Title: Emotions
Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter.
Author's Note: My first HP fanfic. This is a little father/son bonding fic that I decided to post. "Le Sang Pur Serpente" is a fictional school I came up with. Though it's been on the site for a while, I have just recently revised this story, just to make everything flow easier. As for content, I have not changed anything.
I'm sitting at my desk, filling out multiple reports that those incompetent ministry fools can't seem to do correctly, when my son walks in. I can tell something is wrong immediately. It's not only because he is standing in my study in the middle of September (Even though Narcissa just escorted him to that filthy muggle train station not even a week before). No, it is the fact that fear and pain emanates from his form.
He's ashen faced, and I see beads of sweat make their way down his pale skin. His normally pristine hair disheveled and contains dirt I can only assume came from Hogwart's grounds. His eyes stare into mine, and his hand clutches the hem of his lower arm that is bleeding profusely onto my Persian rug. Assuming those foolish teachers at the school sent him home, then he must have also been sent to the infirmary before arriving here. Can that bloody nurse not do anything right?
My first instinct is to berate him and continue my work. I haven't the time to deal with my foolish offspring and his idiotic issues. I will deal with him when I am ready. That was the plan, but of course with Draco, rarely does anything go accordingly.
I see him step up to my desk from the corner of my eye and attempt to get my attention without speaking. This is a game often played between the two of us. I, however, am in no mood for childish games. I have work to do and will now probably have to deal with whatever he has done to get himself sent here from school.
This thought brings absolute fury to me. This insolent brat has been prepped in the pureblood laws all of his life, and yet he still comes back here to me with horrid grades and complaints about Potter, the blood-traitor and the filthy, putrid mudblood that that fool Dumbledore admires so much. I voice my opinions aloud, knowing that my work will not be completed until he leaves.
"So help me, Draco, if this little visit has anything to do with insubordination, I will see to it that you are severely punished."
I see him shudder at the mention of "severely". I have never been one to let him get away with anything, no matter how much Narcissa protests. As my son, he is mine to do with as I please.
He looks at me, as if confused as to what to say and afraid of how I will react when he says it. He grips his arm and pulls his robes tighter around the wound, creating a sort of sling. The pressure from his grip has caused the blood flow to ease but not completely cease. Growing tired of seeing it, I cast a healing charm on him before calling that good-for-nothing house elf to clean the mess on my highly valuable rug. He gives me a look of gratitude, though his face is still etched in pain. That was a very powerful charm. What in the name of Merlin is going on?
I stand from my desk and impatiently and walk to stand in front of him. I ask why he is home and he merely stands there, continuing to stare at me with the same pained, fearful look in his eyes. My fingers begin to curl around my wand as I grow more agitated by the second. Just as I am about to hex the information out of him, he commits an act that has not been committed since he was old enough to walk.
He hugs me...
No, this is not a simple hug. He is clinging to me as if I am to disappear at any moment. I am highly confused, but my questions about his display of affection will have to wait. His blood stained robes are in contact with my own, and I have a very large urge to push him to the ground. This is my plan, but of course nothing goes according to plan when it comes to Draco.
"What is the meaning of this, Draco? Get off of me."
I say this in the strongest voice I can so he knows the consequences of disobeying me. I find myself quite surprised when he clings tighter. The last straw is when I feel the sensation of tears on my custom business robes. This has gone far enough... Before I can mutter the hex, he chooses to speak.
"Father...I'm sorry...stupid Potter could...then damn bloody chicken...nurse did it, too...St. Mungo's..."
His words are barely coherent, and I must admit that I am beginning to become concerned. I believe I would care a bit more if he stopped his incessant whining.
"Get off of me, dry your tears and speak to me like a man, Draco. I will not repeat myself."
My words are harsh and he visibly flinches at my cold tone. What happens next, however, keeps me as confused as before. He dries his tears—on my robes!—and speaks in clear sentences. The problem is that he has remained attached to me.
"Father, Dumbledore's got that oaf—the games keeper—teaching Care of Magical Creatures. First, the book he assigned us nearly bit off a few fingers, but then he brought us these ugly, huge flying horse/chicken things. He volunteered Potter to handle one of them first, and after he showed off, the giant idiot made all of us go near them. The bloody thing attacked me and cut my arm.
