirmed. “They had a trial. It was in the Prophet? They had evidence…well, what they thought was evidence. They had a letter - Emmett Cattermole’s testimony against me. It was about our work together. He claimed I was doing research on Dark Artifacts-”

“You were. Were you not?” Ironwood finally glanced up.

Scorpius shot Albus another glance as he bit a knuckle. “I was, yeah. Because they were missing. And the Death Eaters ha- that doesn’t matter. Emmett was involved with this…this group. And he leaked the file. The report I wrote.”

“What?” Albus’s head snapped to Scorpius. “You think he leaked the file? Why?”

“He admitted it to me.” Scorpius responded, staring down at the table, chewing his cheek again. 

Albus stood, making Scorpius flinch as the metal scraped against the concrete. “You said you didn’t know who did it.”

“I know! I know.” Scorpius bowed his head, instinctively trying to make himself smaller. “I didn’t want you to - I don’t know - overreact, I guess. Obviously, I would have told you if I knew what was about to happen.”

“I’ll stop you there.” Ironwood was holding his quill up. “According to you, Mr. Cattermole leaked your confidential report and somehow communicated with the group holding you captive, am I correct?”

Scorpius nodded, not moving from his cowered position. 

“I hate to ask, but do you have any proof?” Ironwood set his notebook down. “You can probably assume your word right now is…” Unreliable. Untrustworthy. Traitorous. “...not the strongest source of evidence.”

“No,” was Scorpius’s quiet response. 

“Alright.” Ironwood’s voice has softened as the interview came to a close. “Tell you what, I’m going to have a quick chat with Mr. Cattermole. No guarantees, but I will keep you both updated with progress. Or if we need anything else from you.” He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the closed door. “Wait here until our assistant dismisses you…in case anything comes up. It should only be a few more minutes.” He narrowed his eyes at Scorpius for just a moment. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Malfoy. We’ll be in touch.” Ironwood left swiftly, closing the door behind him.

“You doing okay?” Albus asked as he slid his hand down the metal table closer to Scorpius.

Scorpius rubbed his face. “Yeah. Thanks for…for believing me.” His eyes slid over to Albus before focusing back on the floor.

“Of course I believe you. Now we just have to convince everyone else.” Albus sighed. “We’ll figure it out.” He quickly added.

“Wish they left more behind. You said you didn’t find anything when you searched their place?” Scorpius felt a twinge of hope, maybe Albus did find something and was hiding it. Maybe another cat would be let out of the bag.

“No,” was Albus’s disappointing reply. “Nothing of importance.” 

Nothing of importance. Something of unimportance then?

Before Scorpius could investigate, the door opened, making him jump.

It was a familiar woman, the one that had been kind to Scorpius when he submitted his report. She was smiling and didn’t flinch or grimace or glare when she looked at Scorpius. “Sorry if I scared you.” Her gaze flicked between Scorpius and Albus. “Auror Ironwood let me know that you are free to head out. He thanks you again for your time.” She slipped away, leaving the door open.

“Let’s head home.” Albus said with finality, watching Scorpius stand. He raised his hand slowly, offering it to Scorpius wordlessly, while still walking toward the door. It was an offer discreet enough that Scorpius could pretend not to notice and there would be no awkwardness in the refusal.

But Scorpius didn’t refuse. He entwined his - now dry - fingers with Albus’s, interlocking them in a way that oozed memories.

They left the interrogation room together, Scorpius silently dreading the short trek back to the apparition point. They had just rounded the corner into the main Auror offices when Scorpius froze once more, gripping desperately at Albus’s hand.

It was Emmett. He was trailing behind Ironwood, weaving their way through cubicles. Ironwood paused, glancing between Scorpius and Emmett with an analytical glare.

And Emmett. Emmett smirked at Scorpius before strolling casually in his direction. Scorpius tensed, grabbing at Albus’s arm. 

“What a relief to see you’re still with us.” Emmett drawled. “We were awful worried about you. Coming back to work? Don’t think anyone’s taken residence at your desk.” A smile crept across his face slowly as he waited for a response. Ironwood stayed a few paces behind, watching warily.

“Keep walking.” Albus pulled at Scorpius to stand in front of him as he spat the words out at Emmett.

Emmett laughed, humorlessly. “Keep Potter close, Malfoy.” He glanced down at their interwoven hands before letting his eyes linger on Scorpius’s neck. “You don’t know how lucky you are.”

Unconsciously, Scorpius moved his shoulder to shield the brand as Emmett gave one last grin before turning back to Ironwood. The Auror shot one last glance at Scorpius before leading Emmett toward the interrogation rooms.

Albus all but dragged Scorpius to the apparition point, tugging on his hands as they maneuvered through the crowd. The eyes were still there, but Scorpius’s blood was already icy and Albus’s urgency provided enough distraction. 

A few gut-wrenching moments later, they cracked into the sitting room. Albus threw Scorpius’s hand at Scorpius and groaned. Scorpius clutched his hand to his chest and stepped back until his back was flush with the fireplace. 

Albus was mumbling to himself, pacing - no, stomping - around the sitting room, gesturing wildly. Scorpius desperately thought about what it was he did wrong. He didn’t stand up for himself. He didn’t confront Emmett. 

