kennahijja (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kennahijja) wrote2008-12-30 07:10 pm
kennahijja) wrote2008-12-30 07:10 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Little Broken Hearts (2/2) [Scorpius/Albus, hard R to mild NC-17]
Title: Little Broken Hearts (2/2)
Author: Hijja (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kennahijja)
Pairing: Scorpius/Albus (of sorts)
Rating: hard R/mild NC-17
Warnings: non-con, a bit of violence
Summary: The fires of the past burn brightest.
Author's Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_darkfest, prompt: "We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it." (Tennessee Williams, The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore). Thanks to LN for beta and help way beyond the call of duty! Title and endquote are borrowed from Nightwish lyrics.
Part 1
It was easy to slip away quietly in the chaos that followed the Restricted Section fire. Classes were cancelled, freeing the professors to investigate the origins of the blaze, and to restore the delicate charms that protected the ancient volumes from time, damp, and each other.
Rumours flew all around the school like gadflies, and everywhere clumps of students gathered to discuss the incident in hushed voices. Braver souls migrated from group to group, picking up theories and passing them on. They ranged all the way from students sneaking in after hours with candles, to a fire monster stalking the school, a Death Eater sabotage device left over from the war, to the crumbling of Hogwarts' ancient magic, heralding the end of the school.
Scorpius capitalised on his tale about feeling sick, hiding in his bed for most of the morning, almost physically sickened at the thought that the fire might have been his fault for sneaking into the Restricted Section in the first place. The presence of the Black Book under his pillow burned almost as much as the fire. The conflagration had destroyed two shelves full of invaluable books before the alarm had rallied the teachers to the library, and had then faded out almost irrationally fast. But then, Scorpius mused, nothing about the magic was natural. No one, however, would miss this particular title, assumed to be destroyed alongside all the others.
He had no idea how Albus had managed to do it, but the signs were just too obvious. And for once, Albus looked drained during lunch, as if exploding one of the most carefully protected treasuries of Hogwarts had taken a toll even out of the thing that rode him. It hardened Scorpius's resolve. He didn't give the pallid shadow of his former friend a second glance across the table for fear of Albus meeting his eyes and somehow reading the truth, or acknowledging that he'd searched for Albus that night, and found him elsewhere.
He stuffed the book at the back of his school bag and hid in the Slytherin Prefects' study, a small and somewhat stuffy room with dark green tapestries and way too much snake decoration. He had it all to himself.
Once removed from the Restricted Section, the Black Book had quietened, although Scorpius still shuddered at handling it. It wasn't made from parchment but from paper-thin leather whose origins he didn't even want to begin speculating on, and hand-written in dragon-blood ink that gave off a sharp, musky smell. Having studied the 16th century edition of Hogwarts, a History during the holidays actually proved beneficial for deciphering the old-fashioned slant of wording and writing.
He found Fiendfyre towards the end of the tome, in a section about conjuring magic, which was strange in its own right. Conjuring was sneered upon by purebloods as a Muggle thing – Muggles trying to bargain for power from outside as they lacked innate magic. Most of the spells in the section seemed ancient, though, belonging to a time when wizards and Muggles hadn't yet existed in separate spheres. It involved summoning a spirit of fire, a spell deceptively easy to cast. All it took was a short incantation, an open flame to host the spirit - and the mental fortitude to control an elemental force capable of melting stone, and a malevolent presence that wanted to. Scorpius's stomach lurched.
Its counter-spell was just as simple - another short incantation, a sprinkle of spring water steeped in star moss. Easy enough for even the most inexperienced of potions makers, but not quite something one carried around by chance. Obviously, poor, stupid Vincent Crabbe hadn't, some twenty-odd years ago when he'd cast the spell.
Supervising the first years' potions homework while they managed to mangle their Shrinking Solutions, it was almost child's play to set up the concoction. Star moss wasn't a common ingredient, but Slughorn kept a quantity of it, and since Scorpius was one of the select group of Slytherins who kept their Head of House's potions cabinets in order and stocked for extra credit, all it would take to cover his traces was an owl-order to Mortar & Pestle to replenish it at his own expense. The draught was ready after a day and Scorpius liberated one of the old-fashioned ball-pump spray flasks Professor Longbottom used in the greenhouses to store his brew.
Friday, October 1 dawned far too brightly for Scorpius's mood. He had what he needed to confront and banish the Fiendfyre; there was no sense in tarrying, and yet dread hung over him like a cloud. For a moment, he wondered how it would feel to be a Gryffindor - whether they didn't experience that sort of fear, or just managed to deal with it better. His thoughts wandered to Hugo Weasley, but he suppressed the impulse. He didn't know the Gryffindor well enough; if he knew what Scorpius was going up against, he'd most likely tell a teacher. Or he might not and get hurt, and he'd been too surprisingly decent to deserve that.
Scorpius knew how to find the Room of Requirement, of course – everybody did. Want it enough, need it enough, and it would materialise, at some random location throughout the castle.
After nightfall and dinner in the Great Hall, Scorpius roamed corridors and staircases, which kept cheerfully shifting around him until his head whirled. He touched walls that remained as cold and closed under his fingers as they did under everybody else's while repeating 'I want to find the Room of Requirement' in his mind without so much as stirring a tassel on a tapestry. He switched to 'I need to find the Fiendfyre spirit' without any better success - portraits looked at him askance as he passed and whispered behind his back. Somehow, he suspected that deep down, he didn't truly want to find the fire spirit after all.
His feet started to ache from pacing flagstone after flagstone and stair after stair. At last, he leaned his forehead against the bare stone wall of the side corridor that connected the staircases between Astronomy and Divination towers. Tears of frustration pricked his eyes.
"I need to help Albus!" he pleaded against the stone wall, almost sobbing for a moment until he caught himself and angrily wiped his face. It was getting late, and even as a Prefect he'd be in trouble if Filch or Norris&Norris, his tomcats, found him here out of hours.
Pushing himself away from the wall, he made for the staircase down, glaring at the plain classroom door he passed. And froze.
There was no classroom here - it was just a thoroughfare, and one he'd passed through dozens of times.
His fingertips brushed the solid wood, and suddenly fear washed away frustration, coiling around his throat like a choker. He wanted to run and tell the entire mess to the Headmistress, so somebody else, perhaps Albus's glorified Auror father, could go in there and face the fire. But even if nobody murdered Albus over the library fire, they'd both be expelled: Al for courting trouble in the first place, for attacking Bode and for the fire, and Scorpius for keeping it all secret for too long.
Scorpius's own father, ever preaching prudence and self-preservation, would rip his head off if he knew what he was doing; grandfather... well that was different. Scorpius gripped the door handle with trembling fingers and pulled; no Malfoy had ever been expelled from Hogwarts - he wouldn't be the first!
Resolution carried him across the doorstep, wand in one hand, spray flask in the other. Beyond the door, the Room of Requirement was a wasteland. Blackened ruins of shelves loomed towards the ceiling, half molten in places, nearly untouched in others. Some still held clumps of leather that had once been books, their parchment pages burned to ash. Some of the flagstones had cracked, and all were black with soot. Shards and debris were scattered everywhere, as if an explosion had torn apart a cluttered house and had callously strewn about what it hadn't consumed entirely. There was no way of telling whether the destruction had been wreaked by the Fiendfyre during the Battle of Hogwarts, or whether the Room was intact, creating itself according to Scorpius's expectations. The air was stale and cold and smelled of long-dead fire.
Scorpius jumped when the door fell shut behind him. There was no sign of the Fiendfyre. He cast a Lumos to shed some light on the dark cavern before him, dim enough not to obscure any other source of light, and set out.
His heart thumped every time he rounded another shelf while glass and wood crunched under the soles of his shoes. The room felt wholly devoid of life, and yet it exuded a sense of menace - as if something held its breath, preparing to strike. Scorpius pricked his ears, once or twice thinking he heard a sound in the distance, but then it might just have been an echo of his own footsteps.
He bit his lip; he had memorised both incantations, the banishment and the summoning of Fiendfyre, and if the... thing didn't show up, repeating the summoning - without lighting a flame to complete the ritual, obviously - would in all likelihood force it out of hiding.
Splaying his legs for balance, he cited the first line of summoning. His voice sounded small and scared in the huge hall, and when a thin, cold spear of light appeared behind the nearest shelf, his heart practically stopped. He broke off, the power of the spell coating his lips like a bitter potion. He raised the flask higher, every scrap of attention focussed on the pale light that spilled out from underneath the shelf in front of him.
When the blow hit his neck from behind, it caught him utterly unawares. The impact pitched him forward. Sparks flitted before his eyes and a sharp, sickening bolt of pain raced up into his skull. He hit the floor hard, slicing his palm on an oval shard of crystal.
Scorpius rolled around and raised his head. Before him stood Albus Potter, a slim, dark silhouette brightly outlined by the glow that crept around the shelves. Before Scorpius could scramble back, a kick sent his wand, which he'd miraculously not dropped going down, flying into the rubble.
Albus bent forward to pull the spray bottle from his fingers as well, but Scorpius clung to it even though the movement sent shockwaves of pain up his neck. A thin smile curled at the corner of Albus's mouth just before he punched Scorpius in the face, sending him flat on his back and swiping the flask from his hand.
Scorpius felt blood well up inside his mouth. He struggled for breath, utterly winded, then surged to a half-sitting position, hand outstretched, when he saw Albus unscrewing the nozzle.
"Don't!" he gurgled.
Albus lifted an eyebrow.
"We can stop this, right here!" Scorpius pressed on, then let out a despairing cry when Albus upended the flask and poured its contents onto the ground. The fortified water washed away a little soot before seeping away into the crack where the flagstone had split in half.
He didn't get a chance to struggle to his feet; Albus's foot came down on the centre of his chest, pushing the air from his lungs with calm, measured pressure. Albus's lips moved, and out of nowhere, a tangle of roots shot up from the flagstones, wrapping themselves around Scorpius's wrists and dragging them down to the floor above his head. He pulled at them furiously to free himself, but the roots only tightened to the point of pain until he gave up.
Above him, Albus held out his hand and the light that had distracted Scorpius rushed towards him until a cloud of sparks clustered around his fingers like well-heeled pets. Then they sunk into his skin, leaving nothing but a faint glow behind.
Scorpius's stomach turned to a pit of ice. The acrid tang of blood in his mouth made him sick. Albus looked at him like a wolf who'd caught a little newborn rabbit and was wondering if the mouthful of fur and bones and steaming flesh would be worth the effort. He withdrew his foot and crouched down, swinging a leg over to sit comfortably on Scorpius's lower middle.
He smiled down at Scorpius, his eyes bright and glittering. "I'd say 'poor Scorpius', if I hadn't warned you to leave me alone. More than once."
The firm weight of Albus's body pressed against his own made Scorpius want to squirm. It wasn't just the weight on his stomach, even though that made it hard to breathe. But he'd tried not to touch Albus for the longest time, not even by accident, and now the enforced proximity made his pulse speed up.
"I wonder what it will take to stop you from coming after me," Albus mused, tapping his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I could kill you, of course... just burn you to ashes, and nobody would ever know." Scorpius's mouth went dry. Deep down, he still didn't believe Albus would truly murder him, but... he wasn't just Albus, now. "No," Albus continued as if he was reading Scorpius's thoughts. "There are better ways. I've seen the way you were looking at me, you know?"
