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torestoreamends · 6 years

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Moramortia: Chapter 16

Harry interrogates James, and Draco receives the letter from Rose…

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XVI Not the End

Draco isn’t really reading the papers in his hand, he’s just shuffling them, staring blankly at the words and taking none of them in, then sliding each sheet of parchment to the back of the pack to start all over again. He doesn’t even know why he’s bothering. He’s not going to this auction; none of these items are of any value to him. But it’s something to do, something to keep him occupied, and this is better than pacing around the Potters’ kitchen feeling like a very anxious intruder.

They’ve heard nothing, and even though it’s only been a few hours, the idea that they’d been so close to getting Scorpius back is torturing him. If the boys had come home they could have all worked together to get the last few ingredients, whatever those might be. It would have been a lot quicker. It might have brought them a handful of precious, lifesaving minutes.

But no. The boys are gone. Vanished. And they’ve probably taken with them the last chance he could have had to see Scorpius alive.

Upset, irritable, burning with worry, he slaps the auction papers onto the desk and buries his face in his hands. He feels the cool press of his wedding ring against his forehead but it’s not comforting. It just makes guilt gnaw away inside him.

He promised her. He promised Astoria that he would never let any harm come to their son. He promised that he would be a good father, that he’d help Scorpius grow up happy and healthy and strong, so he could flourish among the weeds of this hateful world. He promised, and he failed. He’s failed over and over and over again, and this failure, possibly the last one, is the worst of all because he’s been trying so hard and it’s been going so well. Until now.

He lifts his head and runs his fingers through his hair. There are lots of discarded bits of parchment on his desk, all crumpled and tear-stained and torn up, but he knows exactly where the recipe for the cure is. It’s a particularly yellow bit of parchment, all curled up in one corner, a bit crinkly from water damage, and he picks it up and smooths it out on the table.

He knows it off by heart now, but he still reads through it:

One vial of Phoenix Tears

Two pieces of wood from a willow tree

Seven basilisk teeth, crushed

The remnants of a sacrifice

A single memory of love

A single bottle of Love Potion

He wonders how much of this they already have. The Phoenix Tears almost certainly, and Basilisk Fangs, and they went to Godric’s Hollow for the sacrifice. But what about the rest of it? How close are they to being done?

The only thing he knows for certain is that they have to come to him once it’s ready. They have to. It won’t work otherwise. As much as Albus loves Scorpius, and as grateful as Draco is for that most of the time, it’s nothing compared to how much Draco loves him. Draco is certain of that.

No one else has been with Scorpius through every moment of his life, from the crushing depths of grief to moments of blissful joy over the last few years. Draco has seen him grow up, learn to walk and talk, has seen him establish himself in the world and put down deep roots. Scorpius, his child, who contains within him all best bits of Astoria as well as something indefinably his own, has become someone the Draco is so immeasurably proud of, and Draco couldn’t love him more if he tried. He wants to be part of the cure, needs to be, because he‘s sure it can’t happen without him. And all he can do is pray that Scorpius understands that before it’s too late.

He sets the recipe down and looks at the clock on his desk. It once belonged to Astoria, and it’s beautiful, delicate gold fretwork weaving up into the shape of a bloom of roses. The clock is perched on top, its midnight blue face dotted with stars, with little planets orbiting round the outside.

She was always fascinated by time, by the way seconds rush by, the way minutes stretch into hours, into days, and how before you know it the years are flying past. The years have moved too fast, both the years with her and the ones with Scorpius. The idea of a year is so long, but when those years are limited, they seem insignificant, too brief, almost intangible.

The clock tells him that it’s around the time that’s both too late and too early all at once. No wonder he feels so exhausted. He’s barely slept in a week, and now he’s been up for too many hours to count. But there’s no way he’d be able to sleep.

He rubs his eyes and gets to his feet, tucking his chair under the desk. He paces round in a circle, glancing out of the window at the grey pre-dawn world. One of the peacocks is asleep on the lawn outside, head tucked under its wing. Scorpius has always hated those peacocks. Grandfather’s Horcruxes, he calls them. It’s such an apt description that Draco smiles just thinking of it, imagining the disgust on his face, Albus teasing him about it.

