Scorpius's Request 5

Draco closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, ignoring the urge to wail. His arm had just been wrenched, re-broken just moments after the man had healed it. A backhand had his eyes opening and the unfamiliar man sneered at him. His eyes were a muddy brown, his hair hanging in front of his eyes with a color and texture that reminded him of hay. "Eyes open, Draco." The voice was gruff, something about it just this side of familiar, but Draco just couldn't exactly place it. Who was this? Who was this man and his ever-silent companion?

"What do you want?" he snapped, taking his gaze over the room. At least he was out of his box... Even though, well, his box had more in it than two chairs, a stool, and a metal table. He resisted the urge to squirm on the stool they'd forced him onto.

"We want to know something."

As if there wasn't blood currently dribbling from a split lip, he angled his head haughtily. "And you couldn't have just asked?" The next fist caught him in the chin, snapping his head back.

"Why is your son with Harry Potter?"

Draco felt his blood turn to ice even while it all drained from his face, leaving him pale and wide-eyed. How did these people know that? Had they seen Potter with Scorpius? Any relief he may have felt at knowing Scorpius had made it to Potter was drowned out by the sudden fear that they knew where his son was and could potentially grab him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Another fist was employed, this one doubling him over as it connected firmly with his gut. "Why is your son with Potter?"

Draco wheezed. "I don't know," he repeated and was struck again with twice the force.

"Why is your son with Potter?" he shouted and, heart racing, Draco started to reply that he didn't know when the other man stepped forward and laid a hand on the abusive one's arm. They walked out, but Draco didn't dare relax. He sat up straighter, actually, and let his mind run.

Scorpius had made it to Potter. That was good. That was grand. That was, arguably, the grandest news he'd ever received in his life.

His captors knew Scorpius had made it to Potter. That was worrisome. How had they found out? Were they close to Potter? Were they in the Ministry? Were they aurors? Merlin's beard, was he dealing with a couple of angry, misguided aurors? He started to feel queasy, wasn't entirely sure if it was because of his thoughts or because of the abuse.

Draco closed his eyes a moment. He had to believe that Potter would be able to keep Scorpius safe. He had to believe that. His eyes fluttered open as, he told himself, keeping one's eyes shut in such a situation wasn't wise. He had to be smart about this.

Now, then, they knew Scorpius was with Potter. He couldn't dwell on how they knew just yet because there was no real way of him finding out. He doubted his captors would tell him willingly. He had to focus on what he did know.

He knew that Harry James Potter was excellent with magic. He knew that Potter had fought off the darkest of dark wizards and had succeeded. He knew that Potter was a good auror, the best really. Draco still had contacts of his own at the Ministry and he knew Potter's track record. He excelled at protection... and finding missing persons. Not that Draco actually expected Potter to come for him. If there was a dull sense of hope in him, he quickly squashed it.

He needed to concentrate on getting out on his own, though that was probably going to be difficult if they kept him unconscious every time they moved him somewhere. He started to rise, found himself stuck. When had they put a damn sticking charm on him?

Swearing softly, Draco steadied himself before his attempt to stand tilted the stool over entirely. He closed his eyes again, praying for patience, and opened them the moment he heard a door slam open.

He was startled to see his ex-wife being thrown into the room. The deep green dressing gown she wore was torn, held together by her hands. When she caught sight of Draco, her hands fell away and Draco could see the scrap of silk she wore beneath matched. Her dark hair was bedraggled and seemed longer than Draco remembered. It was certainly curlier, though Draco distinctly remembered her going to bed with curlers in her hair some nights.

When she caught sight of him, a range of emotions played over her face before she went carefully blank. Draco frowned. Why would they have brought her to him? If they knew anything at all, they should know that there was nothing Astoria Greengrass could possibly say or do to get him to admit to anything.

"Draco..." She walked to him on bare feet, eyes wide. "They do have you," she breathed.

