Chapter Text
They all gathered outside of Hagrid’s hut. It was a chill September morning. The sun was set low in the sky, still ascending. Scorpius eyed the boxes that were placed in front of them. Something was moving inside of them.
“What do you think it is?” he said in a quizzical tone.
He turned towards Al, only to be met by Weasley.
“What are you doing here, Malfoy?”
A sneer was present on her face, as she responded in that judging tone of hers.
He paused. His eyes drifted towards the rest of the class. He spotted Albus next to that Gryffindor brat, Genevieve… something. How he wished Sam was here. He knew she wouldn’t be caught dead touching animals though.
He raised his eyebrows at Weasley.
Why was he here?
Scorpius didn’t particularly mind Care of Magical Creatures. It was an enjoyable class. With the stress of most other O.W.L.s, Hagrid and the nature of being outside gave Scorpius some breathing room.
“It’s an easy O, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, off in the library studying just so you can keep up with me.”
Hagrid waved them over to the biggest box before Weasley could respond. Scorpius walked off, the mulchy ground crunching under his feet.
“Yeh ready?” Hagrid called out to the group.
The half-giant held a large crowbar in his hands. The students looked around nervously as he pried open the boxes.
“There yeh have’t.”
He gestured to the open box and they all moved in to have a peek.
Blast-ended Skrewts.
Great.
Scorpius was going to have his hair singed off.
“Go inter pairs, and yeh will have ’bout two month to feed ’em. O’ course I want yeh to enjoy, but ’spect them creatures not to die.”
Albus waved Scorpius over to his crate.
“You wanna work together?”
He started opening the box using a crowbar, similar to Hagrid. However, unlike Hagrid, Albus was not half-giant, and not very strong for being a human either.
Scorpius took out his wand and muttered a small unlocking charm.
“I guess so.”
He looked into their box. They weren’t too large yet, but they would grow over time. At the moment, they weren’t even that dangerous. But once you encountered a one metre long Skrewt, that was another story.
The class went faster than Scorpius had expected, especially considering that there was little to no work to be done. The first thirty minutes they had spent throwing some feed into the enclosure. They were nearly newborns, slimy and headless. They stumbled into each other looking for the feed.
The last sixty minutes of class Al and Scorpius spent trying to figure out what to call the little guys.
Weasley had been a downright bitch when she had heard Al and him goofing around, and even had the audacity to ask Scorpius to quiet down.
“Aight, that’ll be all for yeh first class. Make sure yeh don’t leave them buggers starving. I’ll give them some extra fodder, but yeh’r welcome to go pet them anytime yeh wants to.”
Scorpius looked in disgust down at little Timmy, Goldilocks and Titan. There was no way he would be back to pet them before the next class.
“What you got now?”
Al slung his weathered bag over his shoulder.
Scorpius looked distracted over at Hagrid. The half-giant was waving the others off towards the castle.
“Uhh. Free period, I think.”
His ink bottle spilled all over the bag.
“Damn it.”
He cursed to himself before pulling out his wand, but Al was quicker. Al managed to complete the incantation and the ink vanished.
“Al, you could’ve just done Reparo, that was really nice quality ink.”
“–Oh cry me a river, come on Scor.”
Al began the trek towards the school. Scorpius followed, his feet stumbling up the stone steps.
He looked down to Hagrid again.
“Hagrid knows a lot about creatures?”
The question was rhetorical.
“No kidding, he probably knows about them all. Might be why they made him Care of Magical Creatures professor.”
“Yeah… right.”
Scorpius stopped in his tracks, the other students bumping straight into him.
“Malfoy, do you think you own the path?”
“Shut up, Weasley. Al, you go ahead without me… I forgot something.”
Scorpius turned on his heel and ran straight towards Hagrid. The others thought him mad.
As he hit the grassy patch he slowed down.
This was a stupid mistake.
His grip tightened around his book bag, the clammy hand sticking to the leather.
He could turn around now, if he wanted to.
Hagrid stood by the first crate, throwing in some fodder for the creatures.
“Hagrid… coul-em— could I ask a question?”
“Lemme set this down.”
He dropped the bucket to his side.
“Wha’ was it?”
Hagrid smiled brightly, but it was quickly replaced by a frown from the nervous look on Scorpius’ face.
“Summat wrong?”
Hagrid seemed to crouch down slightly.
“I just wondered about… those creatures.”
“The Skrewts?” Hagrid asked.
“No, the ones pulling the carriages,” Scorpius said.
“Thestrals, majestic creatures, aren’t them. Most folk can't see ’em. Yeh only do after yeh've seen death.”
Death.
The word had lodged itself into Scorpius’ chest.
“…My father died. Suddenly seein’ ’em winged creatures gave me quite the fright…”
Hagrid’s words bled into one another, the words seemingly no longer carrying any meaning.
He clenched his fist, digging the nails into the soft tissue.
“…If ye’re interested, Newt Scamander got a real nice chapter on ’em.”
The half-giant looked at Scorpius with quite a concerned look.
