father and son bore matching wounds : skull ensnared by a serpent, never to escape a curse that is eternally etched upon porcelain flesh — filth teaches filth, and cursed to be tainted until one dares to break the cycle. he never saw much of himself in his father, even if he's only ever heard the opposite. twin azurian flames burning brighter together, threatening to swallow the other whole when met with a proximity that is far too scathingly close. he's been avoiding meeting his father for a while now, typically long, ardent strides now languid … with the manor now being rather vacant in comparison to just a few days prior, he had a lot more time to take in every inch of his house that has never truly been a home. the family portrait passed by his peripheral, and scorpius almost found himself pausing — as if needing a reminder of who he's going to meet. the manor is devoid of @ichorled more often than not, and, in his steed, lie a shallow reminder of a looming legacy that is soon to be overtaken. fire, and blood : ash, and bone — the price you pay for being a malfoy is as close as one could get to tasting godhood.
father, father : how would you see me now ? prodigal heir turned bitter pill, will you ever meet my eyes, and tell me that you did not regret having me ?
a knock, slow, and steady, before scorpius pushes the double doors to the study. there are only two places where draco could be, here or nowhere at all. when it comes to family, secrets have become a more familiar language than affection. “ i take it you finished brooding, father, ” hands crossing across one another, hidden behind his back — back straight, and hues never wavering as it meets the other's own. despite his bite, the respect, the love, will always be there. “ you wanted to see me ? ”
there is no stronger weapon than one's mind, and no amount of magical talent would be able to exchange itself for a fortitude of the mind. he's locked the door once before, but it seems as if a screw has gone loose … and there's no better time to jam it back into place than now. some may see it as rather extreme, even, dangerous — to allow someone else into your mind, even in attempts to battle against it, is to be stripped away to your very marrow …. beating heart torn to make a show of your fragile mortality, while your captor remains iron-clad, and armoured. exposed for @ichorled to see, another reminder of who is not only older, but all the more wiser. “ — i still don't understand the need of this, father. i've never failed you before. especially not with this, ” and, yet, the prodigal heir dutifully sits. a monster, and his maker — a chained pup, and a freed wolf — a son, and a father inching closer to being sworn enemies than family … fighting for opposite ends of a war that has tainted their blood beyond repair.
a love that is forged out of sacrifice, and duty, is not dissimilar to one born out of revenge — as his father continues his exploits shrouded in mystery, he follows his own. making a mark on the world as the elder had been, only his is just beginning. “ there is nothing of me that you haven't already seen. you've made that quite clear, ” tone pointing towards the letters, an incident scorpius hasn't easily forgotten even from days past. his wand sits far from his reach, utterly defenseless in the face of the other. the closest they've been in years, the longest time they've spent with each other past his thirteenth year … is spent in the confines of the malfoy cellar — where his screams would not be heard even if he were to cry, and wail. thankfully, he doesn't have any more tears left to shed. “ what are you waiting for, then ? hardly the time to ask for my blessing, now, is it, father ? ”
it was as if the tales his mum had foretold manifested themselves into reality ; brought to life again by the resurrection stone … @ichorled, who was presumed as good as dead, is standing before him like a ghost who had finally returned to his flesh, and bones. there hasn't been a day that has passed where his thoughts, as haunting as they have been riddled in gut-churning guilt, been plagued by the last sight he saw of hugo. taken by the dark, never to be seen again for two years. oh, cousin, dear friend, shared blood, laughter, and ambition all the same : how you've grown without me. “ it's you. it's really you, ” there was no hesitation in his step as two of james' legs swing over the other, immediately pulling the other into a hug. face buried in his cousin's neck, breathing in the scent he's grown rather unfamiliar with. hugo's figure, improbably bound by immeasurable pain, and anguish, is held in his arms within a tightened fervour. he's here, he's here, he's here.
“ hugo, i — ” james only pulled back for a moment, emerald glistening with an unmistakable sheen : to have a brother return to you, just when many have told you that all hope is lost ... this is why he will never lose faith. miracles can come from anywhere, especially when you least expect it. those who are lost, will return, and those who have been wronged, will be avenged. he will see to it himself, even if it's the last thing he does. “ i can't believe it. i still can't, it — it's a fucking miracle … ” his hand steadied on hugo's shoulder, and he takes a step back ... allowing for the other to have some much-needed space as james fully takes in the reality of unwavering belief. “ welcome home, "
Harry: there's no retreat, but it's the last thing on harry's mind at the moment, curses flying from his wand as he fights towards the thick of the battle. senses are different in battle, sight and sound less reliable when the whole world is on fire, but he falls into a rhythm with the fighter beside him, one he recognises almost instantly. it's been years of fighting side by side, falling into step, covering each other without thinking. there's a brief flicker of hope in his eyes when they rest on neville's, the first flame of it that harry's felt in days. the relief on seeing him, alive, floods over him. but there's no time to talk, to debrief. except - voice hoarse, harry takes the moment he shouldn't. he has to know. "lily," he asks. "is she-" alive. he can't finish the question, can't bear to hear what the answer is.
