#I cannot express my burning hatred for this evil timeline.

[torestoreamends]

This ficlet is inspired by conversations I had with Samuel and James H at stagedoor on the 14th of October. I asked them about Scorpius and Draco’s roles in the Voldemort timeline, and Samuel said that he thinks the Scorpion King is evil and has a closer relationship with Draco than Astoria in that world. Meanwhile, James said that he thinks Draco might be undercover, fighting for Dumbledore’s Army. I wanted to try and explore those ideas, and this is the result. 

*

Draco watches his son and doesn’t know what to do. Scorpius is three years old, a tiny, fragile life only just begun. He exists in this cruel, awful world, where people are killed and tortured, burned alive with Fiendfyre for daring to speak out against the Dark Lord, hit with Crucio after Crucio for harbouring Mudbloods, until they lose their minds and are left as shells to rot on the streets. This isn’t the sort of world to raise a child in, but that’s exactly what he and Astoria are doing.

Sometimes Draco lies awake at night, thinking about it. Thinking about what Scorpius will see as he grows older, the things he’ll have to do, the pain he might suffer.

“You’re worrying again,” Astoria murmurs far too often, rolling over and running her hands down his scarred chest. “You shouldn’t worry. You should sleep.”

“You worry,” Draco says, looking at her.

She gives a tired little smile. “I’m his mother. It’s my job to worry. It’s your job to show the world who the Malfoys are. You need to sleep.”

She’s right. It’s exhausting. He’s had a meteoric rise through the Ministry thanks to his connections and the Mark on his arm. His schoolboy hatred of Potter and Dumbledore’s Army stands him in good stead. How could Draco Malfoy be anything but loyal?

The best thing about his position is that he rarely has to raise a wand to hurt anyone himself. A cushy Ministry desk job is as far removed from the violence as it’s possible to be, and he’s glad of that. And an administrative role allows some things to be forgotten, some files to go unread because he still hasn’t got a secretary, some charges to be dropped through lack of evidence. As long as he’s angry enough at his juniors, it can go forgiven. Shoddy work would never be Draco Malfoy’s fault.

Home is the thing he finds hardest. Raising Scorpius with values he doesn’t believe in. Some days he feels lost when he looks at his son. When the cat drags in a half dead sparrow, Scorpius watches with cold curiosity as the bird flails in pain on the doormat. Astoria puts it out of its misery, and later Draco sees Scorpius mimicking the spell using a stick as a pretend wand. It makes Draco’s insides go cold and he wants to tell Scorpius to stop, to teach him that once upon a time that spell was Unforgiveable, that it still should be. But his son is safer this way, safer with this world’s values, and he’s torn. In the end he walks away and lets Scorpius play at killing.

---

Draco watches his son and doesn’t know what to do. Scorpius is eleven years old, about to go to Hogwarts, and his first wand has just arrived from the Wand-makers, a fine purveyor of wands operating out of Knockturn Alley. While he was waiting for it to come, Scorpius had spent hours poring over spell books in the library, teaching himself not just the basics – Alohomora, Reparo, Lumos – but also a few Hexes and Curses. Ones he thinks might be useful.

Draco will never forget the look of glee in Scorpius’s eyes when he first holds that wand. The cold, clear, sharp light of a frosty winter morning. There’s no warmth to that smile. No joy. Just opportunity and power.

He and Astoria take Scorpius to board the Hogwarts Express, and he knows that Scorpius is observing how everyone treats them with deference. They’re the highest of the high. A cut above the rest. Pureblood aristocracy. They wear neat, fine clothes. They look like royalty. And the normal people in their drab robes, with tired, miserable faces thanks to the influence of the Dementors that line the platform, just step aside and stare as they pass.

By the time they reach the train Draco is gripping Astoria’s hand for support against the cold, clammy darkness of the Dementors, but Scorpius is smirking. He holds his head high like he’s a king, kisses Astoria on both cheeks, shakes Draco’s hand, then boards the train. Through the window, Draco sees him evict a small boy from the prime compartment he wants to sit in, and by the time the Hogwarts Express pulls out of the station he’s holding court with five other boys, who are all clamouring for his attention.

Draco and Astoria escape the influence of the Dementors and lock themselves away in the Manor to recover. At least the rest of the world will assume that Draco is sad to see Scorpius go to school. Some emotion is safe, natural, understandable. Or at least it can be made to look that way.

That night an Owl arrives from Professor Umbridge, informing Draco and Astoria that Scorpius has already made an excellent mark on the school, that his grasp of basic Dark Arts is exceptional for a first year, and that he is doing a fine job of defending the honour of the Dark Lord. It doesn’t take much reading between the lines to know that Scorpius has already been using the Hexes and Curses he was so fascinated by in his books, and Draco goes to bed that night feeling faintly sick. He wonders if they could have prevented this. If they could have taught Scorpius to be another way.

Astoria traces her fingers over the burning Mark on his arm.

“He’s fitting in,” she whispers. “He’s too young to be taught an act. He’s too young to be at risk. We can endanger ourselves but we can’t endanger him. He’s better off. He’s doing well. We should be proud.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself, and Draco turns to look at her, at her lined, worried, frail face. He reaches out and wipes a tear from her cheek.

