Disclaimer: All characters, places and names belong to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.
Rainy Day
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost. *
It's unsettling how rain always brings back memories, especially the unwelcomed ones that should be buried in the deepest corners of his mind and never brought to light. He could not help it, however, that the slightly eerie view of neatly cut trees and rosebushes in the Manor's gardens separated from him only by the glass of his study's window, now bleary because of the many raindrops, reminded him of another deep green behind the glass.
For the name of Merlin, why think about him now? He was glad not to spare him a thought, apart from that influenced by articles in the Daily Prophet, for the past nineteen years, so why start now? Now when he finally had a seemingly perfect life of his own. Life with only occasional letter from his parents hidden safely in their unplottable manor in Bordeaux, his beautiful pureblood wife, his perfect son and his fortune which, although slightly depleted by the Ministry as atonement for the family's wrongdoings during the war, was still indecently huge. One look at the desk where a letter from his son lay gave him the answer. Scorpius was sorted into Slytherin, just like every Malfoy in recorded history, and seemed to immensely enjoy Hogwarts. Everything was going to be exactly as he expected it to be. Everything except for one detail, or should he say person. His son's new housemate and friend Albus Severus Potter. He had a nagging feeling that this boy will shatter the fragile tranquillity of his life just as his father did twenty six years ago. Malfoys and Potters were supposed to be archenemies or school rivals at the very least and not best friends. Adversaries is what they are and always will be, this is the only way it could ever be, the only way it was for him. And yet he tried so hard to give Scorpius a perfect childhood that he had never had. But could he do it? Wasn't it asking too much? What right did he have to take something from his son simply because it had been taken from him many years ago.
He had a life to live, a reputation to uphold and, most pressingly, a party to host and he would be damned if he let himself ruin it by thinking about those bewitching green eyes behind old glasses. He stepped out of his study and into the hall roaring with music and laughter, the emptiness in his heart buried deep and ignored. Until the next rainy day.
* W. B. Yeats Never Give All the Heart