scipio minor

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢

❛ 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢 ❜
december 1998
MALFOY MANOR
⋅ ﹙ ♚ ﹚ ⋅

𝐓𝐇𝐄 smell of moss and wet grass made him vomit. He was still dizzy from his travels with the Portkey. He kneeled down in the bushes next to the big and iron gates of his childhood home. He puked and puked, until his entire breakfast lay splattered on the wet ground. It had rained in the South of England last night. And to Scipio's disgust as everything seemed to reenact that fatal night in March. It'd made his stomach swirl with so much anxiety, his body thought it was better to flee instead of fight.

His mouth tasted sour. Hesitantly, he took his wand out of his wand holster of his robes. His left arm was still bandaged, but it was movable. Simple spells, like cleaning spells or mint spells, were durable. He cast those spells to clear up his vomit and to freshen his mouth. No one had to know of this incident.

He hated those iron gates. They'd cast him out when his father had returned. He was no Malfoy anymore and it hurt, but no one knew the house wasn't his anymore. Still, he'd been sent away with an impossible task: pay his debt and restore Malfoy's honour. It had been a wake up call to save his family and friends, because there had been one thing Lucius had been right about: ''you can pay this debt by protecting my family.''

Everything tied back to the Dark Mark. If the scar was gone, he and his brother would be safe, just like all those innocent children— as they'd all been children before they were thrust into an adult war. If they were safe, they could focus on rebuilding their home and make a better place for the Wizarding World. But the mark created a high wall between acceptance and agony.

Yes, his arm would heal from its burns and there was no denying that he'd be scarred by his actions. But time healed. It even healed the worst memories or it pushed it back somewhere in his subconscious where it could never be reached. Scipio knew it all too well. However, the Dark Mark seemed an immortal fragment of his youth. It haunted every single soul who knew and who once had been afraid of it. It was a ghost from the past and it weighed gloomily on his shoulders. Everything would be better if the Dark Mark could have a real ending.

Scipio walked towards the gates.

I hate the gates. I hate this house. I hate those peacocks. I hate Lucius. I hate my father.

''I'm here to see my mother,'' Scipio told the gates in a small quaver.

The gates slowly opened. They squeaked like little animals who got slaughtered by a terrible man. Scipio's hands trembled. Everything about this house was a terrible memory— a too realistic nightmare that still haunted him when he was awake.

I love the stables. I love the library. I love my mom. I love Draco.

Walking over the driveway to the main entrance, his bag strap tightly held between his fingers, he tried to think of things he loved about his childhood home.

I love the smell of flower mom plants in spring. I love the sound of gravel under my feet. I love the little rabbits at the edge of the woods. I love the endless maze which has a thousand ends.

If Lucius was home, Scipio had to avoid him at all cost. For the time being, Scipio could hide the failure of his experiments and the truth that their family couldn't be protected from the International Confederation. When Lucius knew, everyone would know and Scipio would have failed his family and friends. He was not ready to admit his failure yet. Right now, he needed to focus on a way to save his brother and his friends despite the dark mark and not be sulking because of all the pain he felt. There must be another way to grant them justice. He would not rest until he knew.