Scorpius bit his lip, and felt fresh blood well up. "I don't!"
"Don't lie to me," Albus whispered. "You've always watched me. Only differently, during the last year." He shook his head. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice how badly you want me?"
"I don't-" Scorpius started to protest, then yelped when Albus's index finger started to glow.
"Don't lie!" Albus repeated, and drew it in a straight line down the front of Scorpius's robe. It cut the fabric right in half, leaving a red welt on his chest beneath that burned like hell.
"You see, I didn't think I was interested in you that way, so I did nothing at all," Albus continued while pulling the ruined robe off Scorpius's upper body. He probed the burn on Scorpius's chest with a curious finger, smiling at the hiss that escaped his prisoner. "I think I've changed my mind."
He scooted backwards, smirking at Scorpius's horrified look, pulling the torn robe away altogether. Underneath, Scorpius only wore the thin, loose lace-up trousers which - even in Slytherin - negotiated between the wizarding tradition of bare-arsedness and modern Muggleborn modesty.
Now, Albus's fingers kneaded his thigh way too close to his privates, and the flimsy cloth did nothing to disguise Scorpius's teenage arousal.
"No," he gasped, trying to buck Albus off his calves without success. "Not like this!"
A smile formed on Albus's face that was all teeth and pale green venom, so alien it drove the air out of Scorpius's lungs. Possessive hands slid over his hips. Albus leaned in, and for a moment Scorpius panicked at the thought that he might try to kiss him.
"There's the Fiendfyre," Albus murmured, his breath a wet puff against the side of Scorpius's neck. "It wants to embrace you badly, you know? Wants to make your flesh sizzle and your blood boil and crack your bones to burn the marrow." He trailed his finger over Scorpius's bare chest, scraping along a nipple and Scorpius's face flooded with heat.
"We won't let it, if you're good." He stroked Scorpius's cheek with the bony knuckles of his fist, very gently. "Are you going to be good?"
Fresh panic exploded inside Scorpius at the implications. He was securely trapped, and the last time Albus had looked like this, Adam Bulstrode had nearly died. He nodded silently.
Albus's edgy smile seemed to acquire an almost contemptible twist as his fingers undid the laces of Scorpius's trousers and traced the outline of his prick beneath.
"That's what you want, isn't it?"
Squeezing his eyes shut against tears and horror, Scorpius forced himself to nod again. He didn't resist when Albus let go of his legs and rolled him onto his stomach. For an instant, the vines that bound his wrists relaxed enough to accommodate the new position without breaking bones, then tightened again. Scorpius's entire body clenched when the trousers were pulled off him, a silky slide followed by warm air over flesh that crawled at the mere thought of being thus bared.
Albus's weight settled on his back, and his palms slid over Scorpius's naked shoulder blades, far warmer than they should have been.
"So pretty." It was Albus's familiar voice, but rougher, lewd, lowered into a near-growl that made the fine hairs at Scorpius's nape rise. Albus pulled Scorpius's hips against his own, revealing naked skin and a hardness that seemed to be made to fit the groove between Scorpius's buttocks. Scorpius let out a quiet sob, half shame, half despair. He'd pictured being touched, held, taken by Albus Severus in sweaty night-time musings while touching himself, longing. He'd never imagined it might turn into such an abomination.
His arms were stretched taut, the vines cutting into the thin skin of his wrist as Albus gripped his hips more tightly, insinuating himself between Scorpius's thighs. Pressure built between his legs, seeking entrance, and Scorpius's muscles contracted against it, pushing back, which made the burn of intrusion so much more acute. He threw his head back, shaking with pain as Albus pushed into him. There was no time to accommodate, no consideration, just a raw burn that seemed to set every one of Scorpius's nerve ends down there aflame as if the deadly sparks were congregating in Albus's cock rather than his hands.
"So pretty and weak and useless!" Albus groaned, sheathing himself with small jerky movements. Against his will, Scorpius whimpered.
He almost screamed when Albus's hand wrapped around the shrivelled tangle of his genitals from behind, an unskilled grope for his prick followed by a squeeze that wrung another whimper from Scorpius's bloody lips. Against all odds, he felt himself growing tight and hard. Albus felt it too because he let out a contemptuous snort and dropped Scorpius's prick, wiping his fingers on Scorpius's thigh before drawing back for another thrust that pitched Scorpius's entire body forward into a cry of agony.
"Spineless, worthless failure," the hateful voice took up its singsong of abuse again, in rhythm with his thrusts and almost as painful in its own way as the physical violation. "Always crying for your father, hiding behind your name, letting others make your sacrifices..."
Scorpius sucked in a wet rattle of breath, his fingers clawing at the ground. It was one thing to find out that he was held in such utter contempt by his best friend of five years, but the words rang... false. Scorpius had been aware from his earliest childhood that the Malfoy name had been tainted through association with the Dark Lord, and didn't command the respect it once had. Very purposefully, Scorpius had never tried to use it as leverage. And while he was cautious and didn't pick fights deliberately, only a to-the-bone Gryffindor would ever call him a coward.
Rage smouldered into his belly, fuelled by the pure agony in his arse. Albus's nails raked over his back even as he thrust forward. With a strangled hiss Scorpius bucked against him, slamming his head back until it banged hard into Albus's. It sent a jolt of pain through Scorpius's own skull, and if the Fiendfyre creature burned him, it couldn't hurt much worse than being raped on the floor like an animal!
Albus let out a muffled cry and jerked back, nearly tearing Scorpius as he fought for balance. Then his hand grabbed the back of Scorpius's neck and slammed his head into the floor. Thankfully, Scorpius had his face twisted to the side. It protected his nose and teeth, although his left canine jarred and cut into his lip, and his temple impacted on something hard and jagged. Albus pulled Scorpius's head up and slammed it down once more, harder. Blinding pain exploded in Scorpius's temple, and he felt his own blood dripping from the cut onto the floor. He went limp, barely feeling the brutal surge of Albus's cock deep inside him. It was a mercy of sorts.
From very far away, he heard Albus grunt his way to completion, plunging into him over and over again, punctuated by a stream of nonsensical insults. Scorpius let the thrusts shake him like a rag doll, barely able to make sense of, "Should've embraced the Mark, not tried to weasel out of your duty." The body above him gave one more, final thrust before freezing in a rictus of release.
Scorpius barely felt the hot fluid that spilled into him. He lay, face pressed against the floor, while ice spread through his mind, burning away pain, fear and helplessness in a moment of blazing clarity.
Scorpius Malfoy had never taken the Dark Mark. His father had. Draco Malfoy, whose haphazard pursuit of Harry Potter had made it into Weasley family lore. Who had fought, in this very place, alongside two of his fellow Death Eaters, one of whom had cast the Fiendfyre. Who had died here, consumed by his own spell. Still burning... still angry.
Scorpius lay deathly still even as the other pulled out of him, tearing raw skin open anew. Blood caked the side of his face that was visible, and for once he was grateful it would also hide his comprehension.
"Shouldn't have failed us, Malfoy." The parting words drifted down over his soiled body. "Then this-" A contemptuous kick to his naked arse, "- wouldn't have happened to you."
Scorpius trembled, his mouth full of blood and soot from the floor. He didn't move. He could hear footsteps, the sounds of clothes being rearranged, and then the warm weight of Scorpius's robe settled over him, its hood kindly enveloping his bruised face.
Albus's voice, a touch softer. "Final warning, Malfoy."
Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut as light exploded all around him, not much caring whether it would envelop and devour him right where he lay. Instead, it flared once more and faded, leaving him in darkness.
***
He lay unmoving for what felt like hours; his entire body ached, especially his arse and the side of his face that'd been slammed into the floor. He felt as if a bucket of filth had been spilled over him. Only when his teeth started to chatter loudly enough to hurt did he force himself to painfully crawl to his knees.
He was alone, and the Room of Requirement had changed beyond recognition. The ruined hall was replaced by a plain, chilly room with unremarkable wooden furniture and a faded green carpet. Scorpius's wand lay on the table at a precise angle.
He crawled towards it, whimpering softly at the pain that shot through him with every move. It took a few minutes before he managed to grab the corner of the table and haul himself upright, and then he let out a cry because straightening up felt as if a spear was being rammed into him. He grabbed the wand as if to never let it go again, and pulled the torn robe tightly around himself, hood up.
How he managed the stairs and corridors down to the Prefects' bathroom, he never found out. Only when the door slammed behind him, and he'd fortified it with two locking charms did he return to some sort of self-awareness. He collapsed next to the rectangular marble pool and hit various taps at random.
The sound of running water elicited a sleepy snort from the painted mermaid in the portrait that dominated the room. She raised her head, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep when Scorpius's hex tumbled the frame off the wall. He ignored her muffled protests as she came to lie canvas-down on the floor.
He peeled the robe off his body and slid into the scalding water, almost relishing the pain. It stopped his trembling, although the burn on the abused flesh between his legs made him howl. Clinging weakly to one of the golden rings at the rim of the pool, he let himself sink under, immersed entirely until the hot water filled his ears with a hum that drowned out anything else. Only when the lack of air tried to burst his lungs did he resurface, almost grudgingly, water streaming over his hair and face and the stinging cuts there. Even then, he stayed in the tub, never letting go of the ring until his skin felt heavy and soggy and started to shrivel.
Crawling out was still painful, but the water had soothed the initial agony, and Scorpius collapsed on a pile of fluffy white towels as exhaustion caught up with him. Dragging a few over himself, he sank into an exhausted doze, never quite falling asleep entirely. Twice, someone hammered against the locked door, and both times Scorpius nearly jumped out of his skin, picturing Albus breaking through the door despite the locking charms. Apart from frustrated mutterings in the corridor, however, he wasn't disturbed.
The outline of the sun against the cotton drapes had wandered quite a bit from east to west, and the faint clattering of plates and cutlery announced lunchtime in the Great Hall when Scorpius forced himself to crawl out of his tangle of towels and face the facts.
If there was one thing he couldn't do, it was trying to put the night behind him and let Albus get away with it. He'd spend his nights gibbering in terror behind his bed curtains, waiting for the thing which controlled Albus's body and half his mind to find him and bind and force him again. He couldn't exist with that sort of fear hanging over him.
As if picking old scabs, Scorpius repeated Albus's words in his mind. 'Should've embraced the Mark, not tried to weasel out of your duty.'
Draco Malfoy had never told his son his side of the story of the war, but Scorpius had heard enough; rumours, old Daily Prophet cuttings from the Death Eater trials, the stories swapped among Gryffindors with barely suppressed glee.
How Draco had failed to murder Dumbledore, how he'd been singled out by the Dark Lord for punishment, marked for death, his closest associates turning against him. Crabbe and Goyle at the forefront, cheerfully throwing in their lot with the Death Eaters that occupied Hogwarts. Crabbe and Goyle, their names only ever used in tandem, as if neither had a life of his own. And then the Room of Requirement, where death broke that pattern for good.
Scorpius forced himself to stand despite the pain, and reached for his robe. A shaky "Reparo!" mended the worst of the tear that ran down its entire front. With gritted teeth, he dispelled the locking charms and left the bathroom.
It was a Hogsmeade weekend, which meant that the hallways and the Slytherin dungeons were blissfully empty. Even the few stragglers and detention victims didn't try and waylay a Prefect who seemed preoccupied with his own business. Nevertheless, Scorpius started to tremble as soon as he entered the corridor to the fifth year dorm; it took a minute before he'd worked up the courage to open the door. If Albus was there...
