Chapter 2
“All my memories gather round her,
Miner’s lady, stranger to blue water.
Dark and dusty, painted on the sky,
Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye.”
Harry stood outside the door to room P5, listening to a deep, mournful voice singing. He almost didn’t want to interrupt. The voice made the song sound haunting, full of heartbreak. He took a deep breath; he had a job to do, he didn’t have time to eavesdrop on his patients, and from what Daisy had told him, it sounded quite serious.
Harry pushed the door open and took a step inside before stopping. Before him, like a vision straight out of his dreams, sat Draco Malfoy. His hair fell in wavy curtains, obscuring most of his face from where he sat side-on to the door. He was wearing black suit trousers and a powder-blue button down with the sleeves rolled up. On the bed lay a miniature version of him. The child had a cherubic face, with rounded cheeks and plump cheeks and long, sweeping pale eyelashes that fluttered gently. To his great surprise, Malfoy’s son was beautiful. He had all of Malfoy’s colouring but none of his pointiness. The boy was all soft edges and baby fat where he lay in white pyjamas with rabbits on them. Muggle ones, Harry noted. The rabbits weren’t moving.
Neither occupant of the room seemed to have noticed him come in, and Harry took a few seconds to ground himself, shaking off any old memories that the sight of Malfoy had stirred in him.
“Good Morning. My name is Healer Potter, and I believe I am here to take a look at…” he scanned the notes that Daisy had pushed into his hand. This was a reason to read them beforehand, he scolded himself, so he didn’t get any nasty surprises. “Scorpius Malfoy?”
Malfoy senior had sat back in his chair, clutching at his son’s hand, and was just staring at Harry, eyes red-rimmed but blank, mouth half-open.
“What seems to be the problem then?” Harry said, disconcerted by how obvious it was that Malfoy had been crying. He walked over to the bed and took a closer look at Scorpius. His face was pale, and beads of sweat had darkened his hairline and dotted his forehead and nose. Harry pursed his lips. He didn’t like this. He conjured a stool and perched on it on the other side of the bed from Malfoy.
“Am I alright to ask him a few questions?” Harry asked Malfoy, who nodded vacantly.
“Yes, of course. He might not be up to answering much. He sort of slips in and out of sleepiness.” Malfoy responded, casting his eyes briefly at Harry before continuing to stare, stricken, at his son.
Harry took Scorpius’ hand in his and squeezed gently. The boy’s head rolled over and his eyes opened.
“Hello there, little man, My name’s Harry. I’m the Healer. What’s your name?” he asked, putting on the voice he always put on for kids this age. It helped them trust him. He tried not to wonder if Malfoy thought it stupid.
“ ‘M Scorp’us.” Scorpius whispered, voice soft. Harry didn’t like this one bit.
“Hello Scorpius. Are you not feeling very well today?” Harry asked, releasing the boy’s hand to feel his forehead, which was burning up.
“No.” Scorpius said, his lips wobbling. His face scrunched and then fat tears started rolling down his cheeks. “No, ‘m not feeling well a’ all.” he hiccuped. Harry dared a look at Malfoy and his heart stumbled at the pain written across the man’s face.
“Shh, Scorp. Mon chou, I know it’s not nice, but the Healer’s here now, he’ll help, okay” Malfoy whispered to his son in soothing tones, petting his hair and pressing kisses to his face. This man was two world’s away from the Draco Malfoy he remembered, and it made Harry stumble in the rest of his questions, stuttering and repeating himself. He got a vague idea of Scorpius’ symptoms, and he read over Daisy’s findings and ideas as he cast his own set of spells over the little body lying in the bed.
Harry looked at what the spells were telling him. He really, really didn’t like this.
“Right. Scorpius, how about you have a nice nap with Nurse Daisy, whilst I take dad for a little chat, does that sound okay?” Harry asked, after he ended all his spells, and wrote down his findings.
“Daddy. Not dad.” Scorpius said in that sleepy voice of his, eyes half lidded as he looked at Harry. Harry bit his lip to stop his laugh escaping, even with the sickness, Scorpius sounded just as imperious as his father used to when correcting someone.
“My apologies. I’ll take daddy off for a chat, okay?” Harry asked again, trying to keep a straight face. Scorpius nodded, and Harry sent off a flying memo to call Daisy back in. When she returned, he beckoned to Malfoy and set off down the corridor. He was grateful when Malfoy didn’t attempt to talk to him on the walk to Harry’s little office, nestled at the end of the long corridor that made up the paediatric ward at Saint Mungo’s.