“You know, I was this close to complementing Ironwood.” Albus pinched his fingers together, voice elevated. “He didn’t ask about the brand or the Death Eaters or your Mark. Then, he threw it all out the fucking window.” His fist connected with the kitchen table, sending parchment fluttering, and slamming Scorpius’s back against the harsh brick.

The mention of the Mark made bile rise in the back of Scorpius’s throat. He had, for the first time, spent several hours forgetting he was stained.

“And then,” Albus continued his tirade, “he put you face to face with one of those monsters. He was looking for a reaction, I’m sure. I hope he got what he was looking for.” He sighed loudly. “And what was that, a threat?”

Scorpius held his breath, hoping he wasn’t making any noise. No, it wasn’t the time to draw attention to himself. 

Taking a deep breath, Albus straightened himself and finally acknowledged Scorpius. The moment he did, his face relaxed, then morphed into a frown. “...Shit.” He ran an aggressive hand through his own hair, clawing at his skull before sitting on the sofa across from Scorpius. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. You know that, right? No, I’m just an idiot. I wasn’t thinking…again.” 

After a few breaths, Scorpius peeled himself off the wall, feeling a strange coolness when the air hit his back. He turned around and saw little streaks of red adorning the brick. “Oh.” He said quietly, gingerly touching the bloodstains.

“Merlin, Scorpius.” Albus’s voice spun him around. “Lay down.” He patted the sofa. “We need to redress your back.” When Scorpius didn’t move, Albus continued. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m still learning. It’ll take time. For both of us. It’s not like there’s a manual for dealing with this.”

Scorpius was staring blindly at Albus. “There might be, actually.” He responded without thinking.

“You’re probably right.” Albus voice was gentler and he let out a low chuckle, one that made Scorpius relax immediately. “I’ll track down a copy. Or two. In the meantime…” He pointed at the sofa.

Settling face down on the cushions, Scorpius assumed a familiar position. The lashes on his back needed daily treatment, at least. Similar to the brand, Albus always commented on how much better the lacerations looked, despite them reopening at any unexpected movement or contact.

“Let’s see.” Albus was above him, speaking softly, always narrating his every move. “I’ll just lift your shirt up and have a quick look.” The air became even colder. “Yeah, uh huh, I think a few have gotten smaller.” 

The white lie made Scorpius smile to himself. He heard the jar of the salve open and tensed, closing his eyes.

“Alright,” Albus’s calm voice continued. “Just going to use a washcloth, get the blood cleaned up.” A small gasp escaped Scorpius as the wet cloth dragged across irritated flesh. “Doing good. Now, the salve.” Albus had become quite adept at spreading the thick ointment evenly in fluid motions, careful not to rub the skin too harshly. “Now, we give it a few minutes, and we’re done!” He exclaimed.

When Scorpius opened his eyes, Albus was crouched beside him, eye level. “Thanks.” Scorpius breathed out, blinking slowly.

“Don’t thank me.” Albus’s eyes scanned the exposed wounds. “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I will do better. I promise.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Scorpius responded with a smile. “Shit happens.” He was feeling unusually tired, though he shouldn’t be too surprised. This was the most excitement he’d had in a week.

Albus laughed again. “Yeah, well, let’s stop letting the shit happen to you.” 

He got a hum in response. “Look for a manual on that, while you’re at it.”

Leaning forward, Albus pointed to Scorpius’s hand that was resting by his head. “May I?” 

When Scorpius nodded, Albus took the hand in his own, gently running his thumb against Scorpius’s knuckles. Scorpius’s eyes closed again. It was the third time today - the third time in three weeks - that they held hands. And it was starting to make Scorpius remember what home meant. 

Chapter 18: The Taste of Resignation

Notes:

Sincerest apologies for the delay. I hope you enjoy as we continue to wrestle with trauma. Thank you for reading <3

“Are you going back to work?” Scorpius asked without looking up from the book he had been blindly staring at for the past 20 minutes. He couldn’t recall the title, though based on the diagram on the page, it was something about Animagi.

The book Albus was reading thudded shut and Scorpius fought the urge to recoil. “Trying to get rid of me?” 

Glancing up, Scorpius noted Albus’s furrowed brows and crossed arms. “No…I was just wondering. You’ve been home nearly two weeks. I just…I’m fine. You can go back if you want.”

With a sigh, Albus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Not sure I am. The Ministry, they weren’t very helpful when it came to…” He gave Scorpius a wary look. “...tracking you down. Maybe it’s time I find something else.”

“Like what?” Scorpius hissed through clenched teeth.

“Well, I’ve come a long way as a healer. I think I have a bright future as the resident salve applier at St. Mungo’s.” Albus was smiling.

Scorpius’s book snapped shut. “I’m serious. You’ve stopped working. For me. I don’t want you to - to stop doing what you like because of me. What else are you going to do?”

“I don’t know…” Albus’s smile faltered and he leaned forward even further. “Why are you bringing this up now? Why does this matter all of a sudden?”

“It’s just -” Scorpius’s half-formed thoughts were interrupted by a harsh knock at the door. Hand suddenly going limp, the book Scorpius was pretending to read slipped, landing splayed open on the rug.