He wasn't. The dorm was empty, the curtains of Albus's bed bound neatly back to reveal pristine bedclothes.
Scorpius grabbed a random change of clothes, a spare robe and his travelling cloak with its wide, soft hood. Dressed, he felt a little better, although the mirror over his nightstand let out a shocked whistle when he looked in. He'd bathed his bloody lip and cleaned the cuts in the Prefects' bathroom, but his mouth was still swollen and the scar on his temple stood out in a fresh, jagged red line.
Shrugging, he returned to his trunk and pulled out the Portkey, an embroidered silk handkerchief in Malfoy black and silver, designed to take him home and back. He'd used it once or twice to attend gatherings his father wanted him present for. Scorpius had never bothered to find out if it was forbidden or not. There were rules that didn't apply to Slytherins.
A glimpse at the old grandfather clock in the dorm showed that it was already mid-afternoon. Scorpius made his way out to the courtyard, trying very hard not to walk as if his underpants were strewn with eggshells. He still hurt, but the ache was becoming more tolerable with time. Adrenaline and fury did the rest.
Face hidden inside the hood of his cloak, he nodded at Filch who manned the gate and ticked off the names of students leaving while one of the Norris brothers batted at a half-rotten fish head next to his boots.
Scorpius left the castle, crossed the drawbridge, and stepped into the shadow of the castle wall. When he was certain that he wasn't being observed, he pulled out the handkerchief and whispered "Malfoy Manor!" against the lace.
***
The Portkey deposited him in front of the pillar-framed steps of Malfoy Manor with a final tug at his intestines. Scorpius stumbled as the dull ache in his lower body returned, but managed to gain his balance without falling. A profound wave of homesickness rolled over him at the familiar sight of the manor. It would be so easy to go in, to unburden himself to his parents, to ask them to take care of things.
He shuddered at the memory of 'Albus's' nasty jibe about hiding behind his father, willing his stomach not to turn. If he told Father, Albus would pay the full price for his crime, possessed or not, mitigating circumstances or not. There were few certainties pertaining to the Malfoy heritage, but this was one: whoever laid hands on one of them died. Even if father could be persuaded, grandfather would not. And no matter how much Scorpius wanted to be avenged, he did not want to be responsible for Albus being abducted and tortured to death for a few weeks. No, what Albus had done called for a specific form of vengeance.
Aching inside, he turned away and followed the main path away from the house, then turned past the peacock enclosure and towards the woods. The wind that blew down from Salisbury Plain tugged at him as soon as he stepped outside the manor's weather control charms. It crisp bite shocked him fully alert.
The wind eased when he reached the trees - not the jungle-like chaos of the Forbidden Forest, but a small, well-maintained wood that had been Malfoy land for centuries. Scorpius followed the comfortable path over the brook, and down towards the gamekeeper's lodge. Thatched, white-washed and with red-painted door and shutters, it differed considerably from the hut Professor Hagrid had inhabited before his marriage to Headmistress Maxime, which was now used as a Care of Magical Creatures supply shed.
Scorpius hoped that Gregory Goyle was at home although it was a Saturday afternoon and there was a wizarding pub down in Stoke-upon-Stone. Behind the lodge, the gamekeeper's Thestral padlock looked empty, although empty or occupied would look the same in Scorpius's eyes.
Holding his breath, he knocked on the door. He jumped when it opened abruptly, revealing the gamekeeper's hulky figure and his wand, pointed straight at Scorpius's face. It lowered as soon as recognition touched Goyle's rough features.
"Master Scorpius?" Goyle took a step aside to let Scorpius enter. "Shouldn't you be at school?"
A roaring fire blazed in the fireplace; above it hung Goyle's tea kettle, puffing steam from the spout. Two dead rabbits lay on the solid wooden table in a tangle of fur. Goyle pulled up a chair with his boot, but abruptly grabbed Scorpius's shoulder before he could sit down and pulled him closer to the fire. Scorpius went so rigid in his grip that Goyle released him at once.
"What happened to you, boy?" he rasped, peering at Scorpius's bruised face. "Got into a scrape at school? Want me to teach a lesson whoever beat you?" He cracked his knuckles cheerfully. "I can do that."
"No!"
Scorpius's outcry took Goyle visibly aback. He fought to get his expression and voice under control, and most likely failed because Goyle gave the chair another shove in his direction. Very carefully, Scorpius settled down on one arse cheek, trying not to reveal the pain that shot through him at the contact with the hard wooden seat. Thankfully, Goyle busied himself with the tea kettle, filling a large mug and adding liberal doses of milk and brown sugar. He pushed the mug at Scorpius, who closed both hands around it as if it were a good luck charm.
He sipped, and the strong, sweet brew filled an emptiness in his stomach he hadn't been aware of. Scorpius stopped shivering, and looked up.
"I need you to tell me something," he said at last, after two more sips of tea. "About something that happened in the war, during the Battle of Hogwarts."
A faraway look stole over the gamekeeper's ugly face. "Ah, boy, that was a long time ago. Not something I much like to remember."
"About the Room of Requirement," Scorpius continued softly. "And Fiendfyre."
Goyle's face went grey, and for the first time, Scorpius consciously realised what the war had done to him. His father had been one of the captured Death Eaters sentenced to life in Azkaban, and Goyle himself had been hiding on Malfoy land all his life - all alone, never married, never had any children. In a way, it was as if part of him had died alongside Crabbe in the Room of Requirement.
"How d'you know about that?" Goyle's voice sounded more defeated than angry. "Didn't expect your father to go and blab about that sort of thing."
"He didn't," Scorpius cut in, quick to defend Malfoy honour. "But Albus Potter found the Room, and something inside..." He paused, unsure how to put it. "Something took him over, and burned down half the Restricted Section and, well... really didn't take it well when I found out about it."
"Potter did that to you?" Goyle roared, slamming his fist on the table so that a puddle of tea slopped over the rim of Scorpius's mug. "That does it, boy! We'll go and see your father and he'll sort the little bastard out!"
"No!" Scorpius grabbed the sleeve of the groundskeeper's leather vest, but Goyle was already on his feet and making for the door. It was like trying to hold back a stampeding Erumpent.
The bolt clanked shut at the inside of the door in the first burst of wandless magic Scorpius had done since floating his stuffed Pegasus out of the window at the age of five. "Please, listen!" he cried, stumbling to his feet. "It's not Albus. It's Crabbe."
Goyle froze in mid-stride. He turned, slowly as if he couldn't quite believe his ears, and stared at Scorpius as if he'd sprouted several more heads.
Scorpius could feel apprehension well up inside him. The look on Goyle's face reminded him that he was dealing with a former Death Eater, and a volatile one at that.
"Vince died over 20 years ago, boy!" he rasped.
"I know that!" Scorpius yelled back, hating the sob that echoed in his voice. "But the thing that rode Albus... He accused me of not wanting the Dark Mark, of letting you down. He wasn't talking to me," he said weakly. "He never even saw me. He was talking to my father."
"Vince cast Fiendfyre. He died there!" Goyle repeated as if nothing else managed to penetrate his skull.
Scorpius let his hand fall open in defeat. "Who taught him that spell, anyway?"
He didn't expect an answer, but Goyle let out a sharp bark of laughter. "That mad bitch, Lestrange. Taught us all sorts of wild things. Said she'd make us into the Dark Lord's elite. Vince was... rather sweet on her."
Scorpius flinched. "You mean you can cast it too?"
"Yeah." Goyle shrugged. "'s not the sort of thing you forget. Wouldn't ever do it, though - not after seeing what it does."
"She didn't teach you the counter-spell?" Scorpius asked.
Goyle snorted. "She forgot to mention that there was a counter-spell. Utterly insane." He picked up one of the rabbits, then dropped it again. "It's not possible, boy. No spell can survive that long, not like that when there's nothing left to burn."
Nothing except Crabbe, Scorpius thought, swallowing hard against the bile that collected in his stomach. "An out-of-control summoning, a Horcrux being destroyed there, and the ghost of a boy who died feeling betrayed by everybody..." He raised his head, struggling to find the right words. "He's hurt, and angry, and I don't even think he knows he's dead."
Scorpius chanced a glance at Goyle's face, and had to look away from the raw pain he saw reflected there.
"What d'you want from me, then?" the man asked, even though Scorpius knew he'd figured it out already.
"You were his best friend," he said tiredly. "His brother, almost. I think you can make him let Albus go. Set him free too, if he'll let you."
Goyle nodded slowly. "Yes, I thought so. He fucked you over pretty bad, didn't he?"
Scorpius flinched as if under a whiplash at the words. Goyle's eyes widened in shock when he realised the raw nerves his comment had touched. He took a step towards Scorpius, then stopped.
Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Scorpius dug nails into his palms until pain overcame the tremors that threatened to shake him.
"Yes," he ground out. "Will you help?"
"Yeah," said Goyle, simply. He took out his wand and doused the fire in the crate, reaching for the floor-length hooded leather cloak on a hook by the door. "Guess that makes me mad as a hatter and your father will skin me alive if he finds out, but I'll help."
He held the door open, and Scorpius went carefully, halfway expecting being hit over the head and carried to the manor.
The corner of Goyle's mouth quirked as if he'd figured out just what Scorpius was thinking. His big hand came down heavy on Scorpius shoulder.
"Look, Malfoy... Scorpius," Goyle's voice cracked a little. "Vince... he didn't hate your father. Not really. He just wanted..."
More. Scorpius nodded, a jerky motion that shut Goyle up as intended. To be treated less like a goon, and more like a friend. The Malfoy curse. Even before fourth year, when Scorpius had started to avoid Albus Severus for very different reasons, he'd tried his best to seem casual, distant. Never admitting that friendship was important, even when it was. As if it was a weakness waiting to be exploited. Perhaps, if he'd been less reticent with Albus...
No! He caught his train of thought and stopped it firmly. He was not going to take the blame for what had been done to him!
He pulled the Portkey from his pocket and held out his hand. This time, he barely shivered when Goyle's large fingers wrapped around his own. It was... almost reassuring.
"Hogwarts," he whispered against the silky fabric of the handkerchief, and let it carry them away.
***
As famous precedents during the last Triwizard Tournament had established, Hogwarts had no defences against the use of Portkeys on its grounds, or in its walls. Scorpius's was keyed to one of the small studies at the very bottom of the Slytherin dungeons, the ones intended for NEWT study but where a Prefect's presence wouldn't come as a surprise. Goyle's bulk filled it almost in its entirety. The man looked out of place, large and dressed for outdoors with his wand slung in a sheath over his shoulder.
He looked around almost wistfully, and Scorpius recalled that he'd never set foot in the castle again after the Battle. It must feel strange, to be back.
"How are we going to find the Room of Hidden Things?" Goyle growled into his ear. "Pure luck last time – we spent weeks looking for the DA before that."
Scorpius drew his wand with a thin, cold smile. "Blood Magic," he said.
A flick, and the tip of his birch wand sharpened into a point. He pricked his index finger, not even wincing at the sting. Dark drops of blood welled up, coating the light wood. He murmured the spell's syllables while Goyle looked on with a frown.
"It calls blood to blood – a tracking spell. Grandfather taught me. I shed enough blood in the Room last night to find it now."
