Chapter Text
The disappearance of Scorpius Malfoy begins like this:
A Manor that bears the same name as Scorpius, desolate and in occasional disrepair. There is no liveliness to this home, but Scorpius isn’t sure there ever was.
Still, the manor is full in other ways, in the way of books lining shelves in the library, how Grandmother’s furniture still remains ornately placed in each room, of tapestries visible on the walls -
“Look, my darling. Right there, do you see your name?”
His mother’s voice flits through his memory as his fingers trace the family lineage right down to his name, nestled between the names Draco and Astoria Malfoy.
His hand lingers on his mother’s name for a moment longer than necessary before he continues his trek of exploration.
Scorpius isn’t sure why there are occasional cracks in the wall, for he could have sworn his father once told him that the Manor could repair itself of any damages. Just as all the portraits are meant to speak, yet he only hears the ramblings of a small few, the rest remaining still and stone faced in their etched expressions.
It’s hard to imagine his father growing up in this place but considers it is why his father’s body does not always match his words, why his movements became stiff the moment Scorpius brought home a large stuffed snake, or the way his father would reassure him at night after a nightmare with hands trying not to shake.
“We all have nightmares.”
“Even you?”
“Even me.”
Scorpius believed his father, because some months later, his parents had forgotten the silencing charm in their room, and the sound of his father’s screams tore him from his bed. Scorpius, heart thundering in his chest and stuffed niffler tucked in his arms, carefully approached to find his mother cradling his father in her lap, her hands as gentle and delicate as they always are -
Were, his mind corrects. The way his mother’s hands were.
There are no portraits of his mother in this house, and thus, Scorpius already mistrusts it. Because while he loves his father, he misses his mother more than anything, and everything she touched should bear her mark, the proof that she was here.
Despite it having been two years, it is a gaping wound that won’t seem to heal, one where he is constantly looking for her, only to find the remnants of her life left behind.
Her unopened books, the half used jar of cream on her vanity, the apples she grew in the garden resting in a bowl on the counter, as if the very hands that had nurtured them - nurtured him - hadn’t been ripped from this world.
Spring proved to be the hardest, the fresh blooms of flowers. The promising warmth of the sunrise. There was so much life everywhere, so much that had been denied his own mother.
Even though he had only been six years old when it happened, Scorpius knew this was a hurt that would stay with him forever.
Sometimes it hurt loudly, grief lashing against him so violently, reminiscent of their last family holiday, watching waves of the ocean crashing into the coast, the noise so loud Scorpius had to cover his ears. On those nights, he can only sleep curled up into his father’s arms. On those nights, he pretends he doesn’t feel the slight shake of his father’s shoulders; he pretends all the tears staining his cheeks belong to him alone.
Other times, it hurts quietly. Like a whisper, or the delicate feeling of his mother’s hand against his cheek.
So when he hears her voice, his entire body halts, a paralyzing hope seizing him at the soft lull of her familiar voice.
“Scorpius?”
It’s faint, a mere whisper, but it’s there. Enough to cause his heart to stutter, urging him to find her. It beckons him down the hall, the promise of warmth in her tone as he rounded the corner of the hall.
Hesitation finds him at the entrance of his Grandfather’s old study, remembering his father’s instructions.
“You know where you’re allowed to go. I just have to meet with the Solicitor to finalize some things, which shouldn’t take long.” He warned with a firm tone. “I don’t want you wandering throughout the Manor, Scorpius. There’s -”
“Dangerous items -” Scorpius interrupted with a sigh. “But you said the Minis - the Minis -” He fumbled with the word in frustration, the word getting caught on the newest gap in his teeth. “The people took all the danger out.”
“The Ministry.” His father corrected gently, offering him an encouraging smile that Scorpius didn’t return. “They did, but -” A pause, and Scorpius watched as his father’s eyes seemed to go far away like they often do when he thinks about bad things. “I just want you to be careful.”
“I will.”
He always follows his father’s rules, especially when it regards the Manor. It’s rare Scorpius gets brought to the Manor anymore, especially since Grandmother died. When he sneaks out of his room after pretending to be asleep, he hears his dad murmuring to his friends about the Manor magic and that Scorpius needs to be kept away from it.
And so, he heeds his father’s warning.
Except in this - with the whispers of his mother’s voice dancing around his ears.
On any other day, he would grab his father - drag him down the corridor to hear, to confirm that this is indeed his mother. Because as much as it carves and hollows him out, Scorpius admits that there are times he cannot remember his mother’s voice, and on those days he feels he has failed her in the worst way imaginable.
On any other day, he would run to his father. Yet today, they had argued, and not the regular kind. The kind that Scorpius felt opened a fissure that threatens to grow wider and wider, pushing father and son apart into an irreparable state of being.
“I told you not to go into that room!”
“Who is that?” Panic tinged his voice, the unfamiliarity of what he’d seen leaving him trembling. He knew where his father kept his private Pensieve, and on the hard nights Draco would take Scorpius down to watch memories of his mother. It began impulsively, and had become a new routine that he latched onto desperately.
In these, he could see his mother’s soft smile. The one she reserved for him. The tenderness in her gaze for his father. He could see his father, eyes alight in ways he could no longer remember seeing them.
“Those are private, Scorpius. If you need to come down here, ask.”
But Scorpius, now near-hyperventilating, felt the absence of his mother striking him like a blow. “I just wanted to see her!” He cried, and his words remained stuck, as if a record caught skipping, and he could see the pain strike his father’s face.
Instead, he must have picked the wrong memory, the wrong time. Because rather than the soft, gracious smile of his mother, he bore witness to snake-like eyes, of terror coursing through his father’s blood.
“I just wanted to see her.” He continued, saying it over and over again until his voice was only a whisper and tears streaked his face.
It made him long for his mother with an ache so deep, he thinks it may swallow him whole. His mother loves him - loved him - so differently from his father. Not less, not more, just different. What he wants is his mother to hold him tightly and comfort him like she once did, “It’s alright, my little dove.”
His father grew into a parent, his mother would tell him on the nights they fought. It was not something he was made for, but he molded himself so for Scorpius, because he loved him just so and just right. Scorpius reminds himself of this whenever he has any doubts, that his father makes an effort for no reason other than his sheer love for his son.
His mother, however, was born for motherhood, was born for the sole purpose of Scorpius - or so his father tells him. “She believes in me - in you, in us. She always said there was a Scorpius shaped hole in her heart until you came along.”
And now their roles exist in reverse, with Scorpius having known the wholeness of his mother in his heart before having her snatched from him.
So when he hears that voice - her voice, he’s sure of it - there is the courage to step forward, that he can find her without the aid of his father. There’s a hopefulness, a sense of independence, but most importantly, the longing that leads him into the room, calling after her with a soft murmur.
Even when the door shuts, causing Scorpius to jump, fear interlacing its way with his hope. One wins dominion, of course, because what is there without hope? He focuses on this thread, this quiet thought in his heart, hones in on it so much that he doesn’t feel the shift in the air, the thick magic permeating the room.
He’s gone before he can even register something is wrong.
When his father calls for him to no avail, the initial response isn’t worry. After all, this house is large and there are enough corridors to wander, forbidden regions aside. It’s only after his fourth attempt that Draco Malfoy’s heartbeat picks up an agitated beat, progressively quickening with each passing minute that his son isn’t found.
By the time others arrive and the alarm is sounded, Draco Malfoy’s heartbeat has permanently picked up a thread of panic with an undercurrent of dread.
The day Scorpius Malfoy disappears ends like this -
There is a whisper, and then there is silence.