“Please, sit.” Harry said, sitting in his own chair and gesturing to the one that sat on the other side of his messy desk.
“Right. You said the symptoms have been there for around three or four days, but the lack of magic has been longer than that?” Harry asked Malfoy, trying to avoid the other man's face. The worry had leached all the colour and life out of Malfoy, who sat opposite Harry like a deflated balloon.
“Yes. I didn’t really notice the magic at first- we don’t live in the magical world anymore. Scorpius goes to a muggle school, and we have muggle friends, and neighbours, so magic isn’t really a part of everyday life anymore. And he usually goes off when he’s really excited or upset, and life has been somewhat boring recently, so there’s been no need for him to go off. I only noticed it because, well. He has a little toy broom that he rides in the garden sometimes. He usually tries to summon it off the floor like a normal broom, and last Saturday he couldn’t manage it. I thought it was something wrong with the broom, not him.”
Harry sat and stared for much longer than polite. Draco Malfoy lived as a muggle now? He actually said the words ‘magic isn’t a part of everyday life’. Harry didn’t realise how long for until Malfoy spoke again.
“I’m sorry. I know this-'' Malfoy gestured between them, “must be quite difficult, but I, well, Scorpius needs help. Please, please don’t deny him that help because of me.” Malfoy’s voice broke as he spoke, and silver lined his eyes. Harry hated to admit it, but his heart ached a little for Malfoy. He knew how it felt, to have a sick child and just feel so helpless. It wasn’t a feeling he ever wanted to feel again.
“No, let me apologise, Malfoy. I’m not trying to be rude, I swear, I just- you live with muggles. You have a son. It's rather a lot to wrap my head around. Rest assured, Scorpius will get the best help magic can offer. Now, speaking of, let me explain my working hypothesis.” Harry looked at the piece of parchment in his hands, double checking his notes.
“Well. I’m afraid there are some issues with Scorpius and his magical core development. I can give him a course of potions to alleviate the physical symptoms he’s currently experiencing, but I'm afraid finding the root of the issue is going to require a little bit more work. If it's all okay with you, I’ll take a blood sample and call you both in for an appointment next week, and we can figure out where to go from there. I will warn you Malfoy, there could be an extended period of time before we fix this properly, but I can assure you it is unlikely Scorpius will become as sick as he is today during this process.” Harry said, being purposefully vague about the issue, even though he knew Malfoy would notice. Harry dropped his notes and sat back in his chair.
“I’m sorry, Po- Healer Potter, only you’ve not actually told me what's wrong.” Malfoy said, just like Harry guessed. He sighed. He hated when this happened.
“I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I’m afraid I don’t know. I know that's not what you want to hear, and I can walk you through what I do know, if that’ll provide any more peace of mind?”
Malfoy nodded so vigorously at the offer, which Harry didn’t usually make- he liked to wait until he had concrete answers- and all the hair he had tucked behind his ears fell into his face again. This man sat in front of him- so human, so fragile- was nothing like Harry remembered. What had happened, in the years since the war? They were twenty-five now, which meant Malfoy must have become a dad when he was around nineteen or twenty. Fatherhood changed a person, Harry supposed. And muggles. Malfoy lived with muggles now. Wonders never cease.
“Well. The spells done by Daisy and I revealed a sort-of, semi-formed core. Our diagnostic spells said it was depleted, and also that it hasn’t been developing properly. Scorpius’ core isn’t as strong as it should be for his age.” Harry knew he wasn’t being very reassuring, but he also knew Malfoy would feel worse if he got no information at all.
“Is he a squib?” Malfoy asked, squaring his shoulders. Harry was taken aback by the question. He didn’t expect Malfoy to ask it at all really, assuming it would never cross his mind that his son couldn’t do magic. He also didn’t expect the acceptance. Malfoy didn’t seem like he cared what the answer was, just that there was an answer. Harry ignored the question.
“Can I ask- when Scorpius was born. There are tests they do now, that they would have done on Scorpius. Tests to determine whether he has magic, whether there were any issues with his core. Were any of these done?” Harry tried to ask the question delicately, but it was clear from Malfoy's face that it struck a nerve.