Truth was, he didn't want to find the Room as much as call it to him. Gregory Goyle wasn't exactly an inconspicuous figure to go wandering the castle with.
Goyle's hand came down on his shoulder before he could push down the door handle. "You're a good kid, Scorpius," he said. "So's your father, of course – he did right by me after the war, more than he had to, even. But you... you're a good kid – like a Gryffindor."
Scorpius felt his cheeks flame over. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of his Sorting ordeal, listening to Hat singing the praise of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff while Scorpius was pleading 'please, Slytherin' over and over again in his head until the Hat finally shut up and Sorted him with a frustrated huff.
"I'm not good," he protested, shaking off Goyle's hand. "This just needs doing."
He stuck his head out the door into the deserted corridor. A few green lamps created a dim light. He flicked his wand again. On the tip, his blood glowed, pulling towards the opposite wall. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he laid his palm against the wood-panelled wall.
'Open.'
Under his hand, the door to the Room of Requirement formed as he had known it would.
"You think they'll come?" Goyle rumbled behind him. Scorpius looked over his shoulder. There was apprehension on the former Death Eater's face, the same he could feel prickling between his own shoulder blades.
"Yes," he said, recalling Albus's 'final warning', the callous way he'd considered killing Scorpius while kneeling above him. "They'll come."
He pushed the door open with an eerie feeling of deja vu, watching the plain room he'd left not a day ago shift and expand into a twin vision of the destroyed cavern when Goyle stepped up behind him.
"Wait here," Scorpius whispered.
Without protesting, Goyle slipped into the shadows by the door.
Scorpius rose to his full height and pushed his hood back to bare his face before taking several long steps forward until he reached a spot where the shelving had burned away almost entirely, leaving a barren clearing of sorts.
One hand clenched around his wand, he called into the darkness.
"Albus. I'm here."
This time, he didn't look around him nervously, just stared ahead until he felt the familiar oppressive sense of menace closing around him. Then he turned, unflinching, to find Albus at his back.
Dread crawled through Scorpius's gut, but he knew that no trace of it appeared on his face. He inclined his head a fraction.
Albus looked just like he had before, as if violating his best friend hadn't left any scars at all – sinister, confident, with a deadly glow in his eyes.
"You've come back to die, Malfoy?" he asked. "You should have let me kill you earlier, then, and saved yourself a lot of pain." The elegant curve of his mouth twisted into something a lot less beautiful. "Or were you so desperate to have me?"
Scorpius wasn't going to grace that with a response, and Albus didn't seem to expect one. Instead, he raised his hand. A familiar cluster of sparks started to whirl around his fingers. "It's a pity, almost," Albus mused as the fireball took shape, a twin of the one that had nearly fried Adam Bulstrode. "I'd hoped I might get another chance at that sweet body of yours."
He took aim, the glowing fireball highlighting the green of his eyes.
Scorpius let out a soft, contemptuous snort. "I know who you are," he stated, staring straight into Albus's face and trying to look beyond. "Vincent Crabbe, junior Death Eater – a bloody fool who messed around with magic way beyond his control just to look tough."
An ugly grimace flitted across Albus's features, but his hand with the fireball never wavered. "Yes, the boy thought you'd find out sooner or later," he said. "But I'm quite a bit more than that, now. Will you rest easier knowing, Malfoy?"
Scorpius didn't reply. He heard the light scrape of footsteps behind him. Albus, focused entirely on him, did not.
"Vince? Is that you?"
Scorpius saw Albus's body jerk and turn, a wooden movement that was utterly at odds with his usual grace. He stared at Goyle, who'd stepped out from the shadows and loomed a few feet behind Scorpius. Swallowed, as if he was struggling for words.
"Greg?" he rasped. He took a step forward, shock, pain and disbelief warring on his face. "What... what happened to you?"
Goyle took one, two tentative steps, towering over Albus and yet seeming dwarfed in comparison. His mouth moved, but formed no words.
Albus clenched his fists, Scorpius all but forgotten. "You left me here, Greg! Why did you leave me?"
Suddenly, it felt much warmer even than before. Goyle licked his dry lips. "You died, Vince."
"No." Protest, instinctive, automatic. Shaking his head, Albus stepped back.
"You died," Goyle repeated doggedly. "I was there. I saw you conjure the Fiendfyre, and it burned you to death. Malfoy and I, we got out. You didn't."
"But I'm alive," Albus protested. There was a touch of desperation creeping into his voice, however.
"The Potter boy's alive," said Goyle. "And the bloody fire. Not you, Vince." His voice cracked. "I think you should let him go."
"He came to me!" Albus sounded almost petulant. "Didn't even fight us all that much, not even for little Malfoy." A malicious leer twisted his delicate features and half-hidden behind Goyle's leather-clad body, Scorpius shivered despite the heat.
"Maybe." Goyle shrugged, as if he'd altogether forgotten about the boy he was talking to, and only saw his former friend. "But you can't keep him. Those two children... they're ours. Slytherins. Not Potter and Malfoy - just children."
Albus's face scrunched up. "I don't want to go back! It's..."
"I know." Goyle's voice was astonishingly gentle for such a large man. "You won't have to. But we've got to get those two out of here first."
"He won't like it," Albus said in a small voice.
Goyle touched his face, and Scorpius had to look to the ground to escape the intensity of the look they shared. "No, he won't."
It happened so fast that Scorpius had no time to prepare. Neither had Albus. Albus's body jerked; he clutched his face where Goyle had touched him, then stumbled back and crashed to his knees. Goyle too staggered, pressing both hands against his chest. An unfamiliar expression remodelled his face, alien and yet... not. Slowly, his large fists began to glow.
Albus hugged his chest with both arms, trembling violently. When he lifted his head to look at Scorpius, all Scorpius could see was black, unfathomable horror.
Scorpius took a tentative step towards him when Goyle looked up and caught his eye.
"Go," he said quietly. The glow around his hands had intensified, and slowly spread up his arms. Goyle's bristly jaw clenched, and the muscles in his arms stood out below the sleeveless leather vest.
As careful as if moving to gentle a wild creature, Scorpius reached out for Albus, but the other boy recoiled, burying his face in his hands.
A hiss, and a crackle. Scorpius looked up in horror to see flames bursting from Goyle's hands. Not dancing sparks but true, consuming fire, and a matching ring of flames rose up from the ground to ignite the hem of his cloak.
"Go!" Goyle yelled again while sparks crackled around his bulky form. Flames licked at his clothes, his hair. A fiery spiral in all shades from white-blue to the darkest red started to swirl around him, a burning serpent encircling its prey before rising up to the ceiling, seeking for more. For a moment, Scorpius could still make out Goyle's shape, head bowed and arms clutching his chest as if he was holding something he wouldn't let go, even in death. Then he was gone, consumed by a howling inferno.
A gush of scorching air whipped over Scorpius face, draining away every bit of moisture in his mouth and whatever wetness there might have been in his eyes. He turned to Albus, still kneeling motionless on the ground like a self-dedicated sacrifice, and was beside him in an instant, turning his back on the fire snake that consumed Gregory Goyle and whatever was left of Vincent Crabbe. He grabbed Albus's thin wrist and pulled, dragging him to his feet.
Albus's stumbled against him, but the gush of fire at his back didn't allow Scorpius to pause. Tightening his grip, he started to run, willing Albus to keep up with him. His lungs burned. After a few steps, Albus seemed to regain his footing, keeping up with Scorpius's pace by a sheer miracle alone. 'We should have brooms for this', Scorpius thought, overcome by the wild impulse to laugh into the flaring heat.
There was the wall, right before him, and the door a few paces further down. He veered to the left, dragging Albus after him. Grabbing the door handle with his free hand, he tore it open and propelled Albus through with so much force that he skidded several feet into the corridor. Hand still on the handle, Scorpius caught an eyeful of fire serpent, a roaring, towering mass that took up the entire breadth of the hall, surging towards him. He felt his eyebrows blister and fell back, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, and threw himself into the corridor, slamming the door shut behind him with all his might.
Stumbling backwards, dreading the sight of the fire serpent smashing the door and the wall and burning them both, he watched the door fade into the wall until plain stone merged where it had been. The impact never came. The roar of fire was shut off in an instant of ringing silence that was more painful on the ear than the noise had been.
Scorpius looked around. A few feet behind him, Albus had collapsed on the ground, his breaths loud and laboured as he tried to pull air into his singed lungs.
They were no longer in the dungeons. Wood-panelled walls had given way to plain stone and huge, arched windows that looked out into the night sky. Jagged streaks of moonlight peered through a jumble of clouds, spilling frosty light on the window seats and the turrets and crenellations of the castle outside.
Scorpius dragged himself to the stone window seat and collapsed on it. After a few moments, he pulled his feet up and hugged his knees tightly, staring out at the roofs of the castle bathed in silver.
It took a long time before he heard Albus's footsteps. He didn't quite come up to where Scorpius sat, but slid down to the floor against the wall at Scorpius's back.
"'I'm sorry' isn't going to help, is it?" Albus finally broke the silence.
Scorpius felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Not really, no."
After another long moment of silence, Albus asked, "What's going to happen now?"
Scorpius watched the moonbeams paint spikes of light on the windowsill at his feet. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. There's nothing left. The Fiendfyre, Crabbe... they're all gone, aren't they?" It was a statement, not a question. The Fiendfyre required a human mind to cling to. Devouring its host, it had destroyed itself.
"Yes," Albus answered. "But Goyle..."
"Has been a loner," Scorpius said, digging nails into his palms again to fight back tears. "Nobody will come looking for him. Nobody knew he was here."
"He should be remembered," Al said. "He died to save us both. Crabbe too, I think."
"He will be," Scorpius promised. "We'll remember him. Always."
"Don't!" Albus protested. "Don't try and keep it secret because of me. You've been hurt. You should talk about it to feel better. It works for Muggles."
"Talking isn't going to make it better," Scorpius said as gentle as he could. He couldn't imagine anything that would.
He rested his head against the wall, eyes half shut, probing the bottomless exhaustion that tugged at him with detached interest. Albus didn't move, and if it wasn't for the soft sounds of his breathing, he might not have been there at all. He wouldn't leave, though. He was waiting.
"You said you knew I wanted you," Scorpius finally broke the silence. Blunt, because it had to be asked. "Was that true."
"Yes." Albus's voice sounded muffled. "I didn't know how I felt about it. I wasn't ready. Mostly, I didn't want things between us to change, so I did nothing." He let out a noise that might have been a very bitter laugh. "Well, we saw how well that turned out."
It had been a safe bet, too. Giving Albus time to search his feelings, and afterwards, should he decide he wanted Scorpius, Scorpius would still be there, waiting.
"You did want it after all, though, didn't you," Scorpius said. "It wasn't just Crabbe. It was part of you, too."
When Albus's voice drifted up to him, Scorpius almost didn't need to hear it.
"Yes."
Scorpius nodded silently. He had known that, of course. Known it from the start. At one point, not too long ago, it would have been all he'd ever wished for.
"There is no going back to what we were before, is there?" Albus asked, and this time, Scorpius smiled. He slid off the window seat, eyes still directed outside and full of clouds, towers and moonlight. There was an icy, solitary peace there.
"No," he replied softly. "There isn't."
~ finis ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Time will not heal a dead boy's scars,
Time will kill.
