Three
To say he got terrible sleep that night would be a gross understatement.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Scorpius paced across his room mercilessly, starting from 9 in the evening to nearly 5 in the morning. He would stop momentarily when his father’s cries penetrated through the wall and sobs of his own would begin to well up in response.
Scorpius would cry more out of pity than out of vulnerability, he liked to imagine. His father sounded like a choked dog almost every night now, only retiring to bed the hour before he needed to get up for funeral arrangements.
Like father, like son, he supposed.
Except Scorpius didn’t spend this night lamenting, or praying to some God, or writing endless letters to his mother about how terrified he was of returning to school. He packed his bag, over and over and over, until perfection had been overrun a million times over.
Until he was completely satisfied.
On his radio, music was playing faintly. Something dramatic and undeniably British, like the Smiths. He didn’t really love them, but the radio was inherited from his dad, who happened to adore them. He wondered if would still now, playing Back to The Old House when Scorpius had gone off to school.
It was a funny thought. Probably the first one he’d had since she died.
Mourning was never something typical of Scorpius. When his grandmother died, he cried very briefly, but otherwise moved on. When he saw a bird run into a window and crash itself dead, he shrugged it off. Maybe it was shock that was numbing him, but he was feeling just about the same right now.
Unlike his father, the tears that came down after she died felt unnatural. Yes, he was beyond devastated. He wasn’t a psychopath, after all, but he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable in the face of death.
So he tried to ignore it. Best he could, anyway.
“Scorp, go to bed!” Aunt Daph called from the next room.
He thought she would have given up on that already, considering it had been more than a week’s time. And the fact that the sun was already up. Maybe her maternal impulse was finally kicking in.
“It’s not like you’re asleep,” he called back.
He could hear her offended scoff, “I’m not going to school today, am I? You are,”
“So?”
“Go to sleep, Scorpius!”
And with that, the door shut with an exaggerated bang.
Giving up his reserve, he lay sprawled on his bed and promptly passed out until 9AM.
The hours between 9-11 were not particularly memorable for Scorpius, albeit the arrival to 9 3/4. That’s where, or at least he thought, he’d felt the most emotion through this entire ordeal.
It reminded him too much.
”Mum, I can’t! I’m scared!”
Scorpius was only eight years old, but the Malfoys had decided to visit King’s Cross Station on September 1st to watch the Hogwarts students leave the station.
They would repeat this routine, eventually. If Scorpius ever decided to jump through the wall.
His mother laughed the hearty laugh she always had and took his hand gently.
”Sweetheart, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I know it looks like a wall, but that’s just an illusion,”
“How?” he questioned, “It looks just like bricks,”
His father, from high above, chuckled.
“Godric, he reminds me so much of myself when I was his age. So scared to do anything risky,”
”Well, that’s because you were a huge scaredy cat, Draco. I remember your mother telling me you couldn’t even muster the courage to climb a tree,”
He gasped in mock horror, something Scorpius found hilarious. A laugh bubbled in his throat, then exploded, then threatened to knock him onto the station floor.
”That’s just insulting,”
His mother rolled her eyes.
”At least I could climb a tree,”
”Mum!” Scorpius squeaked, “Go first! Please,”
”Well, only if you say please,”
She smiled, inching her free hand towards the wall until it had absorbed it.
Scorpius’s face transformed into a giant O of awe. She had done it! It was an illusion! What a marvel!
”Let me do it now!” He cried, “I wanna go through the wall!”
”What do we say when we want something?” Astoria asked with a giggle.
”Pleasee?”
She sighed, content, “That’s right,”
“How are you feeling?”
His father’s newly gruff voice broke him away from the memory.
”Fine,” Scorpius replied, “As well as expected, I guess,”
There was an awkward pause, Daphne coughing at an attempt to ease the silence.
“At least you’ll have Albus,” his father sighed, “Albus is a great friend to you, Scorp. Don’t take that for granted,”
Never in the history of the world did Scorpius believe that his father would say a good thing about a Potter.
Death did funny things to people.
”I won’t, Dad,”
He meant it.
The hustle and bustle of Hogwarts today, September 1st, 2017, almost frightened him. The families, friends, and many, many confused looking first years. A few muggles here and there, who were probably wondering what they did to deserve landing here in King’s Cross.