“Scorpius… Everything alright there? Anything happened?”
His head pounded at the thought.
Yes.
Everything.
Scorpius was well on the way to panicking at this point. He could feel the pain in his palm, grounding him.
“No sir, it was nothing. I just… learned about it… somewhere.”
Scorpius adjusted his satchel, his feet itching to turn away.
“Someone… don’t remember who… said the Thestral-things pulled the carriages.”
Hagrid put his hand on Scorpius’ shoulder in a comforting gesture.
“Well, if ye need to talk, ye know where to find meh.”
Scorpius didn’t need to find Hagrid.
He needed to find Newt Scamander.
The heavy oak doors of the library felt particularly heavy as he attempted to regain his breath. His feet shuffled through the door into the nearly empty library. He stopped for a moment. The smell of parchment swept over him.
He stared out at the library.
The large room, with countless shelves, corridors and minor passages.
Where could he possibly begin?
It wouldn’t be in the far right corner, that was History of Magic. He knew the library like the back of his hand.
Think.
Next to the Transfiguration essays by Filbert Polumius?
No.
On the shelf opposite the Restricted Section… no, that was where—
He knew.
His feet moved again, down the main bookshelves, to the left, down three passages, and through the small gap between Romilda Gordie and Kilroy Smith’s shelves of books.
There, behind the grand mahogany table, was the shelf dedicated to Care of Magical Creatures.
He skimmed the shelf.
Q…
R…
S—
Sande—
Scaborelli—
Scamander.
He pulled out Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. The copy was weathered, nearly falling apart at the spine. He held it together before chucking it down on the desk.
His eyes followed his finger as he searched for the word.
Thestrals.
There.
Page 540.
He turned to the page, desperate yet careful not to destroy the book any more.
Page 540.
Thestrals.
In big, bold letters.
His eyes surveyed the page.
“The Thestrals possess an interesting camouflage. Only visible to those who have witnessed, and understood death…”
He looked up from the page.
Understood death.
He didn’t understand death, he didn’t accept it.
“…The use of Thestrals used to be more widespread, however declining death rates, childhood mortality and prolonged lifespans have made the creatures more rare to the naked eye…”
He turned the page. The illustration of the winged beast evoked in him the disgust he so rarely wanted to express about fantastical beasts.
How could he not blame this manifestation of literal death?
“Many have attempted to rid themselves of the ability to see Thestrals. Potionmaker Demetrius Redwood created in 1574 a potion meant to take away the sight of Thestrals, the potion left him blind for the remainder of his life… Goodwin Plymouth, the curse-breaker, searched for magical artefacts but she procured nothing… Polander ‘Pounce’ Mungos famously attempted a trial treatment regarding Thestrals in 1934 to no luck… In conclusion, there is no cure for the sight of Thestrals, as meeting death is a natural part of life…”
He slammed the book.
He didn’t need this stupid book any longer.
“Of course it’s you.”
Rose Weasley barged into the small alcove.
“Damaging books ought to be a crime.”
She dropped her book bag and spread out her notes and research onto the large desk.
“Also, you are in my section. Don’t you usually sit next to the Legilimency books?”
Rose already had a feather quill in hand, writing notes onto a worn parchment.
His eyes fixated on Newt's book.
“Sod off, Weasley.”
His voice was small, barely above a whisper.
The scratch of the quill went quiet.
Rose looked up. He could sense her eyes on him.
His fingers clutched the rough surface of the cover, tracing the author’s name.
She glanced down at her notes, then a moment later her eyes were trained on him again.
For only a split second, his eyes bore into hers.
“Right—”
She hesitated.
“I… Well—”
She straightened her back, returning to her work.
“You don’t own the library, Malfoy.”
A moment later, the scratch of the quill filled the silence again.
Scorpius pushed his chair back with a screech.
His hands forcibly picked up the book.
He let his eyes linger on the cover once more before he shoved it back into place.
“I’ll leave you to it.”
He slung his bag over his shoulder, gripping it hard as he left the books and Rose Weasley behind.
The kitchens were dark. Illuminated only by a single candlelight.
Scorpius watched the flame.
It danced in front of him. Growing larger, then shrinking.
The sound of a cup sliding across the table awoke him from his trance. He glanced at Winky, who had already moved away from him.
The house-elves never bothered him.
Once in his third year he had stayed down in the kitchens for the entirety of a month. There had been a resurgence in Death Eater trials, and his father had, without provocation, run the risk of being imprisoned. He couldn’t take everyone’s judgemental stares, their snide comments during meals.
He picked up Winky’s cup of chocolate. It went down easy.
His meal, not so much.
His fork pushed the food around the plate, as if it would make it disappear.
Dinner was probably over by now.
He had skipped his DADA class following the free period. There would most likely be multiple repercussions. A detention from Professor Potter, perhaps.
But Scorpius had not a care in the world.
How could he?
There were much more important things than boggarts and trolls.