Neville ( @ichorled ):it all happens so fast . one moment, he’s enduring his solitude as best he can, attempting to keep track of the moments, the long beats of silence, the murmurs, the threats, just to keep himself upright and sane in his confinement . and then he hears screams and curses over the dampened music from above-ground, hopeful movements that cause him to spring to his feet in preparedness for the battle to come . the gates open, and he takes the unexpected chance to jump in and join the races, not fearing the carnage ahead of him . there’s no time for dread .
and then he’s back . teetering from being in a holding cell underground, but grounded enough to keep up . to react to the string of curses coming from all directions . to fall back in line beside his friend, his leader, never doubting for a moment that he’d come to liberate them . a thankful nod is all he can muster as the soldiers move in time, like no time her circumstance has kept them apart . remorse colours his features as he shakes his head, a tragic unknown . kept apart, in isolation from one another, neville’s had no contact, and has obtained no information regarding the other captives . but “ we’ll find her . ” he nods, assuring his friend . a promise . “ i have your back .
Harry: “We lost Kingsley,” Harry reported quickly, while ducking wandfire. There was a battlefield detachment in the words that was entirely at odds with the aching grief that he felt, but now was not the time, darting around curses, flashes of green light that came close enough to hitting him that he felt the heat rushing past his skin, an unpleasant but not wholly unfamiliar sensation, touching this close to death. The fight went on, and he didn't doubt Neville' s word. There was no one Harry would be quicker to trust with his life. Focusing his attention on the fighter to his left, he was reckless, careless with defending his flank - he could be - Neville was there.
“No,” Harry said grimly, heart solidifying inside him, striking out with a blasting charm that splintered the Death Eater's wands into shards. Lily, still lost. He slashed again and the shards rearranged themselves into bullets, hit their mark, took him down. “We have to find him.” That, after all, was what all of this was about. Nothing had changed, not since he was fifteen and foolish, rushing right into the trap Voldemort had set, Sirius the only thing his desperate, frightened mind could think of. Harry may have since learnt to close his mind, but his heart had long been vulnerable, laid bare, and Lily owned all of it. Voldemort knew that, and he would use it. It had been years since Harry had faced him directly, and for good reason. The horcruxes made any victory only temporary, any cost sure to be high, but Harry was past caring about that right now. For once, he didn't want to defeat Voldemort. He wanted to make him pay. His eyes turned to plead with Neville urgently, “He’s here. I know him. I know he’ll be here. I know what he wants. Me for her. It's the only way, Neville - you and me, we take this to him.”
Neville: there’s no time to mourn, but his heart does stumble at the account . after the battle, there can be a tribute to the leader . to the last living member of the original order of the phoenix . the last living touchstone to the memories of both of their parents . later, the pair of them might take on the toll of that death . but for the moment, he takes it in stride, as encouragement to move forward despite the sweat rolling down his next . despite the exhaustion he feels . he tells himself that he can feel all of it later .
no . neville shoots his friend a questioning look, then understanding, then a fervent denial . it’s not the time . “ harry, that’s not — ” he counters over the curses, catching his breath, blocking curse after curse . he might be tired, but he’s unwavering . “ it’s not possible . get everyone out, now, and we may just leave here with a fighting chance . we find lily, and you leave . ”
Harry: In another time, another place, he would no doubt recognize the wisdom of Neville’s words. Even right now, the part of him that still clung onto reason did so. It just felt out of reach, in the face of his anger. What was more grounding was the realization that Neville had spent weeks in captivity.
Few others would be able to see it as Harry did, the exhaustion in his frame. Still he did not let up, and Harry matched him, jinx for jinx, now with more concern, more care. He fought well as ever - but how long could he keep out? Harry wouldn’t risk him. “You’re right,” Harry said slowly. He conjured an expansive shield charm, wielding it outwards like a weapon, defensive magic turned offensive with just the force of his will. It would give them seconds, Harry turning slightly, words hushed and fast. “But there’s a lot of ground to cover. We should split up. You start the retreat, the wards are blocking us here, we need to get out past them to get our people out. Go home, Neville.” They needed him there. Harry needed him there. He couldn't fight this war without him. He locked eyes with his friend. "That's an order."
Meanwhile, what he didn't say, was that Harry would go into the heart of the fray, searching for Lily. And anyone else who happened to be there.
