Chapter 1
Scorpius Malfoy loved many things, yet the scent of fresh pine, olive, and tamarisk trees mingled with the thick salty smell of the sea owned his heart.
The waves crashed periodically onto the shore, their roaming hands clawing into the soft sand before retreating to the sea, leaving the sand glossed and unblemished.
Scorpius sat, his toes buried beneath the warm sand, as he gazed absent-mindedly towards the Aegean Sea. He inhaled deeply, releasing it gradually so the salt-scented air could absorb into his bloodstream.
Scorpius and his father, Draco Malfoy, had departed for the Mediterranean once his fourth year at Hogwarts had ended. The trip promised exposure to both wizard and muggle culture, but it also posed an opportunity to revive the relationship they once shared, which had died alongside Astoria. The pair started in vibrant Morocco before dawdling to Barcelona, Nice, Monaco, and Corsica. They continued to Sardinia, Rome, and a small coastal town in Albania before reaching their current village in Greece. It had been a month of constant movement, sightseeing, and adventure, yet the only thing impeding Scorpius from declaring utter perfection was the absence of two people: his mother and his best friend, Albus Potter.
Scorpius was lost in thought when Draco came from behind, settling uneasily upon the sand, careful not to spill his wine onto his lap.
“Oh, hi.” Scorpius sent him a tired smile. Draco returned it.
“Scorpius. I thought that tomorrow we should switch up our narrative and head into the muggle town to embrace some authentic muggle culture. But if you wish to stay here, then it would not-”
“Yes. I'd like that," Scorpius cut in.
His father had spent the last month striving to be at his best. Draco had long realised he would never compare to Astoria and her unabashed love and elegance, but that should not impede him from trying his best to be a good father, something he has poorly maintained since her death.
Draco nodded, allowing himself a small, relieved smile before turning his attention to the ocean and busying himself with a sip of wine.
The pair sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Scorpius hauls himself from the sand, dusting off his pants and hands, grabbing his shoes, and walking barefoot back to their little coastal cottage, Draco not far behind.
Draco started dinner, intently following a muggle pasta recipe. He was determined to cook without magic. The sound of boiling water and ceramic clashing filled the open living area, accompanied by an Italian vinyl playing softly in the background.
Scorpius sat cross-legged in a teal armchair, reading the letter Albus had sent earlier. A smile crept onto his face as he read the sloppy, slanted scrawl belonging to the one and only Albus Potter, who had scribbled about his life back home in England.
Albus was his best friend. They became best friends instantly upon meeting back on the Hogwarts Express, despite each other's last names. They finally managed to convince their parents so they could visit each other over the summer, but Draco randomly surprised Scorpius with an improv trip around the Mediterranean. So, instead, they have been communicating as much as possible through letters, talking about everything and nothing.
Scorpius chuckled as he read the portion regarding Lily, who had snuck away on a broom to Godric's Hollow to play football, a strange muggle game similar to quidditch but on the ground, with a group of muggle kids. Albus’s father had sent a team of Aurors looking for her, expecting the worst, only to find her eating ice cream with a muggle boy who had caught her fancy. Quite anti-climatic.
Scorpius grabbed a quill and a small glass ink pot, a smirk on his face as he wrote a response. Draco watched his son as he finished plating the meal and gave himself a knowing smile.
“Scorpius, food’s done.”
Scorpius hurried over, hungry from the day of sightseeing, spooning himself an overflowing bowl of pasta. A thick, mouth-watering tomato and garlic aroma occupied his every thought before he tucked into his meal, perched beside his father on the small island in the centre of the kitchen.
“So, Scorpius, who are you writing to? I have a hunch, but please, indulge my curiosity.”
Scorpius smiled sheepishly.
“Albus. He told me Lily ran away to play feetball or something. Some type of muggle game. Have you heard of it?”
“No, I haven't… Do I get a point for guessing correctly?” Draco teased. Scorpius replied with an exasperated eye roll paired with a smile.
“What? You’ve sent him a novel worth of letters in the past month. Don’t think I haven't taken notice.” Draco played with his pasta a bit.
“You know... I’m glad you have a friend—a real one. It makes me happy.”
Scorpius looked up from his meal, pushing a fallen blond strand from his face.
“Yeah, me too.”
*****
“How about that one?” Scorpius asked as he pointed to a nice restaurant, almost dropping the excessive map of the small city they were touring.
“No, it’s far too...” Draco faltered slightly in thought, “English. We are here to experience Greek culture, not poorly done imitations of home. If I wanted some good Shepherd's pie, I’d catch a portkey to London.”