“What are you scared of? They’re just peacocks, Scorpius. Peacocks are harmless.“

Scorpius would fold his arms and shake his head. "No. They’re evil. They’ve got it in for me… Their feathers make beautiful quills though."

"Maybe that’s why they’ve got it in for you. They don’t want you stealing their feathers."

Draco can almost see them nudging each other back and forth as they make their way through the garden. He’s seen them do it countless times. He desperately hopes he’ll get to see them do it again, over years and years to come.

He’s still gazing out of the window, remembering the past and praying for the future, when there’s a soft tapping on the other window. There are two windows in the office, because it’s quite a long room, one with a beautiful view of the garden, and another with a view onto a gnarled old oak tree, that grows close to the walls. It’s been there as long as the house has, if not longer, and they’ve had to shape the roots to stop them damaging the foundations. No one has ever been able to move it because it’s infested with Bowtruckles, like most of the trees in the Manor grounds.

Draco frowns and walks over to the window. Who on earth would be sending an Owl at this time of night? Surely not Potter. He’d just send a Patronus message if anything happened. There’s no one else he knows who might be sending him messages. He hasn’t had any correspondence with anyone in over a week; there’s a pile of unread letters downstairs on the table in the hall. Maybe someone’s bothering him about one of those? But not at this time at night. No one would be so uncivilised.

There’s a very bedraggled-looking tawny owl sitting on the window ledge. He doesn’t recognise it, but it looks like it’s flown through some awful weather to get here. It’s a bit shivery, all its feathers are ruffled, and it has a very indignant look on its face, like it knows it’s been put through a lot, and it doesn’t appreciate it.

Draco opens the window, and the owl holds its ground, not fluttering back an inch. It just stays still and continues to glare at him, like its problems are all his fault.

"I’ll let you stay for the night and give you some food if you stop looking at me like that,” he tells it. “If not, I’ll leave you out here."

The owl gives an indignant hoot and ruffles its feathers, but it stops glaring.

"Thank you,” Draco says. He steps back to let the owl fly in through the window. “Who are you from?"

He walks across the room to where the owl is now perched on the back of his chair. It holds its leg out in answer, and he unties the letter, running one gentle finger over the owl’s bedraggled head. "There’s food and water downstairs, round the back of the house. You can stay there and recover if you like. I won’t send you out again."

The owl gives his finger a grateful little nibble, then takes off and soars out of the open window. Draco closes it to keep out the draught, and sits down at his desk, curious to read whatever letter has been sent to him in the middle of the night.

He recognises the writing on the front of the envelope from letters he’s seen sent to Scorpius. Also because Rose’s handwriting looks remarkably like her mother’s. Frowning, he flips the letter over. Why would she be writing in the middle of the night? Why would she send a letter here? Why would she be writing to him? None of it makes sense.

He slits the letter open with one finger, not bothering with the letter opener on his desk, and pulls the parchment out. He smooths it onto the desk top and reads what Rose has written. Then he reads it again. And again. And again, trying to comprehend the enormity of what she’s said.

Dear Mr Malfoy,

I’ve just heard from James Potter, who’s seen Albus and Scorpius tonight, that Scorpius is in a really bad way, and that they weren’t sure how long he’ll last. I know they’ve been somewhere dangerous tonight, and I’m scared that Scorpius might already be dead. I think he would have wanted you to see these letters before he died, especially if it seemed inevitable that he would die, so I think you should have them now.

I’m writing to you to pass on some letters that Scorpius left with me for you. He told me to send them on if he died, so you could read about the adventures he’s been having while he was away.

Scorpius was a really great friend. I’ve loved knowing him all these years, and the world will be a darker place without him. I’m sorry we couldn’t manage to save him for you, and I’m sorry he can’t tell you all these things himself.

Scorpius’s friend always,

Rose

Scorpius is dead?

The weight of it hits him like a hammer blow, and he crumples into his seat as the whole world gives way beneath him.

Scorpius is dead.

There’s a physical sensation associated with having your heart broken, and Draco feels it now. A dead weight settles in the pit of his stomach. He feels so empty and so full at the same time. His hands are shaking, and the world has narrowed down to one single, awful focus. There’s nothing else he can think of. Nothing else exists. Just this one awful truth.