(For the Heart I Once Had, Nightwish)
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to JKR. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.
Author: Hijja (
kennahijja)Pairing: Scorpius/Albus (of sorts)
Rating: hard R/mild NC-17
Warnings: non-con, a bit of violence
Summary: The fires of the past burn brightest.
Author's Note: Written for
hp_darkfest, prompt: "We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out, just the upstairs window to look out of while the fire burns the house down with us trapped, locked in it." (Tennessee Williams, The Milk Train Doesn't Stop Here Anymore). Thanks to LN for beta and help way beyond the call of duty! Title and endquote are borrowed from Nightwish lyrics.Part 1
It was easy to slip away quietly in the chaos that followed the Restricted Section fire. Classes were cancelled, freeing the professors to investigate the origins of the blaze, and to restore the delicate charms that protected the ancient volumes from time, damp, and each other.
Rumours flew all around the school like gadflies, and everywhere clumps of students gathered to discuss the incident in hushed voices. Braver souls migrated from group to group, picking up theories and passing them on. They ranged all the way from students sneaking in after hours with candles, to a fire monster stalking the school, a Death Eater sabotage device left over from the war, to the crumbling of Hogwarts' ancient magic, heralding the end of the school.
Scorpius capitalised on his tale about feeling sick, hiding in his bed for most of the morning, almost physically sickened at the thought that the fire might have been his fault for sneaking into the Restricted Section in the first place. The presence of the Black Book under his pillow burned almost as much as the fire. The conflagration had destroyed two shelves full of invaluable books before the alarm had rallied the teachers to the library, and had then faded out almost irrationally fast. But then, Scorpius mused, nothing about the magic was natural. No one, however, would miss this particular title, assumed to be destroyed alongside all the others.
He had no idea how Albus had managed to do it, but the signs were just too obvious. And for once, Albus looked drained during lunch, as if exploding one of the most carefully protected treasuries of Hogwarts had taken a toll even out of the thing that rode him. It hardened Scorpius's resolve. He didn't give the pallid shadow of his former friend a second glance across the table for fear of Albus meeting his eyes and somehow reading the truth, or acknowledging that he'd searched for Albus that night, and found him elsewhere.
He stuffed the book at the back of his school bag and hid in the Slytherin Prefects' study, a small and somewhat stuffy room with dark green tapestries and way too much snake decoration. He had it all to himself.
Once removed from the Restricted Section, the Black Book had quietened, although Scorpius still shuddered at handling it. It wasn't made from parchment but from paper-thin leather whose origins he didn't even want to begin speculating on, and hand-written in dragon-blood ink that gave off a sharp, musky smell. Having studied the 16th century edition of Hogwarts, a History during the holidays actually proved beneficial for deciphering the old-fashioned slant of wording and writing.
He found Fiendfyre towards the end of the tome, in a section about conjuring magic, which was strange in its own right. Conjuring was sneered upon by purebloods as a Muggle thing – Muggles trying to bargain for power from outside as they lacked innate magic. Most of the spells in the section seemed ancient, though, belonging to a time when wizards and Muggles hadn't yet existed in separate spheres. It involved summoning a spirit of fire, a spell deceptively easy to cast. All it took was a short incantation, an open flame to host the spirit - and the mental fortitude to control an elemental force capable of melting stone, and a malevolent presence that wanted to. Scorpius's stomach lurched.
Its counter-spell was just as simple - another short incantation, a sprinkle of spring water steeped in star moss. Easy enough for even the most inexperienced of potions makers, but not quite something one carried around by chance. Obviously, poor, stupid Vincent Crabbe hadn't, some twenty-odd years ago when he'd cast the spell.
Supervising the first years' potions homework while they managed to mangle their Shrinking Solutions, it was almost child's play to set up the concoction. Star moss wasn't a common ingredient, but Slughorn kept a quantity of it, and since Scorpius was one of the select group of Slytherins who kept their Head of House's potions cabinets in order and stocked for extra credit, all it would take to cover his traces was an owl-order to Mortar & Pestle to replenish it at his own expense. The draught was ready after a day and Scorpius liberated one of the old-fashioned ball-pump spray flasks Professor Longbottom used in the greenhouses to store his brew.
Friday, October 1 dawned far too brightly for Scorpius's mood. He had what he needed to confront and banish the Fiendfyre; there was no sense in tarrying, and yet dread hung over him like a cloud. For a moment, he wondered how it would feel to be a Gryffindor - whether they didn't experience that sort of fear, or just managed to deal with it better. His thoughts wandered to Hugo Weasley, but he suppressed the impulse. He didn't know the Gryffindor well enough; if he knew what Scorpius was going up against, he'd most likely tell a teacher. Or he might not and get hurt, and he'd been too surprisingly decent to deserve that.
Scorpius knew how to find the Room of Requirement, of course – everybody did. Want it enough, need it enough, and it would materialise, at some random location throughout the castle.
After nightfall and dinner in the Great Hall, Scorpius roamed corridors and staircases, which kept cheerfully shifting around him until his head whirled. He touched walls that remained as cold and closed under his fingers as they did under everybody else's while repeating 'I want to find the Room of Requirement' in his mind without so much as stirring a tassel on a tapestry. He switched to 'I need to find the Fiendfyre spirit' without any better success - portraits looked at him askance as he passed and whispered behind his back. Somehow, he suspected that deep down, he didn't truly want to find the fire spirit after all.
His feet started to ache from pacing flagstone after flagstone and stair after stair. At last, he leaned his forehead against the bare stone wall of the side corridor that connected the staircases between Astronomy and Divination towers. Tears of frustration pricked his eyes.
"I need to help Albus!" he pleaded against the stone wall, almost sobbing for a moment until he caught himself and angrily wiped his face. It was getting late, and even as a Prefect he'd be in trouble if Filch or Norris&Norris, his tomcats, found him here out of hours.
Pushing himself away from the wall, he made for the staircase down, glaring at the plain classroom door he passed. And froze.
There was no classroom here - it was just a thoroughfare, and one he'd passed through dozens of times.
His fingertips brushed the solid wood, and suddenly fear washed away frustration, coiling around his throat like a choker. He wanted to run and tell the entire mess to the Headmistress, so somebody else, perhaps Albus's glorified Auror father, could go in there and face the fire. But even if nobody murdered Albus over the library fire, they'd both be expelled: Al for courting trouble in the first place, for attacking Bode and for the fire, and Scorpius for keeping it all secret for too long.
Scorpius's own father, ever preaching prudence and self-preservation, would rip his head off if he knew what he was doing; grandfather... well that was different. Scorpius gripped the door handle with trembling fingers and pulled; no Malfoy had ever been expelled from Hogwarts - he wouldn't be the first!
Resolution carried him across the doorstep, wand in one hand, spray flask in the other. Beyond the door, the Room of Requirement was a wasteland. Blackened ruins of shelves loomed towards the ceiling, half molten in places, nearly untouched in others. Some still held clumps of leather that had once been books, their parchment pages burned to ash. Some of the flagstones had cracked, and all were black with soot. Shards and debris were scattered everywhere, as if an explosion had torn apart a cluttered house and had callously strewn about what it hadn't consumed entirely. There was no way of telling whether the destruction had been wreaked by the Fiendfyre during the Battle of Hogwarts, or whether the Room was intact, creating itself according to Scorpius's expectations. The air was stale and cold and smelled of long-dead fire.
Scorpius jumped when the door fell shut behind him. There was no sign of the Fiendfyre. He cast a Lumos to shed some light on the dark cavern before him, dim enough not to obscure any other source of light, and set out.
His heart thumped every time he rounded another shelf while glass and wood crunched under the soles of his shoes. The room felt wholly devoid of life, and yet it exuded a sense of menace - as if something held its breath, preparing to strike. Scorpius pricked his ears, once or twice thinking he heard a sound in the distance, but then it might just have been an echo of his own footsteps.
He bit his lip; he had memorised both incantations, the banishment and the summoning of Fiendfyre, and if the... thing didn't show up, repeating the summoning - without lighting a flame to complete the ritual, obviously - would in all likelihood force it out of hiding.
Splaying his legs for balance, he cited the first line of summoning. His voice sounded small and scared in the huge hall, and when a thin, cold spear of light appeared behind the nearest shelf, his heart practically stopped. He broke off, the power of the spell coating his lips like a bitter potion. He raised the flask higher, every scrap of attention focussed on the pale light that spilled out from underneath the shelf in front of him.
When the blow hit his neck from behind, it caught him utterly unawares. The impact pitched him forward. Sparks flitted before his eyes and a sharp, sickening bolt of pain raced up into his skull. He hit the floor hard, slicing his palm on an oval shard of crystal.
Scorpius rolled around and raised his head. Before him stood Albus Potter, a slim, dark silhouette brightly outlined by the glow that crept around the shelves. Before Scorpius could scramble back, a kick sent his wand, which he'd miraculously not dropped going down, flying into the rubble.
Albus bent forward to pull the spray bottle from his fingers as well, but Scorpius clung to it even though the movement sent shockwaves of pain up his neck. A thin smile curled at the corner of Albus's mouth just before he punched Scorpius in the face, sending him flat on his back and swiping the flask from his hand.
Scorpius felt blood well up inside his mouth. He struggled for breath, utterly winded, then surged to a half-sitting position, hand outstretched, when he saw Albus unscrewing the nozzle.
"Don't!" he gurgled.
Albus lifted an eyebrow.
"We can stop this, right here!" Scorpius pressed on, then let out a despairing cry when Albus upended the flask and poured its contents onto the ground. The fortified water washed away a little soot before seeping away into the crack where the flagstone had split in half.
He didn't get a chance to struggle to his feet; Albus's foot came down on the centre of his chest, pushing the air from his lungs with calm, measured pressure. Albus's lips moved, and out of nowhere, a tangle of roots shot up from the flagstones, wrapping themselves around Scorpius's wrists and dragging them down to the floor above his head. He pulled at them furiously to free himself, but the roots only tightened to the point of pain until he gave up.
Above him, Albus held out his hand and the light that had distracted Scorpius rushed towards him until a cloud of sparks clustered around his fingers like well-heeled pets. Then they sunk into his skin, leaving nothing but a faint glow behind.
Scorpius's stomach turned to a pit of ice. The acrid tang of blood in his mouth made him sick. Albus looked at him like a wolf who'd caught a little newborn rabbit and was wondering if the mouthful of fur and bones and steaming flesh would be worth the effort. He withdrew his foot and crouched down, swinging a leg over to sit comfortably on Scorpius's lower middle.
He smiled down at Scorpius, his eyes bright and glittering. "I'd say 'poor Scorpius', if I hadn't warned you to leave me alone. More than once."
The firm weight of Albus's body pressed against his own made Scorpius want to squirm. It wasn't just the weight on his stomach, even though that made it hard to breathe. But he'd tried not to touch Albus for the longest time, not even by accident, and now the enforced proximity made his pulse speed up.
"I wonder what it will take to stop you from coming after me," Albus mused, tapping his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I could kill you, of course... just burn you to ashes, and nobody would ever know." Scorpius's mouth went dry. Deep down, he still didn't believe Albus would truly murder him, but... he wasn't just Albus, now. "No," Albus continued as if he was reading Scorpius's thoughts. "There are better ways. I've seen the way you were looking at me, you know?"
Scorpius bit his lip, and felt fresh blood well up. "I don't!"