Draco only stared at her for a long moment, felt something probing at the edges of his mind, and steeled himself against it. His skill at Occlumency was known only by a few... Well, none. Auntie Bella had taught it to him when he'd been sixteen to ward against intrusions, to assist him in the quest the Dark Lord had given him. She was dead. His parents had watched him and helped him when they could during those lessons. They were dead. Professor Snape had tried again and again to get into his mind and break his Occlumency defenses. He was dead. It made for a rather short, pathetic list really.

But it helped him now against his ex-wife, a very skilled Legilimens. He betrayed nothing of Scorpius but a deep worry for him and a false (possibly not completely false) wave of terror. "Do they have Scorpius?" she whispered and Draco sneered. His lip throbbed with the motion; he ignored it.

"I'm touched by your sudden ability to care, Astoria."

She drew herself up to her full height, as pureblooded as Draco and, naturally, just as proud. "I love my son," she snapped.

"Enough to leave him."

"I left you!" she cried, and her hand came across Draco's cheek, nails stinging where they scratched. The blonde became very aware of his distinct disadvantage. Astoria was able to walk and move about the room; Draco was bound where he was, and any attempts at walking would result in him waddling with a stool attached to his arse.

Knowing he was at a disadvantage, however, seemed to do nothing to soothe his anger. "I don't see you ever sending an owl asking about him. I don't see you ever floo'ing or wanting to see him. He thinks you hate him. He doesn't even remember what you look like!" Oh, yes, they'd made a mistake in bringing Astoria to him. If nothing else, it only made him more determined to get out.

"I can't see him," she pointed out, eyes snapping with fury. "No one knows where you live anymore."

"An owl finds its way," Draco snapped, and was thankful for the Fidelius Charm on his home. No one knew where he lived for a reason.

She tossed her hair, which was much more impressive when it wasn't knotted and wild. "Maybe I wanted something more personal than letters by owl."

"You don't want anything to do with Scorpius because he's a Malfoy."

"Because he's yours," she hissed and, with the truth out, she spun on her heel and stalked away. "You lied to me, Draco. You went out to that... that place and you-"

"Once. Once, Astoria, because I was drunk and you were being the same frigid woman you always have been."

"And you haven't gone back?"

Her tone was sweet, a definite warning, and Draco clamped down on his available memories even tighter. She would get nothing now, but raw anger. "That isn't your business any longer."

Astoria turned to face him once again. "I do love my son," she assured him and Draco watched the emotion flit over her face a moment before it was masked. "Tell me he's safe."

He was with Potter... Draco bowed his head momentarily. "Scorpius... is in good hands." And, Salazar help him, that had better not be a lie.

"How do you know?" Astoria asked and there was a quiver in her voice.

Draco felt his heart begin to race. Should he tell her? Their captors had to be listening to this conversation. They were probably enjoying it. And if he did tell her, just how much could he reveal? Should he even reveal only the truth? Questions flitted through his mind at a rapid pace. Mere seconds passed before Draco looked back up. "Scorpius is with Harry Potter."

Astoria gasped, a hand flying up to cover her mouth. "You're lying."

"I'm not." Draco stared hard at her, felt the probings against his mind again, and let some of the brief interrogation loose, tinged with a false memory he pieced together based on photographs he'd last seen of Potter in the Prophet.

The false memory had Astoria curling her hands into fists, the only sign she gave of having delved into Draco's mind. She was truly was skilled, Draco reflected emotionlessly. Had he not been quite so good at Occlumency, he never would have felt her probings. Then again, had he not been quite so good, she would have known he was hiding things from her and fabricating a torrid affair with the Boy-Who-Lived, or the Saviour of the Wizarding World, or the Chosen One, or whatever mindless nickname he'd had bestowed upon him over the years.

"How well do you know Potter?" Astoria demanded in a whisper.

And Draco fabricated love and let it be felt by her probing magic. "Well enough."

"He'll keep Scorpius safe?"

His heart was beating hard enough that it nearly hurt; the locked away part of his mind was burning with fearful hope. Nothing was betrayed on his face or in his mind but what he wanted to be betrayed. "Harry," and he nearly choked on the name because it nearly came out 'Potter,' "will protect Scorpius with his life."