Albus’s head turned from the door to Scorpius. He held his hand out. “It’s alright. I’ll answer it. You stay here.” He stood slowly, watching Scorpius. He gave one more ‘it’s okay’ as he approached the door. 

The words fell on deaf ears as Scorpius considered who was here for him. Knowles. It had to be. Knowles finishing what he started. 

No, that didn’t make sense. Knowles was at the Ministry. Scorpius took a deep breath, a feeble attempt to control his hijacked mind.

Jonah? Maybe he was seeking refuge. He had learned Scorpius was safe and needed help. 

No, Jonah wasn’t resourceful enough. He was just there, going along with the plan, not thinking for himself.

It had to be Gabriel. He’d poison Albus’s mind, turn him against Scorpius. He’d use Albus to convince Scorpius that he had no one.

Albus pulled at the handle, hesitantly. Sunlight streamed into the sitting room, revealing the silhouette of Ironwood. 

“What are you doing here?” Albus asked before Scorpius was able to gather his thoughts. His voice was rigid and stern.

“Potter.” Ironwood greeted curtly. “I need to collect more witness testimonies. You know this case is dead in the water if we don’t find more ammunition.” He lowered his voice. “We’re running out of time.”

Albus shot Scorpius another glance before pushing Ironwood outside and following him, leaving the door open just a crack. Their voices muffled and Scorpius could only make out a few words, made slightly easier as Albus was now yelling. “Stunt” and “Ministry.”

Looking away from the door, Scorpius glanced at Albus’s satchel, filled to the brim with notes, very few of which Scorpius was responsible for providing. His stomach flipped with guilt. 

They were running out of time…for what? Knowles walking free? No, they had video evidence of Knowles…they had evidence. Emmett? Did they arrest him?

Albus slipped back through the door, closing it gently behind him. “Sorry. You alright?”

“What did he want?” Scorpius asked, craning his neck to see outside, ignoring Albus’s question.

“He wanted…just to ask you some questions.” Albus’s hand stayed on the door handle. “I want you to be ready to answer them. You shouldn’t be rushed.” 

“No.” Scorpius shook his head. “No, have him - I’m ready - have him come back.”

Albus gaped at him for a few moments, grip tightening on the door handle. He opened his mouth like he wanted to speak, but pulled the door open instead. “Ironwood!” With a head jerk toward the inside of their apartment, the Auror walked in, shrugging off his robe.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak to me, Mr. Malfoy.” Ironwood’s eyes found the discarded book. “I understand this won’t be easy. Any information you can provide is valuable, though.”

Leaning over, Scorpius hastily scooped up the book, setting it on the sofa next to him. “I’ll uh…yeah. I’ll try to answer what I can.” 

Albus settled onto a cushion on the other side of the book, keeping his eyes on Ironwood. 

“Right, then.” Ironwood clapped as he pulled out a notebook, unaware of the small flinch the noise caused. “As I’m certain Potter informed you, we have one Ian Knowles in custody. We’ve also been following a few leads from your information last week about Emmett Cattermole. One step at a time, though!” His voice was unusually upbeat. “We’re going to focus on what you can recall about Mr. Knowles. For his trial. He’s told us quite a few stories, but I’d appreciate hearing your account.”

After taking a slow breath, Scorpius nodded. “Okay, yeah. Ask away.” He made an open gesture with his arms before they wrapped themselves around his torso again.

A curt nod and a throat clearing followed as Ironwood’s eyes darted over the page before him. “Tell me about when you first met this Mr. Knowles.”

“He was in the group that…that -” Why was it so fucking hard to say ‘kidnapped?’ “The group that took me. The ones pretending to be Aurors. He was one of the three.”

“The other two?”

“Rachel. Albus said she died.” Scorpius nodded to the occupied cushion next to him. “Another man. I don’t know his name.”

“How many people were involved in your captivity?” Ironwood was scribbling away, not glancing up.

“Oh,” Scorpius began as he thought. “I’d say a couple dozen. Quite a few. You saw most of them. In the audience. During the…”

Ironwood thankfully nodded. “And how did your relationship progress with Mr. Knowles during the course of your captivity?”

“Not very well.” Scorpius admitted as his hand idly traced the edges of the book. “You saw how it ended.” His voice was strained.

“I did.” Ironwood agreed. “But there is a whole lot in the middle I didn’t see.” His tone shifted, like he was explaining the rules of a game to a child. 

“We didn’t get along well.” Scorpius pulled his right hand into his chest. “He didn’t like me. He took a lot of opportunities to…make that well known.”

A sigh. “Specifics, Mr. Malfoy.” Ironwood tapped his quill against the notebook. “What did he do?”

“Uh…” Scorpius’s downward turned eyes flicked to his right, to Albus. “He…hurt me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, no force behind it. “St. Mungo’s gave you my records, I’m sure? Most of that was him. Punishment.” The word tasted foul.

“Punishment.” Ironwood echoed in thought. “Mr. Knowles talks an awful lot about how he only did what he thought you deserved.” He once again ignored Scorpius’s flinch. “You tried to escape at one point, correct? What happened?”

Another small glance at Albus, who nodded tensely. “I stole Knowles’s wand. And ran. I didn’t…didn’t get very far.”

