AUTHOR'S NOTE: One Christmas night, Scorpius decides he has had enough of his grandfather's torment.

Written for Professor Flitwick's Prompt of the Day (Thursday July 21st) : kindness.

(17/09/2010)EDITED: thanks a lot Julia for Beta-ing


"Oh, comb your hair properly, Scorpius! Don't you want to look decent?"

"If I do it anymore, there won't be anything left to comb!"

Scorpius despised these annual 'social gatherings' at Lucius Malfoy's home, which were actually more like a tete-a-tete with the most formidable man on earth, in a colossal, looming excuse for a home. He hated his mother's attempts at making him look fashionably 'decent' even more. He knew, and so did Astoria, that nothing was enough of Lucius Malfoy. For all he knew, he could be crowned the King of England, and Grandfather would still look down upon him and blame 'the fall of aristocracy'. Scorpius had no idea how someone could refer terrorism as aristocracy. It seemed a ridiculous euphemism, even from someone as delusional as Lucius Malfoy.

Scopius had overheard some of their peers and relations say that Scorpius he looked Lucius Malfoy's younger self. Scorpius hardly understood. So he had the same platinum blond hair and gray eyes and ivory complexion. So what? No two persons could be more different. Grandfather derived most of his joy from looking down on people (mostly Scorpius and his father); Scorpius was ashamed of being related to him.

Scorpius couldn't wait to come of age, and just sever all his ties with Grandfather. He would just move out, which would negate his duty to be present in these gatherings. Just a little over two years...

x x x x x x

The hall was long, filled with sounds of laughter, which, Scorpius thought, did not suit this mansion. Many men and women came forward to see his parents, quickly merging them in their groups. Some came forward to give him formal greetings. He politely returned them and retreated from the busily chatting guests, who were apparently discussing very important issues like which flower did not grow well the last season, how many shots of goldschlager Alicia Teggart had downed in the last party or which was better for dessert - Fortescue's Frozen Custard or the Gendarge's Gelato.

Scorpius picked up the only goblet of a blood-red beverage(he only hoped it didn't taste as gruesome as it looked) from the tray of a passing elf and walked towards the other end of the hall. He leaned back on the arch-like pillar that guarded the inner parts of the house.

Scorpius was watching the guests languidly when he jumped at the sound of a cool voice.

"Enjoying your drink, I see."

Lucius Malfoy, cold as stone, was standing in front of him, and he hadn't so much as noticed! He took a sip from his goblet, which he had completely forgotten.

"Yes, what is it? Tastes like cough syrup," said Scorpius, rolling his tongue against the palate to the bitter aftertaste.

"The finest dragon blood sherry," said Lucius.

Scorpius hated how Lucius Malfoy added a 'finest' before everything he associated with himself - even if that was in fact dragon bloodsherry.

He tried to change the subject to rest the tickling in his stomach - throwing up at Grandfather's feet would not make his position any better.

"How is Aunt Isabella?"

"Bearing litters by the year. Already three daughters. Outrageous!"

Scorpius did not know how, but anything that came out of Lucius Malfoy's mouth sounded like curses - even the happy fact that Aunt Isabella had three very cheerful children. It was impossible to carry out a nice conversation with this man - how he had so many guests every year was beyond Scorpius' comprehension.

He gave up trying to make small talk and stood silently, waiting for the next comment full of disdain.

"What do you intend to do after school?"

Scorpius had actually lost count of how many times Grandfather had asked this question, prodding and poking him to give an answer so that he could sneer at his choice. Scorpius hadn't given him the opportunity, and tonight would be no different.

"I haven't decided yet," he lied.

Lucius Malfoy looked at him for one hard moment, and Scorpius wondered if he was trying to read his mind. But he was no Legilimens, not that he knew of. Yet Scorpius felt strangely unprotected under his glare.

"Oh, I know what you will be, boy. You will skulk in the shadows of your house, just like your father."

"Father does not skulk at home," snapped Scorpius, trying hard to check his rising temper.

"Oh, yes, he does. It shames me to think a Malfoy, my son, afraid to show his face in public!"

"He is not proud of some things. You should know all about it."

"Not proud? We were trying to restore the prestige of the entire Wizarding population."

"You murdered innocent people!"

Scorpius was having a hard time keeping his voice under control, and a few guests were already eyeing them curiously.

"Your father accepted the mercy of Potter!" exclaimed Lucius, as if that was a more severe crime than murdering Muggle-borns.

A silence followed his words, and Lucius Malfoy's gray eyes glittered mirthlessly.

"He repents what he did; so did you. Why else those magnificent speeches of redemption?"

Lucius Malfoy's nostrils flared - he looked outraged by Scorpius' cheek. He looked around them, making sure no one was watching them. Then he walked forward and grabbed Scorpius's arm and dragged him out to the deserted balcony, away from everyone's prying eyes.

"You think it was very easy, don't you, you brat? The Dark Lord could have blown us to pieces for betraying him! But your lied to him, to save Potter's neck!"

In for a penny, in for a pound, thought Scorpius. He would speak his mind tonight. "Because you thought it had gone too far. You feared for your own family, Grandfather. Don't kid yourself, you always chose the safe bet. It was not a noble cause."

"Don't you dare talk about things that you don't understand. We did not do the things we did for Draco to throw his life away. We wanted him to have a life and not live off the fortune he inherited!"

"People are prejudiced, and you know that."

"People are prejudiced because he has let them! I don't see anyone saying anything when I go out, do I?"

"He is not like you, Grandfather, like it or not. He doesn't want people point at him on the street."

"I know he is not like me. He lets kindness zap his strength!"

"If kindness is a frailty, Grandfather, I am proud to say that my father is weak, and so am I."

Lucius' glare bore into Scorpius' eyes, but he did not look away. He was not going back down.

"Well, you certainly don't want for spirit, do you, boy? You are not so weak and snivelling as your father, more like me than him, you know."

"No," Scorpius said.

"Don't tell me you can't see it - the resemblance between us?" He sneered. "The steely eyes, the blond hair... You could be very like me, boy, a real Malfoy. I could give you riches, power, influence..." His voice was soft, silky.

"No," Scorpius repeated, shaking his head. "I don't want any of that. I don't want to be like you."

"You can't deny the similarities..."

"Perhaps not, but do you want to know the real difference between you and me?" Scorpius said, feeling a sudden rush of bravery. "That I have - that I have something, and all you have is money and influence - you scare people now. But when you die, you'll die alone, and I - I won't."

His grandfather did not look hurt at this, and Scorpius, gulping, wondering if he had understood more of the speech than Scorpius had meant him too. Slowly, a malicious smile appeared on Lucius Malfoy's face.

"She is a Potter. You will never be good enough for her. No matter what you do."

It literally pained him to resist the urge to physically hurt the man standing in front of him - whose strength was ebbing, but every drop of malice in his heart was preserved. His hands ached to scratch the victorious grin off his grandfather's face.

"But you are wrong," whispered Scorpius. "I've never been good enough for you, perhaps, but for her - " He smiled slightly. "I already am."

He knew everyone was watching him as he almost ran out of the hall, but Scorpius was not bothered. He was never coming back to this place.