He feels numb. Emotionless. This was how he’d felt about Astoria too, and he’d hated himself for it. The inability to cry or feel anything beyond empty and shocked. Turmoil – rage and despair and denial – a tornado inside him, wrapped up so tightly than nothing can get out. All he can do is sit in silence and stare at his hands

It takes a long time, he doesn’t know how long, before he starts thinking again, and when he does, he decides that he doesn’t believe it. It can’t be true, it simply can’t. Scorpius, who is full of strength and determination and life cannot be dead. It’s wrong. It’s an impossibility. Scorpius and death are such opposing ideas that surely, if it were true, the world would have ground to a halt or shattered from the centre.

He will not believe it. He cannot believe it. Not until he’s seen Scorpius with his own eyes. Not until he’s confirmed for himself that this is true. He won’t even touch those letters. Because if Scorpius wanted to tell him all these stories in person, then he should get that chance, because there is a chance. There is always a chance. He won’t let there not be a chance.

He gets to his feet, full of purpose and determination. He faces himself in the mirror beside the fireplace, and he looks grim and intimidating, like his father, like nothing will stand in his way. Not life or death or magic or any person who exists in the world.

He snatches Rose’s letter off the table, takes a handful of Floo Powder, and steps into the fireplace.

"Holly Cottage,” he says, cold and clear, crumpling Rose’s letter in his fist.

—

James sits at the kitchen table in his parents’ house and stares down at his knees. He can hear his dad out in the corridor, talking in a low voice to Uncle Ron. His mum is making tea with her back to him, and he’s doing his very best not to look at her.

He’s grateful not to have been hauled back to the Ministry, but at the same time sitting at this kitchen table, surrounded by a tense, ominous silence, brings back horrible memories of all the times when he was little and he was being scolded for smashing next door’s windows with his Quaffle, or breaking Albus’s arm. He feels very small now, and a little scared, but mostly he’s worried about Scorpius and Albus.

He can still hear Scorpius’s screams ringing in his ears, and he desperately wants to know where they both are. Whether they’re alive. Whether the Love Potion will work. But he can’t know any of that, and it’s almost better that he doesn’t know. It’s up to him to protect them both now, and he’s determined to do a good job.

“Do you want milk in your tea?” His mum asks, turning to look at him.

He glances up at her. “No, I’m okay,” he says. “Thanks,” he adds, just to stay on her good side.

She slides a mug onto the table next to him. “You know where the sugar bowl is if you want it."

"I’m not that thirsty,” he says, nudging the mug away. He’s too anxious to be thirsty.

“I think you should have a drink,” she says, and her voice is surprisingly gentle. She doesn’t sound angry at all.

He frowns suspiciously at the mug. “Does this have Veritaserum in it?"

She tuts. "James, do you really think I would spike your drink? It’s just tea.” She brushes a hand through his messy hair, and he knows she’s trying to flatten the sticky up bit at the back. “It’s been a long night. And I suspect it’s about to get longer.” She rests a hand on his shoulder and looks down at him. “Your dad isn’t happy."

"Is Dad ever happy when it comes to Albus?” James asks, then immediately regrets it as his mum’s expression goes stern.

“He’s really worried, James. About both of them. And I know he just wants Albus home safely."

James nods. "I know. I think they will be back soon.” He glances up at her. “Did Dad send you in here to be the good Auror?"

She shakes her head. "Your father hasn’t sent me anywhere. I don’t know what he’s planning to ask you. I’m just here to be your mum.” She ruffles his hair. “You still have glitter on your face by the way."

James screws his face up and starts trying to scrub it away on his cheek. "Uncle Ron’s stupid security spells. You know he blew me up like a balloon too?"

His mum grins. "Your uncles are all excellent wizards. Not to be underestimated."

"No,” James agrees. He picks up his teaspoon and peers at his reflection in the back of it. Most of his face seems free of glitter and make up now, although it’s a little difficult to tell how clean he really is.

His mum sits down at the kitchen table and watches him for a moment, before taking a breath. “How is your brother?"

James looks at her, and he knows it’s a real question. She’s not trying to get information from him. She’s just worried.

