The Truth About Scorpius - by DebMoor
Disclaimer: The characters mentioned below belong to J.K. Rowling and affiliated production companies/publishers. No profit is being made from their usage. It's all for shits and giggles, people.
No-one believes Draco when he tells this story, not even his own son, who is currently convinced that Draco is really a he-she, like the opposite of something that happened on something called Southpark which is shown on the Tell-ay at the Potter's house which Albus Severus watches all the time when his mother is too busy giving birth to control her children, nor anybody else's for that matter.
The story goes like this. One day, Draco noticed a bulge in his side, which was oddly shaped and flexibly hard, rather like a nose. He was too scared to go to a Healer about it because every time he went there they were delighted to stick their fingers up his arse and anyway, everybody who knew anything knew that Healers were paid a pittance and regularly sold dead patient's nipples, and fingernails and anything else they could fit in their grubby pockets on Knockturn Alley, so one of those twats would obviously jump at the chance to sell the story of the Wizarding World's Most Eligible Bachelor (if he did say so himself) to some claptrap like Witch Weekly.
Anyway, this nose thing kept growing, only now it wasn't just a nose. There were lips. And eyes. And dangly bits. One morning he was twisting around in front of the mirror to admire his perfect Malfoy arse when realised he had a third leg growing out of his flank, and no, even the Malfoy jewels aren't that big so he couldn't possibly have been mistaken, even if he wishes he were. On seeing the leg, he may or may not have squealed like a girl - that is between himself and his mirror, thank you very much. Soon, this leg was flexible enough that it could stick its foot in his mouth at inopportune moments, and hadn't the house elves found that one a hoot until they'd been told to spend the next twenty four hours ironing their hands?
He tried a few different spells, one memorable potion, but nothing did the trick. Nothing removed the leg, now joined by an arm, collectively called The Growth in his head. He considered consulting Granger, since they were all buddy buddy now, but she was pregnant and hormonal and scarier than usual and had really really bad hair, so he left her alone. He figured it was a birth defect, like that third nose his Great Aunt Octavia on his father's side had developed later in life that his mother had called siphillus when his father wasn't listening and Aunt Wally had said was the result of those damn Franks interbreeding with Veela and centaurs and god knows what else, which was probably true, even if Aunt Wally was completely mental.
On the eighth day, the Growth started to talk, which really shouldn't have surprised him considering the fact that mirrors and hats and doorknobs all talked, but instead freaked him out more than the two hands growing out of his hips that kept pinching his arse when he was trying to sleep. It wanted a name. Draco told it it was a pain in the arse, but considering it was growing out of his arse, well he couldn't very well name his luscious arse that. So he thought of things that could very well be pains in the arse and that's how he came up with Scorpius. He'd wanted to call it Pointy Stick, but the Growth wasn't having any of that.
On the Ninth day, the Growth - Scorpius - fell off. And started crying. Draco may have cried a little too, because it wasn't exactly painless.
Of course, no-one believes any of this when he tells them. Not even his beautiful, asexually produced son who is literally a chip off the old block and just as much a sarcastic shit as Draco ever was as a toerag.