This is a love story.
Of two adults, and two teenagers.
One set is fresh-faced and brand new to the concept, the other bitter from years of believing the real thing could never die...and then did.
Chapter 1: Teenagers
"Dad, I want a laptop."
Gently lowering the Daily Prophet on the coffee table, Draco took the reading specs off the bridge of his nose and glanced up.
There he was, his son, looking ever the picture of modernity. With his stupid white mop brushed to the side, bangs dancing across his forehead, artfully unkempt. Black glasses with thick frames a stark contrast to his hair, a pair of headphones wound round his neck. Dressed in bloody muggle clothing; tan jeans that were so skin tight he wondered how his balls fit in under his cock and a forest green zip up. The 'heighth of fashion' he had insisted when he arrived here the day previous. Astoria and Dickhole #3 were off on their honeymoon, so Scorpius had been dumped on his doorstep last minute for the whole summer holiday.
Not that he had anything against it. Since he'd moved to Amsterdam, he rarely got to see his London boy, so popular at school (so he claimed), with amazing grades (so he proved). A complete opposite of Draco's own experience at Hogwarts, the only reflection of his father being the entitled smirk he constantly seemed to wear, his confidence only a downfall when he came off like a pretentious bastard.
But it appeared his alma mater had vastly changed since his absence, a much more forward-thinking, accepting place. Scorpius had new information on everything he'd never had access to; Muggle Studies mandatory, technology no longer banned. His best friend, apparently, a Hufflepuff. If he hadn't been put in Slytherin, Draco may have pitched himself off a cliff.
"And what pray tell is a laptop?"
Rolling those green eyes, he got his mothers, his son shifted his weight to the side as all 16 year olds tend to do, hoping that all he had to do was say 5 words to dear Daddy to reap all the rewards he so desired. Draco couldn't blame him much for that reaction, he'd been in silent competition with his ex to earn affection the pureblood way; with Galleons.
"Merlin Dad, are you serious? It's a computer, you know, for chatting and music and Internet and stuff."
Blank look faced with the condescending 'How-could-you-not-know-this' stare of the tech, nay Muggle, savvy generation, and Scorpius shook his head.
"Internet stuff?"
"Look, I want to keep in touch with my friends, okay? See what they're doing and things. In order to do that I need a laptop…and a Wi-Fi connection. You connect on the 'Internet'," he explained with quotations, "And you can speak with people instantly, see them as well if you have a web cam."
"If you want to see your friends, why can't you just….you know, visit them? Write to them?" Draco inquired, watching Scorpius get flustered with a grin. "I thought you had a cell phone thing."
"It doesn't work properly out here, keeps cutting out, but I wouldn't need to text and call if I had a computer!"
"I didn't mind the phone, I can buy you a new one tomorrow."
"I don't want a new phone! Nobody even talks on the phone anymore, Dad!."
"So you don't need a new one then?"
Arguing with teen logic had admittedly, become a guilty pleasure. It was almost as if he were a real parent.
"Daaad, oh my god, you can't just bloody well go gallivanting to people's houses unannounced, yeah? In order to hang out you need to make contact. According to you that's by owl, which is like the slowest, most unreliable form of transportation and mail ever. If you bought me a computer I could talk to them right away, I could plan visits in ten seconds!"
"You could with your phone too. Besides , owls have been servicing the wizarding world for centuries, son, I don't know why you hate them so much," he said, scooping up his chai tea to take a hefty swig.
"Because they take literal YEARS to deliver a single piece of bloody parchment. "
"Literal years, I hardly think that's accurate."
"You know what I mean!"
"I do, but I can also side-along Apparate you to anywhere you have to go to, it's worked so far, hasn't it?" A raised eyebrow, and the man standing emitted an annoyed tick.
"You're so….so old-fashioned! If I wasn't on the Quidditch team I may as well be a social outcast. I can't even drive a car yet! We don't even own one. That prat Finlay James takes the mickey outta me every time he sees me, he calls me a baby!"
This tactic would've worked immediately on Lucius Malfoy, and precisely, that was why Draco wasn't swayed by it.
"You're strong-willed, Scorpius, intelligent. Wouldn't have thought petty insults bothered you. Besides, you're a great person without material possession, you can't win genuine friends with objects."
"Dad, come on. Fair enough about the car, when I learn to Apparate I don't need it, but nearly everyone at school has got a computer."