“And did you cast any spells?” Ironwood finally looked up at Scorpius.

Scorpius nodded. “ Bombarda. Hit one of the tables. I think Protego and Stupefy , as well.”

“No Unforgivables?” The Auror leaned forward slightly.

“No!” Scorpius answered quickly. “Just those three. Knowles tried to…he was about to cast Crucio on me. But they stopped him, rules against Unforgivables, apparently.”

“Punished.” Ironwood repeated again. “These punishments. Did they punish you unprompted? Was there always a reason?”

“What?” Scorpius responded incredulously, his voice raising in volume. “Did I deserve it? Is that what you’re asking?”

Albus stood quickly, making Scorpius’s hands clench. “Why would you ask that?” 

Ironwood raised his hands up. “Just wondering if there was always a catalyst. Trying to find motives, that’s all.”

“If there wasn’t a reason, they found one.” Scorpius spat out through his clenched teeth. 

“Okay, okay, we can move on.” Ironwood flipped to another page. “Was there anyone there that provided aid? Comfort?”

Scorpius glanced up at Albus again, anxiety curling in his stomach as he considered the answer Ironwood was anticipating. “Eliza was a healer. Saved my life a couple times, surely. And…” Ironwood raised his eyebrows, anticipating his next words. “Jonah. He was…nice. He tried to defend me.”

“Jonah.” Ironwood was circling a note. “The nature of your relationship.” His eyes narrowed at Albus before flicking back to Scorpius. “We can speak privately, if you’d prefer.”

“No.” Scorpius said plainly.

“So be it.” Another glance at the notes. “Mr. Knowles claimed your relationship with this Jonah was intimate in nature.” When Scorpius tensed, Ironwood quickly added, “I understand, a very normal trauma response. How did this relationship come to be?”

Scorpius felt a roll of nausea, only made worse as he felt Albus’s eyes on him. “It wasn’t like that.” Scorpius’s face was wet and his hands were shaking. “He was just nice. He gave me food sometimes and helped heal a wound. Nothing happened.” He looked up at Albus, pleading with his eyes for the other to believe him.

“It’s quite common.” Ironwood was continuing. “Someone under duress will find attachment, seek connection. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Nothing happened.” Scorpius was openly begging now. “I didn’t - that’s a lie. They said that at the trial. That I was manipulating Jonah. I wasn’t. Please. I didn’t.”

“Right.” Ironwood nodded unconvincingly. “And this Rachel. Mr. Knowles claimed to have seen the two of you engaging in intimacy.”

Scorpius gagged, feeling her fiery touch ignite his skin. The thought of her hands touching his bare chest again made Scorpius choke on a sob. “No.” It was another whisper. “I mean…yes…but I didn’t want it. Please. I tried to stop her.”

“That’s enough.” The scorching touch fled at the sound of Albus’s voice. “He’s not ready for those questions.”

“I understand.” The Auror put his notebook on the coffee table. “But we need to build a case here. I need the full picture. We can pick this up another day, but I’d like to ask a question or two more. Was there anyone else that saw? Your relations with Rachel?”

“Jonah.” Scorpius’s voice was ragged. “He stopped it. One of the times. I was alone with Rachel when he came in. He helped.”

“Why?”

“Said he didn’t agree with what they were doing.” Scorpius swallowed hard. “I think he…wanted to help in small ways that he could.”

“So he was some kind of double agent? Helping you in secret?”

“I don’t know.” Scorpius was struggling to catch his breath. “He was trapped - I don’t know.” 

“Are you lying to protect him?” 

The room was starting to spin. “What? No, I -”

“Enough.” Albus was standing, walking to fill the space between Ironwood and Scorpius. “No more questions. We aren’t ready.”

Ironwood sighed as he closed his notebook, sideyeing Scorpius. “Clearly.” He muttered, barely audible. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Malfoy. We’ll be in touch.” He nodded to Scorpius, who was curled on the sofa, breathing heavily.

Albus and the Auror exchanged a few words as they walked to the door, but the rush of blood in Scorpius’s ears drowned out any meaningful sounds. 

The door closed. The intruder was gone. The interrogation was over.

Closing his eyes, Scorpius took deep breaths to calm his raging nerves. The coils in his chest slowly unwound. When he opened his eyes, Albus was standing over him, offering a glass of water, which Scorpius graciously accepted.

“How’re you doing?” Albus very unhelpfully asked. 

“Never better.” Scorpius snapped back after a sip of water and immediately felt another coil in his chest. Regret.

Albus nodded. “Right.” There was a new shortness in his tone. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. Rest.” 

Scorpius let his eyes track Albus through the sitting room, but said nothing. He faintly heard dishes clinking in the next room. The coil of regret tightened.

The discarded book was scooped back into Scorpius’s lap and opened to a random page. It featured a diagram of a crow, wings spread. The appeal of being an Animagus had never been more evident. 

The following few hours were spent absently flipping through the text, Scorpius considering the animal he might transfigure himself into if he sucked on a mandrake leaf for a month. With his luck, probably a pug. Or an armadillo. Or something equally useless.

Albus set a warm mug of tea on the table in front of Scorpius, dragging his attention away from the long list of ingredients needed for the Animagus potion. Albus sat down on the cushion next to Scorpius, but his body was stiff, not relaxing into the sofa.