“I am proud,” he whispers back. “Aren’t you?”

She swallows and nods. “He’s my son,” she says. But that’s all she says.

Draco gathers her in close and holds her as she cries. At night, hidden in the darkness, is the only time they can be themselves. By the morning the tears will be dry and they’ll be ready to gush about how much their son has achieved so early in his school career.

---

Draco watches his son and doesn’t know what to do. Scorpius is thirteen years old, he’s standing beside his mother’s grave, and there are silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Death isn’t so easy or entertaining when it’s tearing your heart and your family into pieces.

“Are you alright?” Draco asks, and it’s the most pointless question he’s ever asked, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He hasn’t known what to say for weeks and months.

“I’m sorry,” Scorpius says, in a choked little voice, and he looks up at Draco. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a good enough son while she was alive.”

Draco blinks at him, uncertain what he means. “You are exceptional,” he says. “She knew that. She loved you very much.”

Scorpius shakes his head and wipes his eyes on his sleeve. Draco has never seen him do that before, but then he’s never seen his son in distress before.

“No,” Scorpius says. “I haven’t done enough. I should have done more. I should have done better. I should have shown her how much I support Him. I should have made her proud.” He sniffs and draws himself up straight, looking directly at Draco, eyes dry now, determined. “This will be her legacy,” he says, and he holds his left arm out and points to where his Dark Mark will be when he earns one. “I’ll do it for her. For both of you. I will live up to our name. I will make the Malfoys proud.”

Draco is speechless. He doesn’t know what to do or say. He thinks of his Astoria, the one who worried about Scorpius, the one who cried in the darkness when she heard what he got up to at school, the one who wished they were in a world where they could be free, the one who sometimes cast a Patronus so they could have some respite from the draining, cold anguish. She was his light in this dark world, and her legacy cannot be more darkness. But he has no way of telling Scorpius that. It’s too late. Scorpius is invested. Scorpius is a true inhabitant of this world. Scorpius is everything he should be, everything he needs to be. And if Astoria’s legacy is Scorpius’s continued safety, then perhaps she could have understood that.

Draco draws himself up tall, because it’s all he knows how to do, and he nods. “Very well.” He holds his hands out, wrists crossed. “For Voldemort and Valour.”

Scorpius lifts his head high and looks him right in the eye across the grave. “For Voldemort and Valour.” And then he turns and walks away, heading back to school, and Draco is left in a turmoil of loneliness and pain, which only deepens when the Daily Prophet arrives the next day.

New Counter-Mudblood measures implemented at Hogwarts

Star student, Scorpius Malfoy, has proposed a new Counter-Mudblood regime, to begin at Hogwarts with immediate effect. Anyone suspected of stealing magic from the Pureblood community will be investigated and severely punished.

This policy will bring Hogwarts School in line with the new Pureblood Protection Act, which has been drawn up by Draco Malfoy, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and will...

Draco crumples the paper in his hand and doesn’t read anymore. He just stares at nothing and tries to work out what has happened to his family. His heart was already broken, and now its shatters remnants have been flung apart, never to be repaired.

---

Draco watches his son and knows exactly what to do. Scorpius is fourteen years old, and he’s standing strong and determined on the other side of the office. Tears sparkle in his eyes, and he looks warm and bright and everything Draco could have ever imagined of Astoria Malfoy’s son. He challenges. He fights. He’s so different. This isn’t the Scorpius he knows but it’s the Scorpius he always dreamed of. And he’s scared, because if his son is like this then he’s in terrible danger, but at the same time he trusts this boy. This is a boy who can make a difference in this dark world. There’s something about him. His heart shines like a beacon of hope.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Draco says, because he doesn’t know, doesn’t know if he even wants to know; he doesn’t need to be more afraid or more hopeful. “Do it safely. Can’t lose you too.”

Scorpius looks at him, and tears trail down his cheeks. His mouth is set in a grim line, and Draco can see so much of himself in that face, so much of Astoria too. The determination. The mask. The need to survive.

But something more. The ability to make a difference. This Scorpius – because something tells him that this isn’t his Scorpius – is in this world but not of it. And he can change it.

“For Voldemort and Valour,” Draco says, crossing his wrists and giving an encouraging nod, wanting to show Scorpius how this must be done, wanting him to understand that this is survival. Rigid conformity is the air they breathe, the blood that pumps in their veins, whether it’s real or an act. They are made to do this, and if they don’t do it well enough then they’re faulty, disposable goods, and they will be destroyed.

And apparently this Scorpius, the Scorpius with Astoria’s heart and mind and soul, seems to understand, because he stands up, back straight, head held high like he’s a king.

He crosses his wrists and repeats the phrase in an unwavering voice that sends a surge of confidence through Draco. “For Voldemort and Valour.”

#Harry Potter and the Cursed Child #Cursed Child #Cursed Child fic #Cursed Child headcanon #Scorpius Malfoy #Draco Malfoy #Astoria Malfoy #The Scorpion King #Malfoy family feels #Keep The Secrets #My writing #(I wrote this on the bus back from London) #(It's 2000 words because I have no chill) #(How does one have chill when the Scorpion King is involved?)