Then Hagard—or whatever his name is— picked me up with his filthy hands and carried me to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey said the cut was serious and that they should take me to St. Mungo's, but they'd have to call you. I didn't want you to be angry with me because they interrupted your work, so I told them I could get the family doctor to heal me, and that mum could get me."
Once again, I'm filled with a rage I didn't know I could possess in this situation. This time it is directed at that disgrace of an institution and its current leader. Letting the expelled convict of a scandal from fifty years ago teach a class is one thing, but my anger is more directed at how it is affecting my son.
Draco has never been a crybaby, as the term goes. From birth, I have taught him how to not show weaknesses in the presence of others. He has understood this very easily and has done so since. But seeing my son reduced to tears because of pain really angers me. I'm torn between comforting him or blowing up that idiot's hut, but the former seems a higher priority.
I don't know why, but I hug Draco back before detaching him from me and sending him to his room. His expression is unreadable as he walks away from me, but there is a ghost of a smile on his face that I'm sure he wants hidden from me. I feel a smile grace my own features as I leave my study to find his mother.
It might not be declared or shown often, but I care very deeply for my son. I treat him the way he should be treated in order to grow and bring honor to the family name. I do not consider myself heartless towards him, either. However, I discipline him to the fullest extent when he deserves it. Truthfully, Draco is one of the few people I do not secretly—or openly—despise. I actually consider him very tolerable and choose to keep company with him above all others.
I find Narcissa in the sitting room speaking to Bellatrix. They seem to have been discussing the topic I came for, for they motioned for me to join the conversation. Bellatrix, of course, looks completely livid. Narcissa's face is contorted in anger, though worry is a better emotion to use. Both direct their gazes toward me as Bellatrix resumes the conversation.
"What are you going to do about this, Lucius? You aren't going to let that imbecile get away with this." She demands, her posture rigid. I can tell her hand is itching to grab her wand and stalk up to the headmaster's office to dispose of him herself. I give her a look that clearly warns her not to even consider solving this problem. The ministry already has close auror's watching her every move. She is lucky that my connections inside the ministry even got her this little visit to the Malfoy estate.
"Of course not, Bella." I answer her. "I am going to owl the ministry after I've gone to check on Draco. Have you contacted Healer Orion, Narcissa?"
I turn to my wife and she nods her head in conformation, informing me that he is with Draco at the moment. He must have flooed in directly to his chambers.
"I can't believe how Hogwarts has been smeared with the filth of mudbloods and blood-traitors. I believe this is a sign that he should be taken out. You've got numerous connections with Durmstang and Le Sang Pur Serpente academies. I don't understand why he is not there with others of his kind. He would be much safer in an environment that respects blood purity." Bellatrix comments as she takes another sip of tea.
Narcissa and I considered what Bellatrix was suggesting. We had discussed sending him away months before he received his Hogwarts letter. I thought it was for the best, but she would hear none of it. Hogwarts is not as far as France and Bulgaria, but it isn't exactly very close either. What difference does distance make at a boarding school anyway?
My wife cuts off her sister's suggestion immediately, giving her the same excuses she gave me three years ago. Sensing an argument on the way, I was grateful when the healer requested my presence in my son's quarters.
I walk in to see Draco on his bed, a pained look on his face that resembles someone who has just swallowed a very vile potion. The healer confirmed this and I hold back my amused smirk. No need for the boy to be embarrassed anymore than he already is.
I turn back to the healer, almost daring him to deliver unhappy news to me. He backs away slightly and sweat forms on his brow. My smirk is revealed and he looks as if I am going to administer the Avada Kedavra curse on him any minute. He soon gains his composure at the sound of Draco's laughter and finds his words.
"Well, Mr...Mr. Malfoy. Young Mr. Malfoy here has...as you know, been scratched by the talons of a hippogriff. Being that said t...t-t-t-talons inject a p-poison into the wound, it circulated through his bl-bl-bl...blood, which was why his whole body was in excruciating p-p-pain. I have given him the antidote..."
He holds up the large vial of smoking green liquid in front of him.