Taking the hint, Scorpius set the book down, and replaced it with the mug, appreciating the warmth of the ceramic. His eyes settled on Albus, expectant.

There was a pause. A long pause. 

“You don’t have to say anything…” Albus started, leaning forward. “But you can talk to me. If you want. Or need.” 

Scorpius stared into the mug. “I’m fine.”

Albus glanced at the ceiling before looking back at Scorpius. “What Ironwood did, it was wrong. That wasn’t okay. Those questions were…they weren’t fair.” He paused for a moment. “But,” was followed by another pause, one long enough for the pit of Scorpius’s stomach to fill with dread. “But, I think you should talk about what happened.”

“Why?” Scorpius asked, knowing the answer, buying time for him to find a way to escape this tired conversation. 

“You know why.” Albus insightfully responded. “Scorpius, we’ve talked about this. The amount of time I spend talking about talking.” He rubbed his temples. “Merlin, knowing the Department, I’m betting Ironwood was offered counseling just being assigned to your case. I’ve had some trauma training. You’re supposed to - you need to realize what’s happened to you. Not pretend it didn’t.”

“You want me to talk to a counselor.” Scorpius replied with a statement, still clinging onto some hope that this discussion would soon cease.

“Yes…no.” Albus paused again. “I don’t care who you talk to. But Scorpius, please. You can’t just keep taking Dreamless Sleep every night and spend all day staring at the wall claiming that you feel fine. That’s not fine. You have to - you’re supposed to let yourself feel. Your feelings are normal - they’re valid.” He regurgitated from some book he surely read on helping someone heal from trauma.

Scorpius blinked hard, willing the tears not to fall. His chest heaved with every breath and he tried to bite his tongue, let Albus spew his redundant advice. “Oh, you want me to feel, do you?” The words fell out anyway as Scorpius’s hand clenched around his own thigh, fingers digging in.

“No - I - that’s not what I meant.” Albus tried desperately to backtrack.

“You think I’m not feeling? I feel everything. I felt everything.” Scorpius watched Albus’s face fall, but continued his onslaught. “Want to know how I felt?”

“Scorpi- “

“I wanted to die. I figured everyone would be better off anyway. I wouldn’t have to hurt anymore, you wouldn’t have to deal with this bullshit, my father wouldn’t have to worry about the legacy continuing.” 

Albus’s mouth opened to respond, but Scorpius didn’t give him pause.

“And do you want to know the worst part?” Scorpius didn’t wait for an answer to his rhetorical question. “When it was finally ending, I was rescued. From the brink of death. Only, it wasn’t you that saved me. It was them. ” The coil of regret twisting like a knife as Scorpius watched the hurt in Albus’s expression form with each fresh wound inflicted.

There was another pause, this one heavy. Scorpius found it difficult to look at Albus. Each time he willed his eyes to meet the others’, they were drawn back to the mug. 

Albus stood, wordlessly, eliciting a small flinch from Scorpius who tried to hide it as he made his way into the kitchen again. 

Scorpius knew he should call after him. He should say something. Apologize. Promise he’ll be ready to talk more soon. Follow the script he had been practicing the past two weeks. Fill the room with empty words. 

But Scorpius said nothing. Again.

He didn’t feel sorry, not really. He was honest. Maybe not eloquent, but honest. A painful truth is better than a nice lie. It was, wasn’t it?

Scorpius’s stomach churned as he heard a pot clang against the stove. He didn’t lie. But still…maybe Albus didn’t deserve that. Albus had been so patient, so caring. He deserved to know more - and hear it from Scorpius. 

Albus cleared his throat, a habit he recently picked up to announce he was about to start speaking. “Dinner’s ready if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks. Coming.” Scorpius balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his thighs as he stood. He didn’t know what it felt like to be ready to regale his partner in the tales of his torture, but if he waited until he knew, Albus would likely have already slipped through his fingers.

The dining table was set with two matching plates of tangled pasta. Albus was already seated and Scorpius followed suit, finding his usual chair.

Yet another weighty pause.

“I’m sorry.” It was Scorpius. “What I said - that wasn’t fair. I know you were working hard and you did find me. That’s what matters.” He was idly holding a fork, but didn’t bring it to his meal.

Albus was similarly not eating. “I understand. I know you probably feel a lot of…mixed…confusing emotions. Which is why we should talk about them. So we can help you start feeling better.”

“Okay.” Scorpius’s voice was raspy. It wasn’t just Scorpius that would feel better, it was Albus, too. He could do this for Albus. “I just…don’t know what to talk about.”

“I can try asking some questions, if that helps. You can answer them if you want. Or talk about something else. Would that help?” Albus waited for a quick nod. “Well, we’re eating. What did you eat there?”

Even talking about food, such an innocuous bit of human survival, was difficult. “I didn’t eat much. They usually only offered one meal a day. And I usually rejected it.”

“Why?” 

Scorpius knew Albus was going to need a follow up. “For most of the day, I was in that main room, the one with all the tables. When I was there, they made me…there was a specific place on the floor where I knelt. And the food…they put it on the floor in front of me. I couldn’t use my hands.” Scorpius stared at the ironic plate of pasta in front of him.