"Don't lie to me," Albus whispered. "You've always watched me. Only differently, during the last year." He shook his head. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice how badly you want me?"
"I don't-" Scorpius started to protest, then yelped when Albus's index finger started to glow.
"Don't lie!" Albus repeated, and drew it in a straight line down the front of Scorpius's robe. It cut the fabric right in half, leaving a red welt on his chest beneath that burned like hell.
"You see, I didn't think I was interested in you that way, so I did nothing at all," Albus continued while pulling the ruined robe off Scorpius's upper body. He probed the burn on Scorpius's chest with a curious finger, smiling at the hiss that escaped his prisoner. "I think I've changed my mind."
He scooted backwards, smirking at Scorpius's horrified look, pulling the torn robe away altogether. Underneath, Scorpius only wore the thin, loose lace-up trousers which - even in Slytherin - negotiated between the wizarding tradition of bare-arsedness and modern Muggleborn modesty.
Now, Albus's fingers kneaded his thigh way too close to his privates, and the flimsy cloth did nothing to disguise Scorpius's teenage arousal.
"No," he gasped, trying to buck Albus off his calves without success. "Not like this!"
A smile formed on Albus's face that was all teeth and pale green venom, so alien it drove the air out of Scorpius's lungs. Possessive hands slid over his hips. Albus leaned in, and for a moment Scorpius panicked at the thought that he might try to kiss him.
"There's the Fiendfyre," Albus murmured, his breath a wet puff against the side of Scorpius's neck. "It wants to embrace you badly, you know? Wants to make your flesh sizzle and your blood boil and crack your bones to burn the marrow." He trailed his finger over Scorpius's bare chest, scraping along a nipple and Scorpius's face flooded with heat.
"We won't let it, if you're good." He stroked Scorpius's cheek with the bony knuckles of his fist, very gently. "Are you going to be good?"
Fresh panic exploded inside Scorpius at the implications. He was securely trapped, and the last time Albus had looked like this, Adam Bulstrode had nearly died. He nodded silently.
Albus's edgy smile seemed to acquire an almost contemptible twist as his fingers undid the laces of Scorpius's trousers and traced the outline of his prick beneath.
"That's what you want, isn't it?"
Squeezing his eyes shut against tears and horror, Scorpius forced himself to nod again. He didn't resist when Albus let go of his legs and rolled him onto his stomach. For an instant, the vines that bound his wrists relaxed enough to accommodate the new position without breaking bones, then tightened again. Scorpius's entire body clenched when the trousers were pulled off him, a silky slide followed by warm air over flesh that crawled at the mere thought of being thus bared.
Albus's weight settled on his back, and his palms slid over Scorpius's naked shoulder blades, far warmer than they should have been.
"So pretty." It was Albus's familiar voice, but rougher, lewd, lowered into a near-growl that made the fine hairs at Scorpius's nape rise. Albus pulled Scorpius's hips against his own, revealing naked skin and a hardness that seemed to be made to fit the groove between Scorpius's buttocks. Scorpius let out a quiet sob, half shame, half despair. He'd pictured being touched, held, taken by Albus Severus in sweaty night-time musings while touching himself, longing. He'd never imagined it might turn into such an abomination.
His arms were stretched taut, the vines cutting into the thin skin of his wrist as Albus gripped his hips more tightly, insinuating himself between Scorpius's thighs. Pressure built between his legs, seeking entrance, and Scorpius's muscles contracted against it, pushing back, which made the burn of intrusion so much more acute. He threw his head back, shaking with pain as Albus pushed into him. There was no time to accommodate, no consideration, just a raw burn that seemed to set every one of Scorpius's nerve ends down there aflame as if the deadly sparks were congregating in Albus's cock rather than his hands.
"So pretty and weak and useless!" Albus groaned, sheathing himself with small jerky movements. Against his will, Scorpius whimpered.
He almost screamed when Albus's hand wrapped around the shrivelled tangle of his genitals from behind, an unskilled grope for his prick followed by a squeeze that wrung another whimper from Scorpius's bloody lips. Against all odds, he felt himself growing tight and hard. Albus felt it too because he let out a contemptuous snort and dropped Scorpius's prick, wiping his fingers on Scorpius's thigh before drawing back for another thrust that pitched Scorpius's entire body forward into a cry of agony.
"Spineless, worthless failure," the hateful voice took up its singsong of abuse again, in rhythm with his thrusts and almost as painful in its own way as the physical violation. "Always crying for your father, hiding behind your name, letting others make your sacrifices..."
Scorpius sucked in a wet rattle of breath, his fingers clawing at the ground. It was one thing to find out that he was held in such utter contempt by his best friend of five years, but the words rang... false. Scorpius had been aware from his earliest childhood that the Malfoy name had been tainted through association with the Dark Lord, and didn't command the respect it once had. Very purposefully, Scorpius had never tried to use it as leverage. And while he was cautious and didn't pick fights deliberately, only a to-the-bone Gryffindor would ever call him a coward.
Rage smouldered into his belly, fuelled by the pure agony in his arse. Albus's nails raked over his back even as he thrust forward. With a strangled hiss Scorpius bucked against him, slamming his head back until it banged hard into Albus's. It sent a jolt of pain through Scorpius's own skull, and if the Fiendfyre creature burned him, it couldn't hurt much worse than being raped on the floor like an animal!
Albus let out a muffled cry and jerked back, nearly tearing Scorpius as he fought for balance. Then his hand grabbed the back of Scorpius's neck and slammed his head into the floor. Thankfully, Scorpius had his face twisted to the side. It protected his nose and teeth, although his left canine jarred and cut into his lip, and his temple impacted on something hard and jagged. Albus pulled Scorpius's head up and slammed it down once more, harder. Blinding pain exploded in Scorpius's temple, and he felt his own blood dripping from the cut onto the floor. He went limp, barely feeling the brutal surge of Albus's cock deep inside him. It was a mercy of sorts.
From very far away, he heard Albus grunt his way to completion, plunging into him over and over again, punctuated by a stream of nonsensical insults. Scorpius let the thrusts shake him like a rag doll, barely able to make sense of, "Should've embraced the Mark, not tried to weasel out of your duty." The body above him gave one more, final thrust before freezing in a rictus of release.
Scorpius barely felt the hot fluid that spilled into him. He lay, face pressed against the floor, while ice spread through his mind, burning away pain, fear and helplessness in a moment of blazing clarity.
Scorpius Malfoy had never taken the Dark Mark. His father had. Draco Malfoy, whose haphazard pursuit of Harry Potter had made it into Weasley family lore. Who had fought, in this very place, alongside two of his fellow Death Eaters, one of whom had cast the Fiendfyre. Who had died here, consumed by his own spell. Still burning... still angry.
Scorpius lay deathly still even as the other pulled out of him, tearing raw skin open anew. Blood caked the side of his face that was visible, and for once he was grateful it would also hide his comprehension.
"Shouldn't have failed us, Malfoy." The parting words drifted down over his soiled body. "Then this-" A contemptuous kick to his naked arse, "- wouldn't have happened to you."
Scorpius trembled, his mouth full of blood and soot from the floor. He didn't move. He could hear footsteps, the sounds of clothes being rearranged, and then the warm weight of Scorpius's robe settled over him, its hood kindly enveloping his bruised face.
Albus's voice, a touch softer. "Final warning, Malfoy."
Scorpius squeezed his eyes shut as light exploded all around him, not much caring whether it would envelop and devour him right where he lay. Instead, it flared once more and faded, leaving him in darkness.
He lay unmoving for what felt like hours; his entire body ached, especially his arse and the side of his face that'd been slammed into the floor. He felt as if a bucket of filth had been spilled over him. Only when his teeth started to chatter loudly enough to hurt did he force himself to painfully crawl to his knees.
He was alone, and the Room of Requirement had changed beyond recognition. The ruined hall was replaced by a plain, chilly room with unremarkable wooden furniture and a faded green carpet. Scorpius's wand lay on the table at a precise angle.
He crawled towards it, whimpering softly at the pain that shot through him with every move. It took a few minutes before he managed to grab the corner of the table and haul himself upright, and then he let out a cry because straightening up felt as if a spear was being rammed into him. He grabbed the wand as if to never let it go again, and pulled the torn robe tightly around himself, hood up.
How he managed the stairs and corridors down to the Prefects' bathroom, he never found out. Only when the door slammed behind him, and he'd fortified it with two locking charms did he return to some sort of self-awareness. He collapsed next to the rectangular marble pool and hit various taps at random.
The sound of running water elicited a sleepy snort from the painted mermaid in the portrait that dominated the room. She raised her head, eyes heavy-lidded with sleep when Scorpius's hex tumbled the frame off the wall. He ignored her muffled protests as she came to lie canvas-down on the floor.
He peeled the robe off his body and slid into the scalding water, almost relishing the pain. It stopped his trembling, although the burn on the abused flesh between his legs made him howl. Clinging weakly to one of the golden rings at the rim of the pool, he let himself sink under, immersed entirely until the hot water filled his ears with a hum that drowned out anything else. Only when the lack of air tried to burst his lungs did he resurface, almost grudgingly, water streaming over his hair and face and the stinging cuts there. Even then, he stayed in the tub, never letting go of the ring until his skin felt heavy and soggy and started to shrivel.
Crawling out was still painful, but the water had soothed the initial agony, and Scorpius collapsed on a pile of fluffy white towels as exhaustion caught up with him. Dragging a few over himself, he sank into an exhausted doze, never quite falling asleep entirely. Twice, someone hammered against the locked door, and both times Scorpius nearly jumped out of his skin, picturing Albus breaking through the door despite the locking charms. Apart from frustrated mutterings in the corridor, however, he wasn't disturbed.
The outline of the sun against the cotton drapes had wandered quite a bit from east to west, and the faint clattering of plates and cutlery announced lunchtime in the Great Hall when Scorpius forced himself to crawl out of his tangle of towels and face the facts.
If there was one thing he couldn't do, it was trying to put the night behind him and let Albus get away with it. He'd spend his nights gibbering in terror behind his bed curtains, waiting for the thing which controlled Albus's body and half his mind to find him and bind and force him again. He couldn't exist with that sort of fear hanging over him.
As if picking old scabs, Scorpius repeated Albus's words in his mind. 'Should've embraced the Mark, not tried to weasel out of your duty.'
Draco Malfoy had never told his son his side of the story of the war, but Scorpius had heard enough; rumours, old Daily Prophet cuttings from the Death Eater trials, the stories swapped among Gryffindors with barely suppressed glee.
How Draco had failed to murder Dumbledore, how he'd been singled out by the Dark Lord for punishment, marked for death, his closest associates turning against him. Crabbe and Goyle at the forefront, cheerfully throwing in their lot with the Death Eaters that occupied Hogwarts. Crabbe and Goyle, their names only ever used in tandem, as if neither had a life of his own. And then the Room of Requirement, where death broke that pattern for good.
Scorpius forced himself to stand despite the pain, and reached for his robe. A shaky "Reparo!" mended the worst of the tear that ran down its entire front. With gritted teeth, he dispelled the locking charms and left the bathroom.
It was a Hogsmeade weekend, which meant that the hallways and the Slytherin dungeons were blissfully empty. Even the few stragglers and detention victims didn't try and waylay a Prefect who seemed preoccupied with his own business. Nevertheless, Scorpius started to tremble as soon as he entered the corridor to the fifth year dorm; it took a minute before he'd worked up the courage to open the door. If Albus was there...
