Art by AVENDELL on Tumblr
I don't think it's canon that Draco return to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year. So for the sake of my story, he did not.
Draco had tried to avoid visiting his childhood school as much as possible.
This had been quite easy at first. With all the students whose final year had been interrupted by the Battle of Hogwarts being allowed to graduate without repeating a year, he'd had no reason to return. But when Scorpius had been born, he'd known it would only be a scant eleven years before the prospect would loom before him.
As luck would have it, even after his son had begun his education at Hogwarts, Draco had managed to side-step any reason to be called to the school. Scorpius was an excellent student, and any correspondence could be settled via owl.
But it seemed his luck had finally run out.
"It's understandable, after such a loss. But I feel it's important to stress that if this continues, Scorpius will fail his third year."
Draco nodded and ran his eyes over the row of poor scores. His gaze lingered on the D beside herbology.
"I'll discuss this with him," he nodded, "But this could easily have been stated in a letter."
The witch sitting across from him gave a quick shake of her head, sending her messy bun of hair wobbling dangerously.
"I needed to meet with you face to face, Mr. Malfoy," she said, "Scorpius is at a crucial stage in his education. This could have dramatic effects on his future. He could lose out on many opportunities..."
She continued speaking, but Draco's attention slid to the chair beside him. Scorpius's head was hung low, his fingers were clenched tightly on his lap. He seemed thinner than he'd been at Christmas.
"... and he's been causing quite a lot of trouble with that Albus Potter."
At the mention of his friend, Scorpius's shoulders tensed.
"I wish you'd talk some sense into him, Mr. Malfoy. They left a live flobberworm on my desk last week! Detentions and point deductions don't seem to be having the desired affect."
Draco nodded.
"I apologize on my son's behalf, Professor Abernathy," he said, "He will take full responsibility of his actions."
Scorpius lifted his head and nodded.
"I'm sorry, Professor Abernathy," he said, "It won't happen again."
"I should hope not!" Professor Abernathy sniffed and then handed an envelope across to Draco, "Here is the formal warning. Simply protocol. If Scorpius's grades do not improve, he will automatically be enrolled in a summer review term. And, if he still lacks discipline, he will be forced to repeat his third-year courses."
Draco nodded and took the envelope.
"Thank you," he said as he pushed up from his chair, "Message received, and understood. Now I think my son and I will be on our way."
After mumbling a request for dismissal and receiving a wave of a hand, Scorpius stood and followed him out of the office of the current Head of Slytherin House. The pair were silent for a few stretches of corridors, then Scorpius let out a sigh.
"I'm sorry, Father. The flobberworm was Albus's idea. We both did horrible on the last Arithmancy test. He said she marked too harshly and we deserved a better grade..."
Draco paused and looked back at his son. He saw Scorpius, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast, standing in the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and was struck by memories of when his own father had visited the school when he was a boy. Draco made sure to keep his tone neutral and his gaze soft.
"That may be true, but nobody wants to come back to a flobberworm on their desk," he said, "Next time, just try and focus harder on your studies. Improve yourself instead of hindering others."
Scorpius nodded, his eyes analyzing the details of the flagstone floor. Draco could feel the distance between them, and he tried to reach across it.
"And don't worry about the grades. Repeating third year means you'll be old enough to buy fire whiskey in your final year. That'll make you popular."
Scorpius blinked and then gave him a faint smile.
"Thanks, Father... I'll try harder."
Draco nodded and then gestured down the hall.
"Best be off," he said, "You've got Charms, if I'm not mistaken."
Scorpius nodded and turned away.
"I'll see you after term, Father." He waved and hurried off.
Draco returned his wave, though Scorpius didn't see it. He stood there, watching after his son, and listened to the distant hum of students and staff in classes throughout the old school. He was glad that such normalcy had returned to these halls.
Draco turned on his heel and made his way through the castle. He didn't pay particular attention to where he was going. He should have.
He stepped off a staircase and drew up short. He found himself standing at the doors to the Great Hall. They were closed, as supper wasn't for a few hours. The last time he'd seen those proud doors, they'd been blown off their hinges and the Hall had been filled with rows of dead bodies.
His tongue suddenly felt too large for his mouth.
Draco quickened his pace, making his way down the steps and out into the Entrance Hall. He hand sprang up to grip his forearm. He made it to the courtyard before his feet jerked to a stop once more.
The clear afternoon air suddenly became smoky and heavy in his lungs. He swore he heard the crack of breaking stone, and the bang and sizzle of curses flying overhead. But a few frantic glances showed nothing but an empty courtyard on a beautiful spring morning.
Draco knew it was all in his head, but that didn't release the tightness in his chest or banish the scent of death from his nostrils. His arm began to itch.
It had been a foolish thing, on his part, to avoid returning here for so long. It was inevitable that the memories would rise again. But he hadn't thought it would be this bad. He wished he had walked faster. He wished he hadn't seen the Great Hall. He wished he hadn't come back to the battleground that was still so fresh in his mind, even after all these years.
