Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

A/N: This isn't properly British.


"Ooh," Scorpius mumbles excitedly, stopping mid-step. Draco stops just in time to not bump into his son, and Scorpius whirls around, his grey eyes alight with thought. "What about a racing broom?"

Draco smiles indulgently but gently dissuades him. "That might be a tad... er... young for Grandfather."

"I know," Scorpius says, and he smiles somehow in both a genuinely innocent and very Slytherin style. "But perhaps it would encourage him to play more Quidditch with us."

"I think Grandmother might kills us if we get him up that high." Pausing to think for a minute while the crowd in Diagon Alley parts and pulsates around them, Draco suggests, "How about a new cane?"

Scorpius scrunches up his nose. "Then he'll think we think he's old."

Draco scrunches up his face back. "He is old."

"Dad!"

Draco chuckles at his son's instantly affronted look. He reaches out a gloved hand and pats Scorpius' blond head, assuring him, "It's alright, honey. When you get old, you know it."

"Well I don't want to know it," Scorpius grins, and rolls his eyes at the public display of affection.

But Draco is determined to be a warm, caring father, opposite of his own when he was young, and he places a tender hand on the middle of his son's back. He steers Scorpius around, and they continue to stroll through the feverish bustle of people, all chattering animatedly about what they're purchasing or asking for Christmas.

Draco already has Scorpius' gift picked out and something for both of his parents. He's not sure what Scorpius has, but he asked Draco's help in shopping for Lucius, and Draco never passes up an opportunity to spend time with his son. The day Scorpius went off to Hogwarts was one of the most traumatizing days of Draco's life. Separation anxiety ensued for several months, until Draco successfully obtained a job there as the Potions Professor, much to Scorpius' combined embarrassment and amusement.

But Malfoys put family first, and Scorpius got over it. Draco would've broken out into joyous tears if his own father had shown him as much dedication growing up, and Draco's determined to break some family traditions.

Others, like long blond hair tied in a black bow, he's now upholding. He doesn't carry a cane yet, but now that he knows Scorpius thinks it's a sign of aging, he makes a mental note not to.

"Ooh," Scorpius pauses, and Draco stops again, following his son's gaze. "How about an owl?"

"Grandmother and Grandfather have an owl," Draco drawls curiously.

Scorpius shrugs. "Not a good one. I don't get answers to half my letters."

Draco says, "I think an owl might not be best," and doesn't have the heart to elaborate on the fact that Lucius isn't sending them back consistently because affection is a difficult thing for him. He's getting better at it, slowly. Scorpius, who has turned out to be wonderfully lovely (probably as a result of Draco's overly-affectionate determination) is slowly training him out of it. The last time they visited the manor, Scorpius simply refused to leave until he got a full hug from all family members, which earned Draco an incredulous look from Lucius and a giggle from Narcissa.

Draco always hugs Scorpius, and frankly thinks Lucius should open up and hug more. The Dark Lord has been gone for a long time, and he's sick of everyone fronting in shadows. Perhaps the worst part of it is that Draco can tell, he just knows, that Lucius wants the adoration. Lucius wants to feel loved, every bit as much as the rest of them. But he was raised the old-fashioned Malfoy way by his father, and it's a hard thing to break. He can tell from the way that Lucius looks at him that Lucius is proud of the way Draco's raised Scorpius, and all he wants to do is return the favour.

They're walking again, and this time when Scorpius suddenly stops, Draco isn't fast enough. He stumbles into Scorpius, and then hurriedly steps back again, straightening his robes. "Sorry," Scorpius chirps.

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been in such deep thought." Satisfied with his fixed clothes, Draco looks up. "Spotted another shop?"

"No, actually," Scorpius drawls, in a voice that sounds so very like his father's. But his smile is far brighter than Draco's ever was. "But I did think of the perfect gift for Grandfather."

"Oh?" Draco asks, arching an eyebrow. "Any idea where we can get it, then?"

"Home," Scorpius says.

"Home?" Draco raises an eyebrow. "Are we going to re-gift?"

"Grandfather's an expensive man," Scorpius says. Draco nods, brow knit in confusion. "It's really hard to shop for him, especially when every year he gives the exact same neutral reaction, no matter what he unwraps—it's hard to gauge what really makes him happy." Draco's head tilts to the side. He opens his mouth, but Scorpius cuts him off. "I know, I know, family is the most important thing to a Malfoy. I really want to get that through to Grandfather, though. I think the best gift we could give him is love."

Draco's grin is so wide it splits his face, and he doesn't care who sees. He proudly tells his son, "I couldn't give him any more love if I wanted to."

"We could show him more, though," Scorpius says excitedly, and he starts to tug Draco back the way they came, out of Diagon Alley. "We could write him a poem, or... or give him a photo album! Or both! Or I could make him some new bows for his hair! ...Do you think he'd like that?"

Draco takes them off to the side and tightly grips his son's arm, ready to Apparate them. First he beams with pride and makes sure Scorpius sees it. He says, "I think he'd love that."

Then he dives forward to hug Scorpius tightly, and they're pulled off into the air.