He aimed the Invincible Wand at his son's forehead. His hand trembled. His voice refused to come out. Looking down at the defenseless boy below him, he nostalgically recalled when Scorpius was just a child. The tragic night when Astoria had left them, the innocent smiles of a child not yet overwhelmed by merciless tragedy, the long-awaited embrace that father and son had shared on the day Death had been defeated. Draco already felt his absence. A piece of his heart was dying, he could feel it cracking; cries of despair echoed loudly inside him, even though no one else could hear them.