Working Through the Rest

Letters

The next morning, I wake up late, probably about mid-morning. I think I managed to fall asleep as the sun rose, having spent the entire night convincing myself that Scorpius is just a friend. Because he is. Why would he be anything more?

I sit up slowly, blinking a few times, and I see Scorpius sat, cross-legged on his bed, reading something intently. The sunlight glints off his hair off his hair, almost like some sort of miniature sun; it probably does most mornings. I've noticed it now for some reason.

I shake myself. Now is not the time to continue questioning my entire identity. I spent all night doing that.
"Morning," I mumble.

Scorpius doesn't reply and I stand up, stretching slowly before I walk over to him. I sit down, putting a cautious arm around him. There's no one else in here.
"Are you okay?"
"I got a letter from dad," Scorpius flops backwards, staring upwards. "I don't know what to do."
"Has he asked you to do something?"
"No," Scorpius shakes his head. "He just....he said that he is sorry if he or any version of him had done – anything."
"What?"
"Albus, he knows," Scorpius' eyes begin to widen in fear. "And I don't know how he knows."
"Scorpius," I take his hand gently. "Breathe. Just breathe."
"How does he know?" Scorpius sits up slowly.
"Maybe he's a really good guesser," I shrug, thinking it might calm him slightly.

It does exactly the opposite and he starts to shake, his breathing quickening constantly. He tumbles off the bed, starting to pace back and forth. I stand up quickly, trying to stop him before he hurts himself, but he just ignores me.

It's terrifying to watch him like this, knowing that I have no idea what to do. Knowing that this happened because of what I said. I watch him as he stumbles to a halt before diving for his bag and pulling out a scrap of parchment and a quill. He sits, scrawling down hundreds of notes frantically. The ink starts to stain his hands and I sit next to him cautiously, trying not to make things worse.

A minute or so later, he shoves the notes into my hand shakily. I take it, trying to read. It's barely legible, between the shakiness of the handwriting and the smudged ink, but the bits of it that I can read terrify me.

Of what I can make out, the same word leaps out, over and over and over. He's scared. He's scared of – something. Someone. I look at him, fumbling with something silently, frantic. Scared.

When he sees I'm watching him, he pushes the letter into my hand. I take it slowly, unfolding it and starting to read.

Dear Scorpius,

I know that we have not spoken much in the past few months, but I have noticed that you seem increasingly reluctant to spend time with me. While that is okay, and I understand that you are growing up and will rely on me less, I feel the urge to make sure that you are okay. It does not seem that you are.

If you feel able, please tell me how to help you, if you can. Because I feel that I, or some version of myself, has done something and I need to make sure–

I stop reading as Scorpius stands up again, restarting his pacing. He gets quicker and quicker, until I stand up and put my hands on his shoulders.
"Hey," I murmur. "Hey, it's okay. You're going to be okay."

Scorpius shakes his head, and then he almost falls into me, hugging me tightly. I sink to the floor, continuing to hold him for as long as he needs it. After a minute or so, he starts to stand up again, pulling another piece of parchment from his bag. He starts to write, and I think he's less shaky now.

I wait silently while he finishes and then I take the note he passes to me, beginning to read. It's more legible this time. Fewer smudges.

When I was there, I saw my dad. I made him angry. He hurt me. I'm scared.

I look up again, my eyes starting to fill with tears as I realise he's still shaking and sobbing opposite me. I put the note down, sitting next to him and putting my arm around him again.
"I should tell him," he croaks.
"If you want to tell him," I say softly, "tell him. But don't feel you have to. It is your decision."

Scorpius nods.

*

He does tell Draco, and judging by the letters that follow, or Scorpius' reaction to them, things to begin to look up for him as the weeks pass. I'm eternally grateful for that.

Even as if happens, however, everything in my head starts to get worse. The nightmares begin to return to the point where I can barely close my eyes. I don't tell Scorpius. He has enough to deal with. He doesn't need to know. Especially when I still can't work out what a crush is.

Maybe all of this is just an accumulation of stress.