“I’m sorry.” Albus gave a quiet response, but left space for Scorpius to continue.

“Eventually, I caved. I was so hungry. Jonah gave me food sometimes, but not enough. I tried to stay strong, but I couldn’t. I was weak. I was -”

“No, no.” Albus interrupted. “Not weak. You were strong. You resisted. Without food, you can’t expect to stay strong, right? You did what you had to.”

Scorpius gave a noncommittal hum, turning his face away from Albus to hide the ashamed flush. 

“What did they…” Albus clicked his tongue as he trailed off. “What did they talk about?”

Scorpius shrugged. “To me? Mainly accusations. That I was a Death Eater. That I deserved everything they were doing. They talked to each other like…like they were friends at work.”

“Did you get to know any of them?” Albus set his fork down. “Did they talk about who they were?”

“A little.” Scorpius admitted. “They were all victims. They all had a story of a loved one hurt during the war or by Death Eater supporters. They thought they were doing the right thing. In their own way.”

Albus’s eyebrows raised. “Really? Knowles?”

“Werewolf attack. His niece, if I remember. Hogwarts.”

“Jonah?”

“Grandmother, I believe. He never told me about it.”

“Rachel?”

“Husband made potions. She watched him get hurt by Death Eaters for refusing to join.”

Albus leaned back in his chair, nodding slowly, eyes staring up at the ceiling in thought. It was just how Albus looked when he had a file he brought home for the weekend, one he needed extra time for cracking.

“Just ask.” Scorpius sighed, a small knot in his stomach as he prepared for the question Albus was hesitant to ask.

“Right.” Albus nodded again. “I don’t want to push too far. You don’t have to answer. But Jonah…why did he help you?”

“Like I said earlier…he joined the - whatever you’d call it - group for the same reason they all did. They wanted to bring Death Eaters and their supporters to justice. They initially just investigated old cases, trying to dredge anything else up. But he didn’t agree with…” He trailed off, gesturing to himself, not wanting to taste the word ‘kidnapping’ on his tongue.

“Understandable.” Albus said. “Did you like him? Were you scared of him?” There was a tone in Albus’s voice that made it sound like he was hoping for a specific answer.

The tone gave Scorpius pause. “I suppose,” Scorpius began, watching Albus stiffen in his seat. “I liked him more than the others. He was suspicious though. When he was nice to me, I was always waiting. I thought maybe it was all a ruse. I never trusted him, not really.” He waited, hoping his partial truths were enough to appease Albus.

They weren’t. Albus sighed, just loud enough for Scorpius to hear. “Do you think he had feelings for you?”

Scorpius’s heart made a break for it, pounding against his ribs. “No.” His response was short and his eyes downturned.

“Okay, okay.” Albus diffused. “Just thought…maybe he had other reasons to help you.” He picked up his glass and drank slowly, delaying. There were more questions. More questions that Albus didn’t want to ask, which meant Scorpius didn’t want to answer. “Can I ask…I know I told Ironwood we weren’t ready, but…” Oh, by all means, the past four hours have been significant in the healing process. “Can I ask about Rachel?”

“What about Rachel?” The response was intentional, not giving Albus permission, not promising a response. 

“You don’t have to answer. I don’t want to overstep tonight. But…what happened? What did she do?” His voice grew quieter and quieter as he spoke, as though the words alone might shatter Scorpius.

Skin alight with the blaze of her touch, Scorpius felt beads of sweat forming. “Nothing.” He breathed out. “It didn’t go anywhere.”

“What does that mean? It didn’t go anywhere? What didn’t?” Albus was leaning forward now, the concern that previously furrowed his brow turned to fear.

“She just…touched me.” He felt it. The remnants of her touch may as well have been lashes from the whip. “Kissed me.” He uttered the final words in a voice he knew was too quiet for Albus to hear as his own breathing became labored.

Albus was shushing him. “Deep breaths. You’re okay. You’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He was mumbling his mantra, tripping over the words he’d learned from his book. 

“I’m fine.” Scorpius gave his clipped mantra in reply, shockingly without protest from Albus. 

“I shouldn’t have pushed.” Albus was shaking his head. “That wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry.” He hesitated, considering his words. “Thank you. For sharing. I think you’ve made a huge stride.”

Scorpius wiped his sweating palms on his thighs. “I know you just want to know what happened.” He wished Albus could just explore all his memories in a Pensieve so he didn’t have to sift through them, recalling each one to explain.

“It’s late. Let’s head to bed. I’ll do the washing up in the morning.” Albus stood and eyed Scorpius for a beat before walking to the bedroom. 

Scorpius knew this was Albus’s way of quickly ending this uncomfortable conversation. He couldn’t say he wasn’t thankful for that. 

The shower squeaked on and Scorpius took the opportunity to walk into the empty bedroom. He needed a clean shirt. He hadn’t been fond of long sleeves before two weeks ago, so his supply was short lasting. The laundry hamper held his small collection.

Clicking his tongue, Scorpius moved to Albus’s dresser, hoping to borrow a shirt that would suit his needs. He let out an amused exhale at the state of Albus’s clothes, strewn about in random drawers, wrinkled and unfolded.