"I didn't know you were everyone."
"You're being such an arse!"
An angry stomp of the foot. Perhaps the beginning of a tantrum.
"Language, Scorpius," was the retort, firmer than his previous words.
"You're being miserable, dad."
"You are demanding I buy you something I have never even heard of, Scorpius."
"Because you live in the STONE AGE! Who doesn't own a damn telephone? It's not even that much, I'll use the same one forever!" he pleaded, whiny and mopey, as if his entire existence depended on this.
"I'll think about it, Scorpius."
"No you won't! You're so Anti-Muggle, you'll probably take one look at it in a shop and sneer down your nose and tell me 'You don't need it', and then go off on a rant about how 'superior' the backward ways of wizards are," he had imitated in a posh accent, too much resembling his father.
"I am not anti-Muggle, Scorpius, I just prefer to live –"
"'The magic way,' yeah I get it, okay? But I'm stuck here ALL summer long with you, in a stupid city where they speak a dumb foreign language while all my friends are off having fun."
A slight buzzing feeling tingled on the skin of Draco's fingertips, flowing up into his jaw, flooding the depths of his stomach and chest: "You're stuck here, you say?"
He so wanted Scorpius to reel in shame, or correct his words, something other than see the tiny mirthless smile cross his sons lips before frowning again, as if he couldn't believe he was being asked the question.
"Were you under the guise that I want to be here? You're always pissed off at Mum for some reason or another, never shut up about it. And you're always busy with your stupid writing jobs."
"I'll take time off," he said easily, refusing an apology for being angry. Fighting to have his only child in his life more often than three times a year took a lot out of a person's will.
"I don't care, I haven't had any fun visiting you since I was 11. We have nothing in common, dad. I begged mum to take me to Majorca with Tarquin, but she refused. But you know what she wouldn't refuse? A bloody laptop. Tarquin would let me get one, I know he would!"
It was that part of the argument again, attacking the Achilles heel.
"Scorpius – "
Hands were curling into fists, blood pumping at an alarming rate.
"No, he'd totally convince her because his grandpa is a muggle! A rich one too! A Scottish lord! Tarquin is a better Dad than you, he at least tries to get to know my interests and-"
"SCORPIUS. SHUT THE HELL UP."
The buttons were pushed, Scorpius could tell by the giant vein popping on his dads forehead.
"….Well it's true," he mumbled, salting the wound only deeper.
A deep breath and the inflection was almost back to normal: "If he's such a good father, why don't you ask him to get you one then?"
It was petty and cold, and Draco regretted the retort as soon as it bled from his mouth. But it was too late because finally he saw the steely resolve, so much a flaw he had inherited from the Malfoy side, shatter when his child lowered his head to the floor.
And though he was expecting a 'maybe I will', Scorpius instead spun around and left the room, the echoes of his footsteps on stairs heard above as he shoved his head into his hands.
{}
"Mum, how difficult is it to learn Dutch, do you think?"
"Dutch?"
Immersed in the boiling pot of soup before her, Hermione whipped her head to her daughter, face illuminated in the glow of her computer screen (as always) at the table. Clicking away at a pace Hermione had yet to even master, she turned down the stove and sauntered towards the dining area.
"Why do you want to learn Dutch, Rose?"
"Rosie's got a boyfriend!" Hugo sang, popping out from the hall to their bedrooms, spinning around wildly in his Chudley Canons jersey. "He lives in Amsterdam, she wants to go see him!"
"I do not, Hugo, shut up!"
But her expression indicated otherwise. Only when she was flustered did the Weasley part of the family rise out of Hermione's daughter; red spreading from her cheeks down to her beck, her generally collected demeanour faltered.
"Yes you do! I heard you talking about him to Dominique," he snickered, "'Oh my god, he's just so cute! As if he said he wants to date me. But then…I haven't talked to him since school ended, do you think he doesn't fancy me anymore?'"
"I SWEAR TO MERLIN HUGO, I WILL SAW YOUR EARS OFF WITH A HEX SO POWERFUL THAT NOT EVEN ST MUNGO'S COULD FIX YOU! "
"Rose," Hermione scolded, biting her lip, forcing her appearance to be stern as her son rolled on the carpet in near hysterical tears. When such a quiet tiny girl became angry, it was humorous. "No threats. Hugo, please stop listening in on conversation you weren't invited to, and let me talk to Rosie alone."