A small intake of breath yanked him violently back to the present. Draco's head snapped around, his eyes wide and his fingers frozen in the act of clawing at his forearm. In a split second he went from abject panic, to welcomed recognition, to gut-wrenching shame. Cordelia Smith was standing there, a bulging bag slung over her shoulder and her dark hair tumbling around her face in loose waves. Her gaze was fixed on his hands. Draco looked down. His nails were dark with blood. He quickly shoved the sleeve of his robes back down.
"Cordelia," he attempted a greeting, "How are –?"
A warm hand latched around his wrist and Draco found himself being dragged back through the halls of Hogwarts. Cordelia pulled him along with an uncharacteristic forcefulness and pointedly refused to look at him. Draco felt like he should say something, but he ended up simply staring at the back of her head as he stumbled along.
Class was still in session and the halls remained empty. Cordelia stopped only once, almost causing him to run into her, to allow a group of older students to pass through a corridor far ahead. She only started walking again once silence had returned.
Before long, Draco found himself in unfamiliar surroundings. He could only guess that they were somewhere on the third floor near the moving staircases. Cordelia finally stopped her march in front of a portrait of a quaint cottage nestled deep in an ancient wood. She lifted the hand that wasn't gripping his wrist like a vice and wrapped her knuckles on the painted door, tracing an odd pattern. Draco caught a flash of movement from behind one of the windows, then the entire painting swung inward, and he was dragged into the corridor beyond.
"These are some of the staff rooms," Cordelia spoke her first words since seeing him, "Everyone should be out right now."
Without waiting for a reply, she pulled him down a short hallway and toward a door next to a small sculpture of a jumping fox. A plaque was set above the doorframe. C. Smith.
"Out, Flurry," Cordelia briefly patted the fox's snout, "I'd like some privacy please."
The statue blinked its granite eyes once, and then leapt off its pedestal and vanished back the way they had just come with a flick of its fluffy stone tail. Draco only a had moment to observe this before he was dragged into a small room and the door was closed behind him.
His wrist was finally released, leaving him feeling quite cold. Cordelia dropped her bag unceremoniously at the foot of a small bed tucked in one corner and began bustling about, heaving a pile of clothes from a chair onto the floor.
"Sit," she said without looking at him.
"What's this all about?" Draco asked as he sat down in the newly disrobed chair.
The clink of bottles filled the silence as Cordelia rifled through a cabinet set beside a small sink. Draco looked around. The afternoon sun was shining through a window set over the unmade bed heaped with colourful crocheted blankets. Potted plants and various empty cups and garden gloves were scattered over every available surface. The bookshelves cluttering the walls were full to bursting and had overflown into large piles of books stacked haphazardly around the floor.
...light and warm...
"This is a pig-stye," Draco muttered.
"It's lived-in," Cordelia scoffed as she finally turned to face him, "Your house feels like a bloody museum. I can't touch anything without someone glaring scornfully at me."
Draco's lips twitched. He couldn't deny her words. Cordelia's eyes softened, then dropped to his arm.
"Let's see the damage," she said.
His fists clenched. It wasn't quite fear that curled in his gut, but it was close. He'd only shown one person his mark after it had begun to fade. It was a scar that had been forced upon him, but one he had the duty to bear, nonetheless. He had done terrible things, and he had to carry that weight. Astoria had understood this. She hadn't faced the same terrors as he had, during those dark days where neither home nor school felt safe anymore. But she could understand his pain, his revulsion, his remorse.
Cordelia stepped forward and knelt before him.
"Draco..." her voice was low and gentle.
He let his breath out through his nose, then he slowly, carefully, rolled up the sleeve on his left arm. The faded serpent and skull were scored with white scars, dark scabs, and freshly bleeding scratches.
"It's a... nervous habit," he forced out the words, "I thought I had it under control but... recently... Asto... Astoria had a cream..."
Cory let out a sigh and lifted a little green bottle.
"I know," she said, "She got it from me."
Something in his chest coiled up tight, and then relaxed its hold. Draco watched as Cordelia dabbed the familiar pale pink cream on her fingers and began rubbing it gently over his forearm. The ointment was cool and soothing over his torn skin. He let out a quiet sigh.
"Of course she did."
He bowed his head and let silence fall over him. Cordelia's room smelled of beeswax and old books, with the ever-present underlying musk of potting soil. He breathed in, breathed out, and let his awareness narrow to the darkness behind his eyelids and the warm touch on his arm.
Cordelia's grip was firm where Astoria's had been feather-light. She swirled the cream in practiced circles instead of the slow lines Astoria had worked over his skin. Draco lifted his head and watched the look of calm concentration on Cordelia's face. The words came out on their own.
"Scorpius is failing quite badly. He may have to retake third year."
A small furrow appeared between her eyebrows.