He sighs and puts the teaspoon down on the table, then he takes a sip of tea. "Alright I think. Worried. Scared. He looks a mess. And he’s Splinched himself."

She blinks and reels back a bit. "Splinched himself?"

He nods. "His shoulder’s all mangled. I tried to clean it up a bit, but I’m not really a Healer. It’s a long way from perfect."

She nods, and her fingers clench together where they’re resting on top of the table. "Anything else I should be forewarned about?"

"Not that I can think of,” James says. “As long as Scorpius is okay I think he can survive anything else."

"And do you know?” She asks. “Where they’re going?"

James opens his mouth to protest against the question, but she holds her hand up to stop him.

"I’m not going to ask you to tell me,” she says. “You’re as stubborn as your father. I know you won’t say. But do you at least know?"

He shrugs. "Albus didn’t tell me. I could guess where they went, but it might not be helpful.” He looks up and sees that her face has fallen. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wish I knew, Mum. I wish I could have gone with them. I could have helped, maybe.” He shakes his head and takes another sip of tea.

She gets to her feet. “It’s alright, James.” She stands behind him and rests her hands on his shoulders. “You saw them, you talked to them, it sounds like you did a good job of looking after them.” She shifts to the side so she can look down at him, giving him a small, brave smile. “I think that’s enough. It’s better than what the rest of us have been doing. Stuck here. Worrying. Your dad’s been going mad. Draco’s even worse."

James looks down into his tea mug and swills the liquid round and round. "Maybe it’d be safer for Al to never come home. Dad’s going to kill him. I think you might kill him too when you see the state him."

She shakes her head. "I don’t know what we’re going to do."

James looks up at her. "They’re nearly done though. With the cure. It might even work. If anyone can do it it’s Albus."

His mum gives a proud little smile and squeezes his shoulders. "Undoubtedly.” For a moment she looks at him, then she leans down and kisses the top of his head. “I’m glad you’re safe too. I hope your dad isn’t too harsh."

James groans. "Me too, Mum. Me too."

—

Harry leans against the back of the chair and looks at James. He has his Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement face on, or as James likes to think of it, his ‘I am your dad and I do know better’ face. It’s terrifying, or at least it would be if James wasn’t used to it. But he knows his dad, and this look rarely sticks around for long. If you can make him laugh it’ll break as easily as glass. And anyway, James has his own face. He folds his arms and leans back in his seat, his best ‘I’m your son and I really couldn’t care less’ expression of ambivalence on his face.

His mum and Uncle Ron are standing in the corner of the room, side by side, but continually glancing at each other. They seem to be having an intense but silent conversation, and judging by the worry on his mum’s face and the lack of anger on Uncle Ron’s, the conversation is about his dad and not about him.

"Where have they gone?” Harry asks. Brusque and no nonsense.

James shakes his head. “I really couldn’t tell you."

"Were you there to get the Love Potion?” Harry asks, bending in lower over the chair, so he’s leaning as far towards James as he can. “Which ingredients do they have now?"

James frowns at his dad. "You know about the cure?”

“Yes,” Harry says, pushing off the chair and folding his arms. “We do. Which ingredients have they got?"

James sighs. "I don’t know.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Basilisk Teeth; I know they’ve been to Godric’s Hollow, and they managed to get the Love Potion… You tell me what else they need.” He shrugs and stretches his feet out in front of him. He’s half tempted to put them up on the table, but he doesn’t really want his dad to complete explode, especially not in a serious situation like this. It’s just fun to nudge him in that direction.

His dad’s jaw has gone dangerously tight, but he doesn’t look away. He’s not struggling to restrain himself just yet. “Did they tell you about any sort of plan they had? Do you know how many more ingredients they need? Do you have any idea if they’re planning to come home at all?"

"I didn’t grill them about it,” he says, taking a nonchalant sip of his tea. “Albus isn’t exactly receptive to questioning. And you know I’m not good at remembering information. That’s why he’s your trainee Auror and I’m just a lowly Quidditch player."

"This is serious, James,” Harry shouts, voice and temper rising all at once, just the way James expected it to.

“And I seriously don’t know,” James replies. “You should have a cup of tea, Dad. It’ll calm you down."