"Fine," he sighed, dramatically jumping upwards and running back to his lair.
"Sweetheart, have you got a boyfriend?" Hermione asked lightly, closing the laptop for her and sitting down in the chair beside Rose, arms swept around her shoulders.
To be honest, Hermione had often wondered if perhaps Rose was troubled with her sexuality. She'd inherited all the greatest genes from both sides of the pool, making her a perfect package in her mother's eyes and many others. Wit beyond measure, beautiful red hair like Ginny's, baby blue eyes like her father's, her mother's spirited thirst for knowledge, slender body and legs for days from playing Chaser.
Hermione had been a worrier all her life, but as soon as Rose had turned 13, it was game over for her sanity in regards to her only girl. She was what the boys called 'fit'. Even older men would second glance at her daughter, but Rose had never gone gaga over any of them back. Apparently that had changed.
Never did Hermione think Rose might be a late bloomer for finding boys attractive yet here they were.
"Oh mum, I don't know….."
"You don't know where to start, or you don't know if you're dating?"
"Both!" and she smacked her forehead with both palms.
"You can tell me, Rosie, I was teenager once too, remember?" she smiled, savouring the silly eye roll he received in return.
"You talk like an old woman sometimes!" Rosie giggled, taking her hands away to reveal dazzling teeth. "It's just weird, you know? You're always so….like, rational about everything, I suppose. It's just odd to ask about love advice from your mother," she grimaced.
"You know you can talk to me about anything, why would that stop now?"
"I know, it's just complicated I suppose."
"Why didn't you tell me anything before? Or write about him? Have I met him?"
"NO. God no. I wouldn't owl this stuff to you. Besides, when I told dad who it was last week he went silent and angry-like, you know when he tries to pretend he isn't annoyed but then has a frowny face all day? I can't talk to dad about this stuff anyways…." she finished quietly.
She'd reached a point in conversation that tensed the air like it was being strangled. Suddenly Rose leant in for a hug. When she didn't let go, Hermione tightened the grip, feeling her daughters head warm up like fire.
Steadying her breathing, Rose choked what Hermione feared she'd been dying to ask for a long time now: "Do you think Dad will ever move back in? Do you want him to try still?"
It was a great question; one which finally had a definite answer.
Separated for a few months now, she got mail every other day addressed to her from her husband.
"I…."
There was no sugar coating that would be able to be thickened on tonight, so Hermione told the truth, figuring that she was old enough. Many challenges far beyond her years Hermione had faced; she never wanted Rose to experience the same troubles at the same emotional intensity as she did at such a young age. The scars ran so deep. In realizing this however, perhaps she'd tried too hard to make a 'normal' life, perhaps it was time to give full credit to her daughter's maturity.
"You know what, sweetheart, I don't think so. We've been growing apart for a long time now, and that row we had…it's not a thing we can mend. We did try, we tried so hard, but the feeling isn't there anymore."
"But you can mend anything," came the sniffled reply, "I know dad wants to come back home, I know it…"
"He wants to come home for you and Hugo, Rosie," she said, smoothing down the wild hair, tears threatening to slip. "I want him to see you, I wish we could both see you all the time. We're trying to sort it out, you know…I wish I could mend everything. Make it all work. It's not easy."
Her voice cracked, as recollections rushed from the very recesses of her brain to mock her, and remind her of all the great and gruesome memories she'd spent with Ron, her one true love, had gone to waste. That they hadn't aged with grace, that their occupations and dreams were far too different to be compatible, and their children had to suffer for it.
Rosie said little after; several silent minutes passed and Hermione was suddenly freed. The creak of a chair signalling the departure of Rose from the room. A bit of shuffling and then she could hear the whistling of the kettle from the kitchen.
"Tea fixes everything. I'm fairly certain that's an ancient Granger proverb," Rose stated, coming back in with two steaming mugs, a dollop of milk in each, just how they preferred. Then she chuckled, the red rims around her eyes slowly lessening with each laugh.
"Thanks, darling. Now, tell my me all about this boy. And then if you're still hung up on him, we can practice saying hello and goodbye in Dutch."
And as Rosie exploded into nonsensical strings of speech, gushing and worrying all with maximum expression on a face allowed, as if no sad conversation had just happened, Hermione couldn't wipe the grin off her face.