“Alright. There's a couple local restaurants up here, but they won’t be to your standards,” Scorpius offered, shooting Draco a teasing smile.
“The wand always obeys the kin, Scorpius.”
Scorpius and Draco settled for a small wizard restaurant that overlooks the ocean. It was crowded but calm, with people talking in excited Greek and foreigners speaking their native tongue. The restaurant had a white interior decorated with vibrant teals and navy, with pops of oranges and reds. The restaurant smelled thick with fresh seafood, herbs, and cream. They ended up at a round wooden table, seated near the floor-length windows covering the ocean-facing wall. A large group sat to their right, and when Scorpius strained his ears, he realised they were speaking English.
Scorpius picked up the menu, skimming at the Greek, grateful for the English translations.
“What are you getting? I’m thinking about the chicken souvlaki. It sounds good and safe.” Scorpius had unintentionally ordered grilled fish at the previous restaurant and was utterly distraught due to his long-standing hatred for the species.
“I’m considering the grilled octopus,” Draco confessed.
Scorpius made a face of disgust. “That actually sounds revolting, I won’t lie.”
“I assumed you’d say that. Even more of a reason to do so.”
The waiter approached to take their order. Scorpius internally writhed when Draco ordered the octopus. The waiter smiled at his poorly restrained expression. Scorpius and his father exchanged quiet conversation before a man at the neighbouring table laughed boisterously, causing the table to erupt in similar chuckles. Draco turned slightly, his eyes landing on one of their shirts, noticing many of the table members had matching ones.
“Excuse me,” Draco interrupted politely. “What organisation is that? Do you work for them?”
The bearded man who had laughed paused his conversation, directing his attention to Draco.
“We are IRCO or the International Rare Curse Organisation. We are a small non-profit that travels internationally, meeting with both muggles and wizards in search of medicinal plants, animals, procedures—you name it—to see if we can utilise them to cure rare curses. Or, if necessary, we search for treatments for specific curses and diseases.” The man had a thick American accent: deep, confident, and casual.
Draco turned his chair slightly. “How did you find this organisation?”
The man beamed at Draco before turning his chair, mirroring Draco. "I founded IRCO with my pocket money, but now we’re collaborating with the American Wizard Health Society, so they fund our work. When my daughter died with an illness that specialists stated was ‘too uncommon to have a treatment’,” the American used air quotes, rolling his eyes. “I spent six years travelling across Eastern America for a cure, trying to save others from suffering a similar tragedy. I later did, but that's when I realised there are so many illnesses that need cures, but no one was willing to look. So, I formed IRCO, where we devote ourselves to travelling globally to find remedies or ingredients to help save lives."
“My wife had a similar fate. The doctors claimed there was little they could do to prevent her death, but I’ve never thought about it that way. Are you looking for more members?”
The man laughed, patting Draco’s arm good-naturedly. Scorpius tried not to laugh at his father’s expression, surprised by the contact. It breaks Scorpius’ heart that people still avoid his father as if he were the plague.
“Ha, we are always looking for new members. But the position is very taxing. Ain't that right, y’all?” The table agreed lightheartedly. “It requires constant movement and work, it's not the best position for someone with commitments.” The American threw a glance at Scorpius. Draco thought for a moment.
“Well, my son attends boarding school, so he only visits during summer break and major holidays, so I have no commitments for the other ten months.”
The man thought for a moment, too. He had tan skin, like someone who spends their time outside, taut under his modest muscles. A patterned tattoo wraps around his triceps. His hair and beard were a sun-bleached chestnut with a few grey strands. When he smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkled.
“How about this…”
“Draco Malfoy.”
“Draco, if you sign up before we catch our portkey tomorrow—we're leaving for Brazil—I can turn a blind eye to the application process, which usually takes a month or so, and say you're a member. We are constantly adapting to our situations; you have to in this field, but if you decide in a week or so you can’t handle it, we'll pretend like you were never there, no strings attached. But if you decide to continue with our mission, we can fill out your application, and you can become an official member. It's a lot of manual labour that doesn't pay the best at times, and you have to be ready to learn about what you're working on. I think, because of what you've been through, you’d find that this organisation is for you. I started with three, and now we have sixteen; most were random people, like you, who I met while travelling. Like Sam and Elenor,” he casually points to the couple chatting and nursing drinks.
“We met them a month ago in Belgium; they had lost a close friend to a rare curse, and now they’re thriving members. This is our family; we don’t take that lightly, so if you're open-minded and determined, come tomorrow. I’ll see you at ten by that small cafe across the street.” With that, the man winked at Draco and turned his chair back to the large group, and they absorbed him into their conversation.