"...however, the effects of both the poison and the antidote will last for at least a week. He is advised to take his potion five times a day and to stay indoors. Some of the scents caused by certain herbs or pollen may hinder the antidote's healing properties."
This was all said either too slow or too fast and the aggravation I feel is visible to the stocky bald man. Though he has been our family healer since Draco's birth, he is still extremely intimidated by my presence. I'm assuming he expected Narcissa to come instead of myself.
"Very well. You may escort yourself out."
I told him while turning my back to him. He did not wait for me to repeat myself; he all but ran to the fireplace and shouted his destination in the same high-pitched tone that reminded me of a rat.
Draco's laughter resonates throughout the room, so much so that it is almost a cause for concern.
"Did you see his face, father? I thought he was going to pass out after the way you looked at him." He comments in between laughs. I suppose this is one plus to keeping him at that school: he enjoys laughing at the misfortunes of others.
"That was the idea. Now sit up straight." He obeys as I sit in an arm chair near his bed. Resting my hands in my lap, I focus my attention on him.
"Your mother and aunt are concerned about your injury."
I never have a chance to continue...
"And you aren't?" He says with a smirk I know he inherited from me. Underneath his sarcasm, I can see that he's attempting to mask the pain he feels. Does he really think I care nothing about him?
I sit up straighter in the slightly uncomfortable armchair and ask,
"Were those the words I'd spoken? Do not interrupt me again. As I was saying, your mother and aunt are concerned about your injury and are discussing moving you to a different school."
As always, Draco does not miss the meaning in my words.
"You mean arguing? Mother doesn't want me far away."
"I am aware of that, and what did I say about interrupting me?" I ask him as my patience lingers. He stays quiet and allows me to speak.
"Because your mother does not wish for you to transfer, it is left up to you to decide. I am writing to the ministry—"
"I want it dead."
My eye twitches for the third time. Injured or not, I am not afraid to discipline him. By the look of pure terror on his face, he knows it, too. He quickly apologizes before I can reach my wand and urges me to continue.
"I am going to ask you this once. I am going to get the blundering idiot fired, but is there anything else you want done?"
He does not hesitate in his response.
"I want that thing dead. It's not really because of my injury, even though it attacked me. Truthfully, I did insult it. But, if the beast was smart enough, it would have known that I am the superior being. I mostly want it gone because Potter got along with it."
I think about what he has just confided in me, and I am not surprised in the least. I had my suspicions that he had baited the creature. I have taught him well when it comes to gaining control of the competition. What better way to hurt both Potter and the giant than to dispose of their precious pet? Because I know his motives, I will not punish him for his behavior.
I, however have other matters to discuss with him now that this issue is settled. This is a conversation that has been on my mind for a long time and, by the looks of it, on his mind as well. It has to do with the way I display my feelings for him.
I understand that a child—even one of mine—requires specific attention in order to feel like they belong. Narcissa gives him that attention. Because she does, I feel the need to toughen him up. That was the way my ancestors before me were raised and we have all grown to be powerful wizards. I, by no means am going to coddle him. I am, however going to find out what he wants.
He looks at me with curiosity only a mere child of thirteen could possess. Asking him this question is not only going to be the ultimate embarrassment for me, but it may even shame the family line as well.
I feel my face beginning to burn from all of the anger I feel, and for a second Draco believes he has done something wrong. He has made me value his opinion and...no, I won't say it. A Malfoy is not supposed to show this kind of emotion. It is a sign of weakness and I am not weak, nor will I allow him to soil the family name.
I stand from my seat suddenly and stride towards his door before abruptly stopping in my tracks. No...if I leave, then I am running away from an insignificant emotion. This will not get the best of me! I am a Malfoy! I will not allow this to haunt me any more. I will tell him what I must, he will give me an answer, and that will be the end of it. It is settled.
I turn back to face him and see the same curiosity in his eyes with a small hint of shock. Clearly, he has never seen me react to him in this manner before. He has unconsciously moved a few inches away from the side with the arm chair. I look at him and somehow do not want to believe what I just realized.
He fears me...actually, legitimately fears me.