He wasn't. The dorm was empty, the curtains of Albus's bed bound neatly back to reveal pristine bedclothes.
Scorpius grabbed a random change of clothes, a spare robe and his travelling cloak with its wide, soft hood. Dressed, he felt a little better, although the mirror over his nightstand let out a shocked whistle when he looked in. He'd bathed his bloody lip and cleaned the cuts in the Prefects' bathroom, but his mouth was still swollen and the scar on his temple stood out in a fresh, jagged red line.
Shrugging, he returned to his trunk and pulled out the Portkey, an embroidered silk handkerchief in Malfoy black and silver, designed to take him home and back. He'd used it once or twice to attend gatherings his father wanted him present for. Scorpius had never bothered to find out if it was forbidden or not. There were rules that didn't apply to Slytherins.
A glimpse at the old grandfather clock in the dorm showed that it was already mid-afternoon. Scorpius made his way out to the courtyard, trying very hard not to walk as if his underpants were strewn with eggshells. He still hurt, but the ache was becoming more tolerable with time. Adrenaline and fury did the rest.
Face hidden inside the hood of his cloak, he nodded at Filch who manned the gate and ticked off the names of students leaving while one of the Norris brothers batted at a half-rotten fish head next to his boots.
Scorpius left the castle, crossed the drawbridge, and stepped into the shadow of the castle wall. When he was certain that he wasn't being observed, he pulled out the handkerchief and whispered "Malfoy Manor!" against the lace.
The Portkey deposited him in front of the pillar-framed steps of Malfoy Manor with a final tug at his intestines. Scorpius stumbled as the dull ache in his lower body returned, but managed to gain his balance without falling. A profound wave of homesickness rolled over him at the familiar sight of the manor. It would be so easy to go in, to unburden himself to his parents, to ask them to take care of things.
He shuddered at the memory of 'Albus's' nasty jibe about hiding behind his father, willing his stomach not to turn. If he told Father, Albus would pay the full price for his crime, possessed or not, mitigating circumstances or not. There were few certainties pertaining to the Malfoy heritage, but this was one: whoever laid hands on one of them died. Even if father could be persuaded, grandfather would not. And no matter how much Scorpius wanted to be avenged, he did not want to be responsible for Albus being abducted and tortured to death for a few weeks. No, what Albus had done called for a specific form of vengeance.
Aching inside, he turned away and followed the main path away from the house, then turned past the peacock enclosure and towards the woods. The wind that blew down from Salisbury Plain tugged at him as soon as he stepped outside the manor's weather control charms. It crisp bite shocked him fully alert.
The wind eased when he reached the trees - not the jungle-like chaos of the Forbidden Forest, but a small, well-maintained wood that had been Malfoy land for centuries. Scorpius followed the comfortable path over the brook, and down towards the gamekeeper's lodge. Thatched, white-washed and with red-painted door and shutters, it differed considerably from the hut Professor Hagrid had inhabited before his marriage to Headmistress Maxime, which was now used as a Care of Magical Creatures supply shed.
Scorpius hoped that Gregory Goyle was at home although it was a Saturday afternoon and there was a wizarding pub down in Stoke-upon-Stone. Behind the lodge, the gamekeeper's Thestral padlock looked empty, although empty or occupied would look the same in Scorpius's eyes.
Holding his breath, he knocked on the door. He jumped when it opened abruptly, revealing the gamekeeper's hulky figure and his wand, pointed straight at Scorpius's face. It lowered as soon as recognition touched Goyle's rough features.
"Master Scorpius?" Goyle took a step aside to let Scorpius enter. "Shouldn't you be at school?"
A roaring fire blazed in the fireplace; above it hung Goyle's tea kettle, puffing steam from the spout. Two dead rabbits lay on the solid wooden table in a tangle of fur. Goyle pulled up a chair with his boot, but abruptly grabbed Scorpius's shoulder before he could sit down and pulled him closer to the fire. Scorpius went so rigid in his grip that Goyle released him at once.
"What happened to you, boy?" he rasped, peering at Scorpius's bruised face. "Got into a scrape at school? Want me to teach a lesson whoever beat you?" He cracked his knuckles cheerfully. "I can do that."
"No!"
Scorpius's outcry took Goyle visibly aback. He fought to get his expression and voice under control, and most likely failed because Goyle gave the chair another shove in his direction. Very carefully, Scorpius settled down on one arse cheek, trying not to reveal the pain that shot through him at the contact with the hard wooden seat. Thankfully, Goyle busied himself with the tea kettle, filling a large mug and adding liberal doses of milk and brown sugar. He pushed the mug at Scorpius, who closed both hands around it as if it were a good luck charm.
He sipped, and the strong, sweet brew filled an emptiness in his stomach he hadn't been aware of. Scorpius stopped shivering, and looked up.
"I need you to tell me something," he said at last, after two more sips of tea. "About something that happened in the war, during the Battle of Hogwarts."
A faraway look stole over the gamekeeper's ugly face. "Ah, boy, that was a long time ago. Not something I much like to remember."
"About the Room of Requirement," Scorpius continued softly. "And Fiendfyre."
Goyle's face went grey, and for the first time, Scorpius consciously realised what the war had done to him. His father had been one of the captured Death Eaters sentenced to life in Azkaban, and Goyle himself had been hiding on Malfoy land all his life - all alone, never married, never had any children. In a way, it was as if part of him had died alongside Crabbe in the Room of Requirement.
"How d'you know about that?" Goyle's voice sounded more defeated than angry. "Didn't expect your father to go and blab about that sort of thing."
"He didn't," Scorpius cut in, quick to defend Malfoy honour. "But Albus Potter found the Room, and something inside..." He paused, unsure how to put it. "Something took him over, and burned down half the Restricted Section and, well... really didn't take it well when I found out about it."
"Potter did that to you?" Goyle roared, slamming his fist on the table so that a puddle of tea slopped over the rim of Scorpius's mug. "That does it, boy! We'll go and see your father and he'll sort the little bastard out!"
"No!" Scorpius grabbed the sleeve of the groundskeeper's leather vest, but Goyle was already on his feet and making for the door. It was like trying to hold back a stampeding Erumpent.
The bolt clanked shut at the inside of the door in the first burst of wandless magic Scorpius had done since floating his stuffed Pegasus out of the window at the age of five. "Please, listen!" he cried, stumbling to his feet. "It's not Albus. It's Crabbe."
Goyle froze in mid-stride. He turned, slowly as if he couldn't quite believe his ears, and stared at Scorpius as if he'd sprouted several more heads.
Scorpius could feel apprehension well up inside him. The look on Goyle's face reminded him that he was dealing with a former Death Eater, and a volatile one at that.
"Vince died over 20 years ago, boy!" he rasped.
"I know that!" Scorpius yelled back, hating the sob that echoed in his voice. "But the thing that rode Albus... He accused me of not wanting the Dark Mark, of letting you down. He wasn't talking to me," he said weakly. "He never even saw me. He was talking to my father."
"Vince cast Fiendfyre. He died there!" Goyle repeated as if nothing else managed to penetrate his skull.
Scorpius let his hand fall open in defeat. "Who taught him that spell, anyway?"
He didn't expect an answer, but Goyle let out a sharp bark of laughter. "That mad bitch, Lestrange. Taught us all sorts of wild things. Said she'd make us into the Dark Lord's elite. Vince was... rather sweet on her."
Scorpius flinched. "You mean you can cast it too?"
"Yeah." Goyle shrugged. "'s not the sort of thing you forget. Wouldn't ever do it, though - not after seeing what it does."
"She didn't teach you the counter-spell?" Scorpius asked.
Goyle snorted. "She forgot to mention that there was a counter-spell. Utterly insane." He picked up one of the rabbits, then dropped it again. "It's not possible, boy. No spell can survive that long, not like that when there's nothing left to burn."
Nothing except Crabbe, Scorpius thought, swallowing hard against the bile that collected in his stomach. "An out-of-control summoning, a Horcrux being destroyed there, and the ghost of a boy who died feeling betrayed by everybody..." He raised his head, struggling to find the right words. "He's hurt, and angry, and I don't even think he knows he's dead."
Scorpius chanced a glance at Goyle's face, and had to look away from the raw pain he saw reflected there.
"What d'you want from me, then?" the man asked, even though Scorpius knew he'd figured it out already.
"You were his best friend," he said tiredly. "His brother, almost. I think you can make him let Albus go. Set him free too, if he'll let you."
Goyle nodded slowly. "Yes, I thought so. He fucked you over pretty bad, didn't he?"
Scorpius flinched as if under a whiplash at the words. Goyle's eyes widened in shock when he realised the raw nerves his comment had touched. He took a step towards Scorpius, then stopped.
Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Scorpius dug nails into his palms until pain overcame the tremors that threatened to shake him.
"Yes," he ground out. "Will you help?"
"Yeah," said Goyle, simply. He took out his wand and doused the fire in the crate, reaching for the floor-length hooded leather cloak on a hook by the door. "Guess that makes me mad as a hatter and your father will skin me alive if he finds out, but I'll help."
He held the door open, and Scorpius went carefully, halfway expecting being hit over the head and carried to the manor.
The corner of Goyle's mouth quirked as if he'd figured out just what Scorpius was thinking. His big hand came down heavy on Scorpius shoulder.
"Look, Malfoy... Scorpius," Goyle's voice cracked a little. "Vince... he didn't hate your father. Not really. He just wanted..."
More. Scorpius nodded, a jerky motion that shut Goyle up as intended. To be treated less like a goon, and more like a friend. The Malfoy curse. Even before fourth year, when Scorpius had started to avoid Albus Severus for very different reasons, he'd tried his best to seem casual, distant. Never admitting that friendship was important, even when it was. As if it was a weakness waiting to be exploited. Perhaps, if he'd been less reticent with Albus...
No! He caught his train of thought and stopped it firmly. He was not going to take the blame for what had been done to him!
He pulled the Portkey from his pocket and held out his hand. This time, he barely shivered when Goyle's large fingers wrapped around his own. It was... almost reassuring.
"Hogwarts," he whispered against the silky fabric of the handkerchief, and let it carry them away.
As famous precedents during the last Triwizard Tournament had established, Hogwarts had no defences against the use of Portkeys on its grounds, or in its walls. Scorpius's was keyed to one of the small studies at the very bottom of the Slytherin dungeons, the ones intended for NEWT study but where a Prefect's presence wouldn't come as a surprise. Goyle's bulk filled it almost in its entirety. The man looked out of place, large and dressed for outdoors with his wand slung in a sheath over his shoulder.
He looked around almost wistfully, and Scorpius recalled that he'd never set foot in the castle again after the Battle. It must feel strange, to be back.
"How are we going to find the Room of Hidden Things?" Goyle growled into his ear. "Pure luck last time – we spent weeks looking for the DA before that."
Scorpius drew his wand with a thin, cold smile. "Blood Magic," he said.
A flick, and the tip of his birch wand sharpened into a point. He pricked his index finger, not even wincing at the sting. Dark drops of blood welled up, coating the light wood. He murmured the spell's syllables while Goyle looked on with a frown.
"It calls blood to blood – a tracking spell. Grandfather taught me. I shed enough blood in the Room last night to find it now."