Draco turned to Scorpius, who was watching the conversation. Scorpius looked down at his glass, toying with the straw, letting the ice clink quietly when it met the glass. He ran a finger over the sweat coating the side of his glass.
“I think-” Scorpius started hesitantly. “Well, I didn’t hear the last bit. Are they temporarily stationed in Greece?”
“I- well they’re leaving for Brazil tomorrow morning,” Draco admitted, trying to catch Scorpius’ eye. Scorpius didn’t look up from his drink, only swirling his straw.
“I think,” he started again. "You should go.” Scorpius looked up, meeting Draco’s soft gaze. “They’re doing what we both wish was done for Mom; maybe you’ll save someone else’s Mum. This might be your, your, you know, calling, and I don’t want to get in the way of that.”
“You could never get in the way of anything. My true calling is to be your father, but...” Draco struggled with the right words, “Well, this might be the way I can honour Tori-your mother’s memory. I know if she were still alive, she would’ve wanted me to join.”
The waiter returned, carrying two large plates, ceasing their conversation. Scorpius’ dish looked delicious, and it smelled even better. He could feel the heat rising onto his face in a hot mist.
Scorpius looked at his father’s meal and resisted the urge to gag. Draco took pleasure in his son’s distaste. He cut a large piece of the tender grilled meat, seasoned with fresh herbs and garlic, and made eye contact as he less than gracefully ate it. Draco was pleasantly surprised. Tastes like chicken.
“Would you like some? It's pleasant, but it is a traditional dish, so I didn’t expect less.” Draco cut a small piece, holding the fork out for Scorpius to take it. Scorpius eyed it distrustingly.
“Does it taste like fish?”
“Not really.”
Scorpius hesitantly grabbed the fork gingerly. He smelled it cautiously before placing it in his mouth. It was chewy yet not rubbery.
“What do you think?” Draco inquired, expecting the worst.
“It's quite nice, oh no. It shouldn’t be this good. I’m slightly in shell shock, to be honest. I don’t even know what part of the anatomy I’m eating— the arse? Who knows!”
“Scorpius, it's the tentacle, so you're eating its arm, not its arse.”
“It tastes like a chicken who snuggled with a fish, though.”
“Everything tastes like chicken; it’s quite a versatile flavour.”
“So they're leaving tomorrow?” Scorpius inquired bluntly, interrupting their good-hearted bickering. Both were slightly depressed by the suddenness, realising their vacation would end.
Draco looked at his plate for a beat.
“Scorpius.” It was soft, similar to the way he spoke to Astoria. His eyebrows were drawn together in guilt.
“Where do I go? There’s a little less than a month left of summer, and I know I can’t spend it by myself at the manor, although I’m sure the house elves would do a wonderful job.”
An idea popped into Scorpius' mind, yet it was a stretch, so instead of blurting it out, he shoved chicken in his mouth, trying to chew out the words.
After a beat, Draco began slowly, “I think I know where you could stay.”
Scorpius perked up but avoided looking at his father, leaving the statement to hang heavily in the air. Both exchanged small talk for the remainder of dinner, ignoring the topic looming like a pregnant storm cloud.
*****
The first stars were catching fire in the clear sky. The sun had set a while ago, washing everything in shades of red before fading into the navy slate that covers the universe. Warm light poured from the open windows of the thin houses lining the vacant street as the pair strolled, making their way back to the cottage. Scorpius could smell the dinner wafting from the cracks of homes and the noise of simple existence.
In Greece, there are no wizard towns. Sure, there are small communities that live together, like the neighbourhood their Airbnb sat in, but wizard culture is normalised and even practised by muggles. In town, Scorpius had seen a witch read a muggle girl's future using divination cards, and burning incense and magical sigils filled most of the little shops.
It was such an odd sight. How Scorpius craved to know more about muggles, only to find they desired knowledge about magic. As if they could feel the magic across their skin. As if they can smell the burning energy. He wonders how many muggles dream of using magic. To control the uncontrollable. Yet if he were a muggle, he believes he would crave magic too.
A brisk breeze sent Scorpius' platinum hair flying in all directions, hitting him with the aroma of salt, herbs, and the specific scent of Greece—a perfect perfume. Scorpius frowned and flattened his hair back into place. His hair was long at the top but trimmed short at the sides, but his length was nothing compared to Albus', whose hair was voluminous with loose, soft curls that never seemed to cooperate, trailing down and curling at the base of his neck.
A secret smile pulled at his lips when he glanced at Draco, fixing his own windswept hair.
The wand does obey the kin.