Absentmindedly he lifted his fork, just as the portrait door swung open. The pear’s high-pitched laugh bled into the calm quiet of the kitchen.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
The blonde-haired girl strode in with confidence. She slid into the seat across from him, taking his plate and stealing a bite.
“You know, it is rather antisocial to sulk down in the kitchens.”
She took another bite, wolfing down the food.
“What do you want, Virginia?”
His downcast eyes met hers.
Her smile faded.
She set the fork down and pushed the plate aside. Her hands reached across the table and took his before he could pull them away.
“Are you okay, Scor?”
He clenched his eyes tight.
“Yes, I’m… I needed a break from… everything.”
“Scor…”
She let her grip go, yet still held onto his hands, her thumb stroking the back of his hand.
They sat like that for a while.
Winky arrived with another hot chocolate, one for each of them.
Virginia finally let go of him and picked up her cup.
“You know, I think she would be very proud of you. Prefect and all.”
His eyes glanced down at the emerald pin on his chest.
“Don’t—”
“Scor—”
“Just don’t, Vivi. Can’t you go bother Charles or something?”
He pushed his back into his chair, away from her.
She looked down into her cup.
“We broke up.”
His eyes met hers.
She looked away, a profound sorrow in her expression.
“What... when?”
“Oh, last week. I think you were busy.”
She fiddled with her grey and blue tie.
“Do you know where Orion is?”
He asked, folding his hands on the table.
“That boy. I wouldn’t know even if I tried.”
There was a small smile on her face.
“Do you remember that time we lost him in Grandmama's house? We couldn’t find him for hours.”
Scorpius let the memory linger, a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.
“I told you we should’ve checked the library first,” he said, grinning.
“And then Mum made us sort the library by hand.”
She smirked at him.
“I’ve never seen her so mad.”
He laughed quietly.
“Mum wasn’t…”
The sentence refused to finish.
Virginia pushed his cup of hot chocolate towards him.
Scorpius' eyes drifted to the house-elves. The plates from dinner were still being washed in the many dozen sinks in the large room.
Winky spotted him and was excitedly on her way with more hot chocolate before Scorpius dismissed her with a look.
“Sam said you skipped class,” Virginia said.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Scorpius picked up his cup and finished off the hot chocolate.
Virginia tapped her hand on the table. The monotonous drumming was enough to make Scorpius sleepy.
He flashed her a tense smile.
“I think I’ll go.”
He got up, wiping his mouth from any chocolate residue.
“Are you going to Astronomy?” Virginia piped up.
His eyes glanced to his watch.
It was nearly ten.
“No,” he answered simply before swapping the warm and cosy kitchen for the cold and tight corridors of the castle.
As he left he stared at her, sat alone at the table. Her eyes downcast.
The expression was eerily familiar.
He was grateful Virginia hadn’t inherited their mother’s brown hair.
Even though he had told Virginia he wouldn’t go to Astronomy, his feet seemed to take him towards it.
However, by the time he had wandered up to the base of the tower he knew class would already be over. It was past curfew and he ought to go back down to the dungeons.
Instead, his body pulled him upwards, higher and higher until he was at the tallest point of the castle.
The Astronomy Tower.
Professor Sinistra’s notes were still left on the blackboard. It seemed that a few of the other fifth years had forgotten their telescopes, now strewn across the floor.
The wind blew in through the viewing platform.
He gravitated towards it.
Over the edge he could see all the way down to the grounds.
This is where Albus Dumbledore had died.
He thought of the wind rushing past his body, no wand or broom to catch his fall.
He looked away.
The Gryffindor Tower emitted a warm glow. He could almost picture himself waking up to the view of the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest and all of the Scottish Highlands that lay beyond.
A gust of cold wind shivered through him.
His eyes wandered upwards.
The sky.
Despite the wind, the stars were surprisingly clear.
He spotted Orion's Belt immediately.
The three stars painted onto the sky.
In perfect order and harmony.
He had watched the same night sky for years.
“Look there,” his mother whispered, arms held tightly around him. “Do you see that one, snaking its way across the sky?”
Her voice was soft like summer rain.
She pointed towards the sky, guiding Scorpius’ small hand in hers. He followed the line and let his eyes wander, a squiggle of stars drawing a majestic beast on the dark background.
“That one is Draco, like your father.”
Her hand tickled around his waist.
“And that one, with the three spikes, that is the Scorpion.”
Scorpius shook off the memory.
His mother’s embrace.
The image was familiar.
A tail snaking its way onto the night sky, three straight lines connected to it.
The Scorpion.
Astoria.
His mother.
She had always told him the stars carried stories.
Draco for his father.
Orion for his brother.
Virgo for his sister.
Scorpius for himself.
Even her own name belonged among them.
Asteria.
The Greek Titan of the falling stars.
He searched the sky for the Scorpion. Aimlessly looking for the same image now.
It was gone.
He was too late.
The constellation had already set in the starry night.
He let his eyes close for a moment.
“Why did you leave?”
His voice was barely louder than a whisper.
The stars gave him no answer.