Smells of homemade this and that wafted in the air as eager first years hopped onto the train, waving to their emotional mums and dads and families. Corned beef, turkey sandwiches, leftover curry.
The aroma filled Scorpius’ nose, assaulting his senses with its pleasant, familiar nature.
It was a stark contrast to the environment he’d been living in for the past summer. The influx of noise felt overwhelming, yet he was glad he could have something to blend into.
That was, until he spotted Albus.
He looked worse off than Scorpius, sporting a look on his face like the entire would had soured his resolve. That was probably because he was with his father, whom he didn’t like very much.
Albus didn’t really like his family much at all, and Scorpius could understand why. They always wanted more from him. Especially when it came to Houses. On an unlucky stroke, Albus had been sorted into Slytherin, which resulted in a howler from his grandparents and years of familial tension. Since then, all the Potters did was compare him to his obnoxious older brother James, who of course, was sorted into Gryffindor.
“Go on, Scorp. It’s good for you to talk with him,”
The tone in which his father spoke was one of defeat. It impacted Scorpius more than he’d ever admit to him, seeing his father this way.
In a way, the father he once knew had died with his mother.
”I will, Dad,” he tried to say confidently, “Have a good semester,”
”He’s not the one going to school, silly,” Daphne laughed, “But we’ll try to have a good time while you’re gone,”
She kissed Scorpius on the cheek, but he didn’t reject the advance as he usually did. He had a feeling she needed it much more than he ever would.
“Bye Dad. Bye Aunt Daph,”
The two adults waved in unison, Scorpius noticing their eyes beginning to well.
It was hard to walk away from the family that desperately needed him. It was even more difficult to resist the temptation to blend in with the crowd.
He eventually reached Albus, diving through a sea of people to do so.
As he approached his best friend, the atmosphere changed. He felt different, in a nauseating way.
Scorpius was used to being around people who already knew. He had never had to deliver the news before.
“Hi, Scorp,”
Albus waved awkwardly, a look of concern evident. It didn’t hold the graveness it should’ve, just a hint of worry.
Scorpius decided to stay silent until they were on the train for a while, cozied in a compartment where no one was around to eavesdrop.
How was he going to tell Albus? How do you tell someone that your mother…that your mother—
“It’s really bad, Al,” Scorpius gasped, “It’s really bad,”
The graveness appeared.
”What’s wrong?” Albus asked frantically, “Did your mum get worse?”
Albus’ face was going just as pale of Scorpius. He wasn’t particularly close to Scorp’s mum, but he knew how much he meant to her.
He took a deep breath, his voice trying not to quaver, ”The funeral’s in a few days,”
Something changed within Scorpius for that moment. For a second, he finally felt what he believed he was supposed to feel: excruciatingly and debilitatingly sad.
”Come with me.” he suddenly remarked, “I cannot be alone with my father there. I think I’d kill myself,”
“Mate!” Albus exclaimed, “You cannot tell me your sick mother has died and then threaten to kill yourself!”
Albus obviously couldn’t take a joke.
Scorpius let out a dry chuckle, ”You’re not even going to tell me you’re sorry for my loss?”
Albus recollected himself, “I am sorry, very sorry Scorpius. I know how much she meant to you, and I’ll be here if you need anything at all,”
The words didn’t quite pierce through Scorpius this time, but he felt grateful nonetheless. Not grateful enough to stop joking, though.
”So, no sorry for my loss?” He continued.
Albus went from irritated, to shocked, to empathetic, to looking like he was going to burst at Scorpius’s comments.
”Do you really want me to say that?” he groaned, “Is this how you’re going to start your third year, by making a bloody joke about your dead mum?”
”Yeah,”
Albus laughed, Scorpius assumed from the sheer absurdity of his reply.
”I’m sorry for your loss, Scorpius,”
“Thanks, Albus,”
The train ride was quiet after that, the two boys exchanging words every half hour or so. Mostly, they slept or gazed out the window, looking disinterested at everything around them. The United Kingdom wasn’t much to look at anyways, even in the height of summer. Gray, overcast skies and a flurry of vegetation was the best you’d get.
Scorpius was glad for that.
For once in the last three months, he could let his mind fly far away into the overcast sky, where dead mothers and mourning fathers ceased to exist.