[ EU ] Harry Potter is sitting at home sixty years after the battle of Hogwarts , an old man now , when suddenly his scar hurts .

When the houses grew too quiet, as it often did after Ginny's passing, Harry returned to the one place that he could call home. He stood in the entrance of 12 Grimmauld Place, hands wrapped around a cane as he limped into the dark and drear house. He had always meant to fix up the place, to give it some charm. But the decor suited a home of such repute, the home of Sirius Black and the Black family. 
 
 `` Blood traitor,'' he heard the seething voice growl from above him. `` Filthy blood traitor. Filthy. Filthy.'' 
 
 `` A pleasure to see you too Walburga,'' Harry inclined his head and continued through the house, occasionally stopping to beat the dust off something or reminisce with his thoughts of the amazing things that happened in this house. He remembered Kreacher and his undying loyalty for House Black. Most of all, he remembered Sirius, his godfather, his friend. 
 
 Aiming his cane at the fireplace, a spark of fire erupted and warmth spread through the otherwise cold room. `` Age treats us all rather unkindly, does n't it?'' 
 
 Harry did n't turn, but recognized the voice instantly. Scorpius Malfoy, Scorpius Snake-Eyes he had taken to calling himself. His face was burned from nose to ear, a branching deep scar that had melted his flesh. It was a gruesome sight to behold, but Harry had seen so much worse in his life that it did n't faze him. `` How is your father?'' 
 
 `` Dead. I killed him in his sleep a few weeks back. The spell I'm conjuring requires great sacrifice, Harry.'' 
 
 Harry had never seen eye to eye with Draco Malfoy, but even he did n't deserve such a cruel death. By the hand of his own son no less; the Malfoy's were never honorable but they held family more important above all else. Scorpius was truly a new kind of monster. `` Have you come to kill me too, Scorpius?'' 
 
 He held up a cane, slender and black and topped with a silver snakes head. That cane had once been held by Lucius Malfoy, and hid his wand. It was passed onto Draco and now Scorpius wielded it and for what felt like the thousandth time it was aimed right at Harry. `` I have. I am repaying a debt.'' 
 
 `` A debt?'' Harry's eyes narrowed at once. 
 
 The shadows of Grimmauld Place seemed to come alive at that moment, flickering all around him, dancing masterfully. He saw faces in the shadows, faces of people long since dead. Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black, Peter Perrigrew and Ted Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Professor Slughorn. All long dead. All some of the most powerful wizards the world had ever seen. Who was left but Harry Potter from the days of the Wizarding War? Headmaster Neville Longbottom was still alive and kicking, as enthralled with teaching as always and it had been years since he spoke to any of his old school friends. Somebody would stop Scorpius, there is always someone good to defeat the evil in the world. That was called balance. 
 
 And then, for the first time in nearly sixty years, Harry was struck with a wave of pain that greeted him like an old friend. A pain he could never forget, one that was worse than even death itself. His scar burned and he yelled out in pain, firing a blast of magic directly at Scorpius. `` What did you do, Scorpius? How?'' 
 
 He undid his collar and let his coat fall to the floor, revealing his discolored skin. His body was already a shade of sickly white, but from his chest to abdomen and over his arms. It looked as though he had been burned by dark magic, unlike his face which had been badly scarred from fire. Harry watched as something sunk and rose beneath his skin, as though a living creature was slithering around beneath his skin. It slid through his stomach and rose up past his ribs, then up his neck. Harry watched as Scorpius opened his mouth wide and a pair of red eyes stared hazily from within; `` Harry Potter...'' 
 
 `` I saw you die. I saw you die for the last time. There were no other Horcrux. What did you do, Scorpius? What in God's name did you do?'' Harry fell the floor, his body crying out as pain washed over him. He could n't get up. It was impossible. 
 
 Scorpius pressed his cane to the back of Harry's head and laughed, `` Long live the Dark Lord.'' 
 
 There was a feint rumble in 12 Grimmauld Place followed by the incessant grumbling of the Portrait of Walburga Black, `` Blood traitor blood all of my carpets. Filthy. Filthy.''