"I didn't know it was that bad," she flicked an apologetic glance at him before returning her attention to a particularly nasty scratch, "I'll talk to him."
Draco sighed again and rubbed his free hand over his chin.
"I don't..."
He let out a frustrated grunt. How could he guide his son through this hell when he was barely able to keep his own head above the flood?
"It's alright, Draco," Cordelia gave his arm a gentle squeeze and then started rolling down his sleeve, "These things take time. Maybe it would be good for Scorpius to take a year off. And you too for that matter."
Draco watched her out of the corner of his eye as she smoothed down the robes over his arm. He could see the weight of her own sorrow, try as she might to hide it under that gorgeous smile.
"We wouldn't know what to do with ourselves," he shook his head, "I think it's best if we try and push on through. There must be a light at the end, somewhere."
She met his eye and then quickly looked away. But Draco caught the flush on her cheeks and the quirk of her lips.
"Wise words," Cordelia cleared her throat.
"I have my moments," Draco said.
There was that smile. The room seemed brighter than before.
"Come on," Cordelia pulled him gently off the chair, "Wash your hands. Then I'll walk you to the footbridge."
Draco wondered how a person's eyes could crinkle so adorably at their corners.
"I would appreciate that," he said.
After Draco had finished washing and had dried his hands with a small towel embroidered with nifflers and Galleons, Cordelia led the way toward the door. Draco turned to follow her and caught sight of a large painting hanging on the back of the door.
The world jerked to a halt. His heart dropped to his feet. He blinked and found himself almost bent double, feeling as if he'd just been punched in the gut.
The painting hung in a battered wooden frame. It was Astoria's work, without a doubt. And there was Astoria herself, smiling out at him from the canvas. Cordelia's face was beaming alongside his late wife's. And the both of them were peering outward through what looked to be a vanity mirror and into the real world beyond, directly at him. Some details could be made out from between the women's elbows as they leaned on the vanity counter. It looked like Astoria's childhood room in the Greengrass mansion. Draco recognized the wallpaper and the curtained window-seat.
Before he could fully grasp what he was seeing, Draco's mind was soaring back to those first days of young love. Of finding someone to confide in, to trust, to hold onto when the world was falling apart. He had kissed Astoria for the first time on that window-seat.
"Draco? Are you alright?"
The question yanked him back to reality. Draco found himself breathing painfully hard as he stood in the middle of Cordelia's room. She was watching him carefully, her hand on the doorknob, her body partially blocking the painting in such a way that she covered her painted self almost completely. Draco stared at the radiant smile on Astoria's younger features, then at Cordelia's concerned frown. A bitter guilt swelled in his chest. He straightened and smoothed down his robes.
"Yes," he nodded.
She cocked a doubtful eyebrow, but she didn't press him. The door opened and the painting vanished from his sight. A clattering of stony feet greeted them. The fox statue came barreling into view, a single gardening glove clenched between its marble teeth.
"I was wondering where that went. Thank you, Flurry. Good boy." Cordelia took the glove from the fox. "Now go check the men's lavatory. I think I heard something skittering in there last night."
The fox gave a grating chirp and scampered off in the other direction.
"Scorpius used to have an imaginary friend he called Flurry," Draco said, grateful for the distraction.
Cordelia cocked an eyebrow.
"Scorpius visits occasionally when he knows I have time off. I let him name the fox," she gave him a wink and then led the way down the hall, "He made me swear never speak to it about Gobstones. I don't know why..."
Despite the unease still roiling in his gut, a smile lifted Draco's lips.
"A dangerous topic, to be sure," he gave a quiet chuckle as he followed Cordelia out of the staff quarters.
They walked in silence until they reached the edge of the footbridge leading off the school grounds. Cordelia dug into a pocket of her robes and pulled out the green glass bottle.
"Here," she pressed it gently into his hand, "Let me know when you need more... but I hope you won't have to use it at all."
Draco carefully tucked it away.
"Thank you, Cordelia," he tried to meet her gaze, failed, and settled for staring at her shoulder, "You've... done so much for me. So much for us."
She gave a soft chuckle. Draco lifted his eyes just in time to see her smile. In the distance, the bells in the school tower rang out, declaring the end of the day's classes.
"Well, of course," she said, "With Astoria gone, who else will keep an eye on you two?"
Though she was still smiling, her lip trembled and her eyes glistened. Whatever coil that had been undone by Cordelia's presence snapped tight around Draco's chest once again. As he stared, a single tear escaped and fell down her cheek. Her eyes widened in shock and her hand flew to her face.
"I'm so sorry!" she whirled around so fast that a cloud of dust rose under her feet, "I've got to prepare for tomorrow's class!"
"Cordeli-!"
Draco reached out, but she all but ran back down the path, leaving him standing with his arm outstretched in the beginnings of a stunning sunset. Draco slowly let his hand fall; his eyes were still fixed on the woman hurrying away from him. He wasn't sure what this hot swirling thing in his chest was, but it hurt.