Truth was, he didn't want to find the Room as much as call it to him. Gregory Goyle wasn't exactly an inconspicuous figure to go wandering the castle with.
Goyle's hand came down on his shoulder before he could push down the door handle. "You're a good kid, Scorpius," he said. "So's your father, of course – he did right by me after the war, more than he had to, even. But you... you're a good kid – like a Gryffindor."
Scorpius felt his cheeks flame over. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of his Sorting ordeal, listening to Hat singing the praise of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff while Scorpius was pleading 'please, Slytherin' over and over again in his head until the Hat finally shut up and Sorted him with a frustrated huff.
"I'm not good," he protested, shaking off Goyle's hand. "This just needs doing."
He stuck his head out the door into the deserted corridor. A few green lamps created a dim light. He flicked his wand again. On the tip, his blood glowed, pulling towards the opposite wall. Taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he laid his palm against the wood-panelled wall.
'Open.'
Under his hand, the door to the Room of Requirement formed as he had known it would.
"You think they'll come?" Goyle rumbled behind him. Scorpius looked over his shoulder. There was apprehension on the former Death Eater's face, the same he could feel prickling between his own shoulder blades.
"Yes," he said, recalling Albus's 'final warning', the callous way he'd considered killing Scorpius while kneeling above him. "They'll come."
He pushed the door open with an eerie feeling of deja vu, watching the plain room he'd left not a day ago shift and expand into a twin vision of the destroyed cavern when Goyle stepped up behind him.
"Wait here," Scorpius whispered.
Without protesting, Goyle slipped into the shadows by the door.
Scorpius rose to his full height and pushed his hood back to bare his face before taking several long steps forward until he reached a spot where the shelving had burned away almost entirely, leaving a barren clearing of sorts.
One hand clenched around his wand, he called into the darkness.
"Albus. I'm here."
This time, he didn't look around him nervously, just stared ahead until he felt the familiar oppressive sense of menace closing around him. Then he turned, unflinching, to find Albus at his back.
Dread crawled through Scorpius's gut, but he knew that no trace of it appeared on his face. He inclined his head a fraction.
Albus looked just like he had before, as if violating his best friend hadn't left any scars at all – sinister, confident, with a deadly glow in his eyes.
"You've come back to die, Malfoy?" he asked. "You should have let me kill you earlier, then, and saved yourself a lot of pain." The elegant curve of his mouth twisted into something a lot less beautiful. "Or were you so desperate to have me?"
Scorpius wasn't going to grace that with a response, and Albus didn't seem to expect one. Instead, he raised his hand. A familiar cluster of sparks started to whirl around his fingers. "It's a pity, almost," Albus mused as the fireball took shape, a twin of the one that had nearly fried Adam Bulstrode. "I'd hoped I might get another chance at that sweet body of yours."
He took aim, the glowing fireball highlighting the green of his eyes.
Scorpius let out a soft, contemptuous snort. "I know who you are," he stated, staring straight into Albus's face and trying to look beyond. "Vincent Crabbe, junior Death Eater – a bloody fool who messed around with magic way beyond his control just to look tough."
An ugly grimace flitted across Albus's features, but his hand with the fireball never wavered. "Yes, the boy thought you'd find out sooner or later," he said. "But I'm quite a bit more than that, now. Will you rest easier knowing, Malfoy?"
Scorpius didn't reply. He heard the light scrape of footsteps behind him. Albus, focused entirely on him, did not.
"Vince? Is that you?"
Scorpius saw Albus's body jerk and turn, a wooden movement that was utterly at odds with his usual grace. He stared at Goyle, who'd stepped out from the shadows and loomed a few feet behind Scorpius. Swallowed, as if he was struggling for words.
"Greg?" he rasped. He took a step forward, shock, pain and disbelief warring on his face. "What... what happened to you?"
Goyle took one, two tentative steps, towering over Albus and yet seeming dwarfed in comparison. His mouth moved, but formed no words.
Albus clenched his fists, Scorpius all but forgotten. "You left me here, Greg! Why did you leave me?"
Suddenly, it felt much warmer even than before. Goyle licked his dry lips. "You died, Vince."
"No." Protest, instinctive, automatic. Shaking his head, Albus stepped back.
"You died," Goyle repeated doggedly. "I was there. I saw you conjure the Fiendfyre, and it burned you to death. Malfoy and I, we got out. You didn't."
"But I'm alive," Albus protested. There was a touch of desperation creeping into his voice, however.
"The Potter boy's alive," said Goyle. "And the bloody fire. Not you, Vince." His voice cracked. "I think you should let him go."
"He came to me!" Albus sounded almost petulant. "Didn't even fight us all that much, not even for little Malfoy." A malicious leer twisted his delicate features and half-hidden behind Goyle's leather-clad body, Scorpius shivered despite the heat.
"Maybe." Goyle shrugged, as if he'd altogether forgotten about the boy he was talking to, and only saw his former friend. "But you can't keep him. Those two children... they're ours. Slytherins. Not Potter and Malfoy - just children."
Albus's face scrunched up. "I don't want to go back! It's..."
"I know." Goyle's voice was astonishingly gentle for such a large man. "You won't have to. But we've got to get those two out of here first."
"He won't like it," Albus said in a small voice.
Goyle touched his face, and Scorpius had to look to the ground to escape the intensity of the look they shared. "No, he won't."
It happened so fast that Scorpius had no time to prepare. Neither had Albus. Albus's body jerked; he clutched his face where Goyle had touched him, then stumbled back and crashed to his knees. Goyle too staggered, pressing both hands against his chest. An unfamiliar expression remodelled his face, alien and yet... not. Slowly, his large fists began to glow.
Albus hugged his chest with both arms, trembling violently. When he lifted his head to look at Scorpius, all Scorpius could see was black, unfathomable horror.
Scorpius took a tentative step towards him when Goyle looked up and caught his eye.
"Go," he said quietly. The glow around his hands had intensified, and slowly spread up his arms. Goyle's bristly jaw clenched, and the muscles in his arms stood out below the sleeveless leather vest.
As careful as if moving to gentle a wild creature, Scorpius reached out for Albus, but the other boy recoiled, burying his face in his hands.
A hiss, and a crackle. Scorpius looked up in horror to see flames bursting from Goyle's hands. Not dancing sparks but true, consuming fire, and a matching ring of flames rose up from the ground to ignite the hem of his cloak.
"Go!" Goyle yelled again while sparks crackled around his bulky form. Flames licked at his clothes, his hair. A fiery spiral in all shades from white-blue to the darkest red started to swirl around him, a burning serpent encircling its prey before rising up to the ceiling, seeking for more. For a moment, Scorpius could still make out Goyle's shape, head bowed and arms clutching his chest as if he was holding something he wouldn't let go, even in death. Then he was gone, consumed by a howling inferno.
A gush of scorching air whipped over Scorpius face, draining away every bit of moisture in his mouth and whatever wetness there might have been in his eyes. He turned to Albus, still kneeling motionless on the ground like a self-dedicated sacrifice, and was beside him in an instant, turning his back on the fire snake that consumed Gregory Goyle and whatever was left of Vincent Crabbe. He grabbed Albus's thin wrist and pulled, dragging him to his feet.
Albus's stumbled against him, but the gush of fire at his back didn't allow Scorpius to pause. Tightening his grip, he started to run, willing Albus to keep up with him. His lungs burned. After a few steps, Albus seemed to regain his footing, keeping up with Scorpius's pace by a sheer miracle alone. 'We should have brooms for this', Scorpius thought, overcome by the wild impulse to laugh into the flaring heat.
There was the wall, right before him, and the door a few paces further down. He veered to the left, dragging Albus after him. Grabbing the door handle with his free hand, he tore it open and propelled Albus through with so much force that he skidded several feet into the corridor. Hand still on the handle, Scorpius caught an eyeful of fire serpent, a roaring, towering mass that took up the entire breadth of the hall, surging towards him. He felt his eyebrows blister and fell back, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, and threw himself into the corridor, slamming the door shut behind him with all his might.
Stumbling backwards, dreading the sight of the fire serpent smashing the door and the wall and burning them both, he watched the door fade into the wall until plain stone merged where it had been. The impact never came. The roar of fire was shut off in an instant of ringing silence that was more painful on the ear than the noise had been.
Scorpius looked around. A few feet behind him, Albus had collapsed on the ground, his breaths loud and laboured as he tried to pull air into his singed lungs.
They were no longer in the dungeons. Wood-panelled walls had given way to plain stone and huge, arched windows that looked out into the night sky. Jagged streaks of moonlight peered through a jumble of clouds, spilling frosty light on the window seats and the turrets and crenellations of the castle outside.
Scorpius dragged himself to the stone window seat and collapsed on it. After a few moments, he pulled his feet up and hugged his knees tightly, staring out at the roofs of the castle bathed in silver.
It took a long time before he heard Albus's footsteps. He didn't quite come up to where Scorpius sat, but slid down to the floor against the wall at Scorpius's back.
"'I'm sorry' isn't going to help, is it?" Albus finally broke the silence.
Scorpius felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Not really, no."
After another long moment of silence, Albus asked, "What's going to happen now?"
Scorpius watched the moonbeams paint spikes of light on the windowsill at his feet. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all. There's nothing left. The Fiendfyre, Crabbe... they're all gone, aren't they?" It was a statement, not a question. The Fiendfyre required a human mind to cling to. Devouring its host, it had destroyed itself.
"Yes," Albus answered. "But Goyle..."
"Has been a loner," Scorpius said, digging nails into his palms again to fight back tears. "Nobody will come looking for him. Nobody knew he was here."
"He should be remembered," Al said. "He died to save us both. Crabbe too, I think."
"He will be," Scorpius promised. "We'll remember him. Always."
"Don't!" Albus protested. "Don't try and keep it secret because of me. You've been hurt. You should talk about it to feel better. It works for Muggles."
"Talking isn't going to make it better," Scorpius said as gentle as he could. He couldn't imagine anything that would.
He rested his head against the wall, eyes half shut, probing the bottomless exhaustion that tugged at him with detached interest. Albus didn't move, and if it wasn't for the soft sounds of his breathing, he might not have been there at all. He wouldn't leave, though. He was waiting.
"You said you knew I wanted you," Scorpius finally broke the silence. Blunt, because it had to be asked. "Was that true."
"Yes." Albus's voice sounded muffled. "I didn't know how I felt about it. I wasn't ready. Mostly, I didn't want things between us to change, so I did nothing." He let out a noise that might have been a very bitter laugh. "Well, we saw how well that turned out."
It had been a safe bet, too. Giving Albus time to search his feelings, and afterwards, should he decide he wanted Scorpius, Scorpius would still be there, waiting.
"You did want it after all, though, didn't you," Scorpius said. "It wasn't just Crabbe. It was part of you, too."
When Albus's voice drifted up to him, Scorpius almost didn't need to hear it.
"Yes."
Scorpius nodded silently. He had known that, of course. Known it from the start. At one point, not too long ago, it would have been all he'd ever wished for.
"There is no going back to what we were before, is there?" Albus asked, and this time, Scorpius smiled. He slid off the window seat, eyes still directed outside and full of clouds, towers and moonlight. There was an icy, solitary peace there.
"No," he replied softly. "There isn't."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Time will not heal a dead boy's scars,
Time will kill.
(For the Heart I Once Had, Nightwish)
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to JKR. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.