I expect his fear when I am angry, but not at a time where I pose no risk to him. Walking back to the arm chair, I take a seat again and move closer to his bedside. My face is passive and shows absolutely no emotion even though my head is swarming with questions and comments about the stupidity of feelings and his answer to the weak question I am about to ask him.
"Answer this: Do you think I love you?"
I ask this as if I am expecting the answer to be "yes". Under normal circumstances, this question would be bait to berate him about the insignificance of emotional attachment. But now...now, I do not know what my reaction will be if he denies this fact.
Yes, fact...I do love my son. Surprising, right? I did not form a fatherly attachment to him until around his twelfth birthday. That was when I began worrying about his safety at Hogwarts. Because Hagrid was the suspected culprit of the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, and it was no secret that he was not a supporter of the Dark Lord, I expected he would use my son as some kind of...I don't know. Some kind of pureblood death trap. I kept a close watch on him that year. It was subconscious at first. I fooled myself into believing the extra ministry work— especially that having any kind of information about Hogwats— I piled on was because I did not trust others to complete it to my liking. But one can only fool themselves for so long. When I followed him on his Hogsmeade visits, I knew why I was doing everything.
He's looking at me with shocked eyes now. His mouth is slightly ajar, his tongue blue from the medicinal potion he just drank. I perform legilimans under my breath and see various memories from his childhood flood into my mind. I'll admit it: I was not the most compassionate father. I needn't explain my reasons anymore. The memory from mere moments ago in my study is now fresh in both our minds and I am suddenly overwhelmed by a warm sensation.
I shut off the mind link when he speaks. He will tell me the truth because he thinks he knows how I will react, so I have no doubts about his honesty.
"Well, father…" He starts as he straightens up and looks me in the eye, a stern expression on his face.
"I honestly did not think so until I got home an hour ago. I..." He stops and turns away from me as he fights back tears he so desperately does not want me to see. I would be furious right now if it weren't for the seriousness of the situation.
"When the thing attacked me, and I was being taken to the hospital wing, I...I knew you would be angry with me. And...well, I'd made you angry over the holidays with my marks and..."
He took his sleeved arm and wiped the tears from his eyes while pretending to wipe off an imaginary smudge of dirt.
"...well, you didn't speak to me much over the summer."
He looks to me as if asking permission to say something and I nod, now curious as to what he needs to reveal.
"It made me sad to think that you weren't speaking to me, and acting as if I didn't exist. And, thinking back to previous years, I noticed you never really...showed that you thought of me as anything more than your heir."
I take a sudden intake of breath. Yes, I had been expecting that.
"I learned to live with it." He's now gotten some control over his tears and his voice becomes stronger. "But, it still hurt."
"I was afraid when I came home today; I thought you would hex me for showing part of the school my weakness. I don't know... I couldn't take your animosity anymore. You'd just started talking to me again...I didn't want to be ignored anymore. I hugged you because I thought it would..."
He looks up to see the expression on my face and looks both sad and relieved that it remains emotionless.
"..I don't know what I thought."
He ends his explanation there and I process everything he has just revealed to me. With the still stone expression on my face, I ask him once more.
"Your answer, Draco."
He looks up at me, his body rigid with fear and respect and states,
"Right now, yes, I do think you love me."
"Why have you changed your opinion?" I ask him seriously. This is something I am very curious about.
"It's because you hugged me back when you would have normally pushed me to the ground."
We stayed silent for a few moments before he gained the courage to speak again. This time, I was prepared.
"Do you...love me, father?"
I answer without hesitation. "Yes."
He was not expecting that response. He did not give us any time to dwell on the moment, either.
"Why?" This question would have hurt most parents; parents who actually displayed genuine emotion for their children from birth to present. I, on the other hand, am happy he asked. He's intuitive and after what I've just put him through, he deserves to know. I need to retain what little dignity I have left, however.
"Because, you remind me of myself."
I stand from my place in the chair and begin walking toward his door once more. My answer was simple, informative, and one of the biggest complements I have ever given to anyone, considering what I think of myself. He is also aware of the compliment and affection hidden in my words and gives me a smile...a real smile, which I return from outside of his room.
This conversation will never leave his room...ever.