His dad slaps his palm onto the table, making the mugs there rattle and sending tea sploshing over the sides. He spins around, running his hands through his hair, struggling with himself, and James glances at the other two in the corner.

Uncle Ron gives Ginny a nudge, and she goes over to Harry. Meanwhile, Ron steps up to the table.

"What did they need a Love Potion for so quickly that they had to break in?” He glances at Harry and Ginny. “I mean, Albus is really good at potions. And they could have just asked me. I’d have given it to them. Or they could have bought one in the morning. I don’t get it."

James looks at his uncle. "They… They didn’t seem confident that Scorpius would last the night. And Albus didn’t want to risk you telling dad."

Harry turns around, and Ginny strokes a hand over his shoulder. Harry puts a hand on her arm and nudges her away. "They didn’t think Scorpius would last the night?” He glances at Ginny, then at Ron, and takes a step forward. “It’s that bad?"

James hesitates, then nods, looking down at his hands. "He’s in a really bad way. We found him some Painkilling Potion, but I don’t think it lasted long. He can’t move properly. It’s like this disease is shutting him down bit by bit. Before you came into the shop-” He breaks off, remembering Scorpius’s awful scream of pain, and he shudders. “I hope they’re nearly done. I think they are. There isn’t much time."

"Someone should warn Draco,” Ginny murmurs, meeting Harry’s eyes, and he nods. He looks pale and wide-eyed with shock, like he’s struggling to take it in.

“So really Malfoy should pay the damages then,” Ron says, “since it was-” He breaks off as he glances around at the others. “If Scorpius survives, of course."

"I think Draco needs to be here,” Harry says, ignoring him. “For this discussion.” He turns back to James. “We need every detail you can give us about Scorpius’s condition.”

James nods. “I can do that."

Harry draws his wand. "I’ll call him now, I can-"

He never finishes the sentence. From the other room there’s a distant whoosh of flames, the distinctive sound of a Floo arrival, and they all look at each other.

"Could it be-” Ginny murmurs, and there’s a little trace of hope in her voice.

“It hasn’t been long enough,” James says.

Ron glances at Harry, and Harry shakes his head.

“We’re not expecting anyone."

He takes a step toward the kitchen door, wand pointed towards it, and both Ron and Ginny draw their wands too. James gets to his feet and turns round, stepping close to his mum. As they listen, footsteps march down the hallway, and they all ready spells. But the person who appears in the doorway isn’t an intruder. He’s a familiar figure – tall and impressive, black robes swirling around him, mouth set in a grim line. Draco Malfoy strides into the room and everyone, even Ron, relaxes.

"I was just about to call you, Draco,” Harry says, lowering his wand. “What are you doing here?"

In silence, Draco walks to him and holds out a letter.

Harry takes a step back and frowns at it. "What is-"

"Read it, Potter."

Harry looks at the letter in Draco’s hand and seems to be considering protesting, but then he relents and takes it. Draco turns away from Harry and looks around, taking in who else is there.

"Do you want any tea?” Ginny asks when Draco looks at her, but he waves her away and shakes his head. He turns back to Harry and now seems to have eyes only for him.

James can’t help but notice that Draco’s hands are shaking just a bit. While he’s watching Harry he doesn’t seem to be able to keep them still. He keeps messing with the ring on his left hand, and it looks as though he’s drawing some sort of comfort from it. His shoulders relax when he’s touching it. James can’t tell if it’s anger or upset that he’s trying to relieve, but there’s some inner turmoil going on.

James watches his dad’s face for some clue, for some proof that this is about Scorpius, some sign about what the letter contains – good news or bad news. This can’t be about anything else, can it? But his dad’s expression remains unreadable as he finishes the letter.

For a second he holds it in his hand and just stares at it, then he swallows and looks up at Draco.

“Dead?” He asks, in a choked voice.

Draco shakes his head. “No."

"But this says-”

Draco snatches the letter back from Harry’s hand. “I won’t believe it.”

“We’ve seen them,” Harry says, “but not for an hour or so. They were at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.” He looks at James. “Could Scorpius be dead by now?"