He pulled out a grey shirt and heard something clatter against the wooden bottom of the drawer. The shirt was thrown to the bed as Scorpius burrowed his way through the disorganized clothes. His hand curled around a smooth piece of wood. It felt like a wand. His hand slithered out. It was a wand.

It was Scorpius’s wand.

The shower turned off and Scorpius froze. He was holding his wand. The wand that was allegedly being detained by the Ministry. He tried to put it back in the drawer, pretend he didn’t see it, leave this argument for a different day. But his body refused to move.

The familiar rush of magic was addictive. His eyes slid closed as he connected with the wand, feeling complete again, feeling just an ounce safer.

“Scorpius?” Albus’s voice was small and wavering. 

His eyes opened. “You lied.” Scorpius’s hand unconsciously pointed accusatorily at Albus, his wand now drawn on him.

Albus was holding his own wand, not drawn, but held in a tight fist by his side. “I did. Scorpius…” He took a few steps to his left and Scorpius’s wand followed. “Mind not pointing that at me?”

The wand lowered immediately and Scorpius recoiled, looking down at his wand like it had acted of its own accord. “No…I…” 

“It’s alright, Scorpius. We can talk this through.” Albus’s wand hand flexed. “Maybe just set your wand down for now.”

Scorpius’s eyes settled on Albus’s wand. “Are you scared of me?” He breathed out, his left hand encircling his right wrist, restraining the wand from threatening Albus again.

“Scorpius…” Albus moved like he was going to take a step forward, but stopped abruptly. “No, no of course I’m not scared of you. I’m scared for you. Please, let’s put down the wands and talk. ”

For a moment, Scorpius considered raising his wand again. What would Albus do? Disarm him? Hex him? Shield himself? He quickly abandoned the thought, pushing the cruel test devoid of a correct answer out of mind. 

“Why did you lie?” He opted to ask instead, fingers exploring the comforting grooves of wood.

Albus tilted his head, clearly frustrated by his still-armed partner. “You know why, Scorpius. I just want to protect you, keep you safe. You’ll be ready soon. I just think - I think you need a little more time.”

“You’re scared of me.” Scorpius repeated as a statement.

“I am scared that you’ll do something with that wand you can’t take back. Whether it be to yourself or me. Scorpius…” He took a step forward confidently. “You just aimed at me, not two minutes ago. Did you even realize?”

Scorpius was staring back down at his offending wand, the muscles in his forearm tensing, itching to raise it. He was fighting against…something to stop himself from training his wand at his partner. Reluctantly, he bargained with his hand to relax and the wand rolled onto the carpet.

There was a release of a breath from Albus. “Thank you, Scorpius.” He crouched to collect the dropped wand. “I promise, it’s all yours when you’re ready. And I’ll do everything I can to help you get there.” He moved to the bed and gestured for Scorpius to sit.

Following Albus, Scorpius sat, glazed over eyes staring down at his empty hand. 

“I shouldn’t have lied.” Albus was trying to catch Scorpius’s gaze. “I should have told you I had your wand. I was just worried. That you’d feel I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t.” Scorpius’s voice was quiet as he switched shirts, replacing his with Albus’s, keeping his eyes closed as he slid the sleeves down his arms. 

“That’s not true!” Albus said loudly before lowering his voice immediately. “Scorpius, you must imagine my position. You’re healing. Let’s get you better one step at a time, okay?”

“Right.” Scorpius responded shortly, looking at the vial of Dreamless Sleep on his nightstand. 

“Scorpius…” Albus used his coaxing tone, the one Scorpius had heard a thousand times over in the past two weeks. He wanted more, Albus wanted Scorpius to speak his mind, share his thoughts.

He had no thoughts to share. He was done arguing. He was tired. He sprawled out in the bed, facing away from Albus.

“Scorpius, please.” The voice was bouncing off Scorpius’s unhearing ears. “Can we talk? Please, Scorpius. I do trust you. I love you. Come on…”

The voice faded, shut out by Scorpius’s mind. Albus must have given up because when Scorpius strained his ears to listen for him, he was met with silence. 

An unnatural silence.

He rolled over and found Albus’s side of the bed empty. His heart sunk. He hadn’t felt Albus leave.

Quietly, he eased himself out of bed, resigning to searching their apartment. Albus was likely curled on the sofa, cocooned by blankets. But Scorpius had to see for himself.

There was a figure on the sofa, so engulfed by the throws that all identifying features were covered. Inching closer, Scorpius’s throat tensed. That wasn’t Albus.

Scorpius pulled the blankets in a quick flourish, stumbling backwards before taking the time to examine the uninvited guest.

It was Gabriel. He stood, shaking the remaining blankets off his shoulders and smiling down at Scorpius. “Hello again, my friend.” His voice was smooth, a smoothness that Scorpius found comforting for a day or so.

“No…” Scorpius breathed out, scrambling to his feet, backing toward the bedroom. The wands. Albus took his wand. Where was Albus? 

Gabriel’s eyes explored the apartment. “How quaint.” He laughed. “Miss me?”

“Please…no…” The words were getting caught in Scorpius’s tight throat, eyes desperately scanning for Albus.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?” Gabriel mockingly pretended to look around the room. “Abandoned you again, has he?” He sighed melodramatically. “That Mark on your arm. Know what it means?” He didn’t wait for Scorpius to answer his hypothetical. “It means you always have a family. You don’t have one here, not really. Your boyfriend knows. He knows what you really are. One of us.”