James looks at his mum, then at Draco and Harry, standing side by side, identical expressions of deep seriousness on their faces. "He could,” he says, trying desperately to come up with reasons to the contrary and failing. “It wasn’t good. There was this- this poison sort of spreading through him. Last I saw…” He trails off, again remembering the way Scorpius had looked when he was lying there on the ground, screaming in agony, cradled in Albus’s arms. “It looked like it had spread a lot. It wasn’t slow. He could- he could be gone by now."

There’s a twitch in Draco’s cheek, and James wonders if he’s biting the inside of his mouth to try and restrain himself. He shakes his head and looks at Harry, expression hard as ice. "My son is not dead. You’re going to find him, right now, and you’re going to bring him back here, and we’re going to cure this, whatever it takes."

Harry runs a hand through his hair. "Draco, we have no idea where they are. They could be anywhere. And… even if we found them it might be too late."

"This isn’t the moment for you to develop a sense of realism, Potter,” Draco snaps, and he turns to the others. “Weasley, do you have anything useful in your shop? Wards? Can you tell where they Apparated to? You must be able to give us something.”

“Draco,” Harry says softly.

“Ginny,” Draco says, ignoring him. “Where would Albus take someone who was sick?"

Ginny shakes her head and makes a vague, uncertain gesture. "He’d want to finish the potion, wherever he could do that."

"Good,” Draco says. “Then we need to know which ingredients they still haven’t found.”

“Draco,” Harry tries again. “I don’t think we should-"

"James,” Draco says, turning his back on Harry. “This letter says you saw them this evening. We need you to tell us everything. Anything and everything you can about where they came from, how they looked, what they were planning next-”

“Draco, please-”

Draco continues, voice raised now to drown Harry out. “Any details they mentioned about the potion.”

James glances at his dad before nodding, and Draco turns to Harry.

“Potter, the Aurors. They should check the shop. There must be some clues. I know you can tell these sorts of things, so get to work, and-”

“Draco,” Harry says hopelessly, raising his volume to arch Draco’s. “We don’t know anything. And Scorpius might already be-”

“MY SON IS NOT DEAD!” Draco roars in his face. The whole kitchen goes dead silent as Draco reels back a step and points a threatening finger at Harry, voice going dangerous and low. “He’s not dead. He’s-” He chokes and breaks off, turning away from them all, and Ginny rushes to put a hand on his shoulder. The rest of them stand motionless, stunned, and she turns to glare at them.

“Do what he said,” she orders. “Harry, Ron… just do it.”

Ron glances at Harry, looking very uncomfortable. James assumes he’s not happy about taking orders from Draco Malfoy. But after a bit of foot shuffling and hesitancy he sighs. “Fine, well I should go back to the shop anyway. I need to talk to George.” He gestures towards the door, backs his way out of the room, then flees down the hall. James hears the front door slam behind him.

Harry seems even more uncertain. He stays hovering beside the table, looking a bit lost. “We’re doing all we can,” he says finally, addressing Draco’s back. “There are Aurors at the shop, some of the best. If there’s anything to be found we’ll find it. And we have people out all over the country. All our contacts are on the lookout. If we see even the tiniest glimpse of either of them we’ll have them. I promise."

James looks between Draco and his dad, then he walks over to stand next to Harry. "Mr Malfoy…” he says, soft, unsure of whether Draco will lash out again. “They’re determined to do this. I don’t think Albus will let anything happen to Scorpius. I don’t know where they’re going but I’m sure they’re nearly done with this. If anyone can do this, they can. Albus loves Scorpius. He’s going to save him.”

Draco twists round and looks at him and Harry, expression back under control. Ginny takes a step away from him and gives James a small smile and a nod.

Draco’s expression is unreadable, restrained and set, his jaw tight. The only things that give him away are the slight bow of his head, and his eyes which are burning with desperate, infuriated grief and fear. He surveys all three of them with a sweep of that searing gaze. “If anything happens to Scorpius,” he says, soft, threatening, like the first murmur of wind before the sort of gale that sweeps away brooms, and destroys goalposts and stands. “I will not be held responsible for my actions. So don’t. Let anything. Happen… For your own sake, Potter, and for mine. Understand?"

Harry nods. "I understand perfectly, Draco."

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