Scorpius was shaking his head vigorously. “No…I’m not. He doesn’t think -”

Gabriel tsked. “He’s scared of you. Who isn’t scared of a Death Eater?” His smile deepened.

“I’m not a Death Eater.” Scorpius’s voice was weak.

“Oh,” Gabriel feigned a noise of surprise. “Well, in that case, I suppose you still need more convincing.” He raised his wand, the tip aimed at Scorpius’s chest. 

“Please, no, no.” Scorpius’s eyes focused on the wand as the owner laughed.

“Oh, dearest heir , I’m not so cruel. I’ll give you a choice.” Gabriel sniffed at the air as he pretended to consider options. “The Cruciatus or the Imperius?” The words were hissed out.

Scorpius let his eyes follow the wand up the arm of its wielder, eventually settling on the face of Knowles, whose eyes were narrowed with anger. With a gasp of shock, Scorpius’s legs buckled and he fell to his knees.

“Rachel train you to do that one, did she?” Knowles laughed roughly, allowing his wand to follow Scorpius to the floor. 

“What are you-” Scorpius wildly searched for Gabriel, but found the room empty sans Knowles, whose smile revealed his enjoyment of Scorpius’s frantic investigation.

“Relax, it’s just us.” Knowles looked down at his wand before tossing it to the side. It rolled lazily across the carpet. “Wands can be so…impersonal.” He advanced on Scorpius. “I prefer a more hands-on approach.”

“How did-” Scorpius’s question was cut off with a choke as a hand wrapped around his throat, blunt fingernails digging roughly into the brand. The hand dragged him into a standing position by his neck. He pawed at the wrist, but the grip was unrelenting.

“So many questions.” Knowles tutted as he relaxed his hand, removing much of the pressure on Scorpius’s neck. “I didn’t come for a chat.” His hand slid to Scorpius’s shoulder, supporting him, as the other balled into a fist and collided with his gut. The supporting hand kept Scorpius standing as he tried to double over.

“Stop,” was all Scorpius could wheeze out as he grasped at Knowles’s clothes, trying to stay upright. 

“Why would I stop when it’s this fucking fun?” A fist connected with the side of Scorpius’s head. The force sent him to the floor where he landed painfully on his elbows. He greedily sucked a breath in as the first punch had still left him winded.

The wand.

It was just a few paces in front of him. Without a second thought, he crawled, dragging his trembling body on bruised elbows. He scooped up the discarded wand and stood, using the wall to push himself up. The wand was raised at his attacker, who had turned his back. His mouth opened to cry out his vengeful ‘ diffindo, ’ but his assailant spun to face him.

Albus.

Scorpius threw the wand, nauseous at the thought of nearly cursing Albus. “I didn’t - I’m sorry. I thought you were…” The words fizzled in his mouth as Albus watched the wand hit his shoe with a small thud .

He didn’t say anything as he leaned over to pick the wand up. Turning it over in his hands a few times, his eyes met Scorpius’s. “You raised your wand to me.” His voice was even, without the anger Scorpius expected.

“I didn’t. Or well - I thought you were someone else.” Scorpius took a desperate step forward, trying to get close to Albus, to prove to Albus he wasn’t a threat.

The small step made Albus tense, his wand trained on Scorpius in a heartbeat. “You were going to curse me, weren’t you?” Albus closed the distance between them now that Scorpius was frozen. 

“No.” Scorpius’s voice was a whisper. “I wouldn’t. You know that. Please. You know that.” 

“Do I?” There was a malice to Albus’s voice that Scorpius had never heard before. Albus grabbed Scorpius’s left wrist and Scorpius gasped, willing himself to be still, not resist, not fight back. “It was only a matter of time,” Albus continued in his venomous tone, “before you showed your true colors.” He tugged at Scorpius’s sleeve, pulling up the fabric to reveal the Mark.

“No, please.” Scorpius pulled at Albus’s grip, no strength behind the effort. “You know that’s not true. Please tell me you know.” The hammering in Scorpius’s chest was overwhelming. His lungs were insatiable, no amount of air satisfied them. His vision swam, so he closed his eyes, focusing on steadying his breathing. When he opened them-

He was in bed.

Scorpius continued his breathing efforts, clenching one fist in the sweat soaked sheets while the other wiped his slicked hair off his forehead. 

Albus.

The bed creaked as he turned to face Albus, who was blissfully unaware of his partner’s recent trip to hell, eyes closed and breathing rhythmic. 

Scorpius released a shuddery breath as his arm reached for the vial of Dreamless Sleep, a nearly unconscious response. He hesitated, staring at the swirling potion, Albus’s words rolling around in his mind.

He wasn’t fine.

This wasn’t fine.

What choice did he have? If he closed his eyes again without the potion, there would be a line of tormentors more than happy to watch him suffer.

Reluctantly, he uncorked the vial, slowly bringing the glass to his lips. He clenched his jaw before swallowing the potion.

It usually tasted like the solution to a problem. It didn’t taste like that tonight.

Tonight, it tasted like resignation.