Author's Note: The main character of this story, Aiden Cooper, was inspired by the character I made for BrutieBoot's Harry Potter fanfiction, Lorcan and Lysander, who, incidentally, is also named Aiden Cooper. Their backgrounds are very much the same (with few major differences), but I thought his character was so interesting that I really wanted to create a story for him. Thank you to Brutie for letting me use Aiden in a different story (even though I made him, however I gave up all ownership of him when I allowed her to use him in her story). By the way, go read Lorcan and Lysander! It's seriously so good! I "aww" at every freakin' chapter! xD Anyway, enjoy, and thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated. (:
CHAPTER 1
I've been seeing that blonde-haired man since the beginning of the summer, but I never thought much of it because I came to the conclusion that he was probably just an illusion, a mere trick played by my mind. He's tall and pale, as if he's never seen the sun before, though he stands right underneath its blazing rays when he's around me, and such a pointed face, like an elf. His eyes are narrowed and grey, and his lips are normally pursed into a thin line, the edges threatening to lift upward, as if he longed to smile at me. He's always dressed in black, even though it's well over ninety degrees in the afternoon, and when his visit is over, he'll disappear.
I guess this is really why I think he doesn't exist; because of his vanishing getaways. It's impossible to merely vanish into midair, therefore, the man is not real. Sometimes I wonder if the man is a ghost, since he never talks or interacts with me. Other times I believe he's the older version of me, since he does look somewhat like me. Well, we've got the same eyes, at least.
So as I'm walking home from the local park, enjoying one of my last days of summer by laying in the grass and reading a book (and also, admittedly, searching for field mice to bring home), I see the man again, only this time he finally did smile, a depressing, pitiful smile. I was taken aback by his change of expression and wondered what could have possessed him to smile in such a sad way. Was something bad about to happen to me (or us, if he really was my future self), or would this be the last time he'd see me, in other words, a goodbye smile? I deep down hoped it would be the latter, as the man appearing everywhere I was beginning to really annoy me.
Rolling my eyes, I turn away and continue to walk down the road, arriving at my neighborhood street. Curious, I look back and notice he's gone, hopefully for forever.
I approach a small one-story cottage-type of home, the shingles on the outside wall a fading coral, the windows bearing flower boxes and the lawn trimmed nicely. The mailbox is painted delicately with frilly designs and bluebirds soaring. My house is an absolute embarrassment. It's times like these that I'm relieved I don't have a lot of friends, if any at all. I've never brought a friend home from school, nor would I really want to, considering just the outside of my house.
And the inside is just as bad. There are china cabinets and striped floral wallpaper in every room, even mine. The carpet is a tan shag, and there are china plates of pink roses mounted on the walls. Ancient vases (pronounced with a short A, so I've been told, but to me that's too much effort) litter the mantel above the fireplace, and there is an abundance of plants and flowers all over the place, providing a scent that I've long gotten over and now detest.
I guess this is all because my grandmother lives with me. She's always been into flowers (and pink, in case you hadn't noticed). I've always lived with her. Mum moved back in with her long before I was born, and when I arrived, she knew it was only best to stay in a stable house for me, because she couldn't take care of me on her own.
I suppose I do love my grandmother, but I absolutely despise living with her. I've received too much motherly love because of her. After all, I already have my own mum—the last thing I wanted was a second one. With Grandmother Eracebeth, I've got an entire new set of rules. I'm lucky enough to get out of the house. The only good thing about her is her cooking, but even that's not entirely good. I mean, what kind of grandmother doesn't know how to cook? And since my mother is an absolute horror in the kitchen, all of the cooking is left to my grandmother.
It's times like this where I wished I had a father. My father would be able to cook, play sports with me, teach me to build things … all of the necessities a father would do. He'd read the newspaper while drinking a mug of coffee every Sunday morning, and then afterwards offer to take me out to the park where we'd play a bit of football. He'd be an excellent football player; very precise with his feet, and very speedy. And then, when I'd come of age, he'd teach me to drive, and he'd be proud to present me with my very own automobile of my own when I'd finally get my license.
But these are all just fantasies that I've had ever since I was a kid. My father's been dead for as long as I can remember. I've never met him. Mum told me he'd died before I was even born when I was young, and it was the hardest thing I could ever take in. In fact, even today, I'm not even over it. I've been depressed and angry and have been to numerous schools because of my behavior, even as a tike. If I had a father, he'd be here for me to go through everything I needed to go through growing up into a man. Every child needs their mother, but every boy needs their father. And, I'll admit, I've caused a lot of trouble for both my mum and my grandmother, but the loss of my father has just been too great. It's no excuse, I know, because I'm no moron, but sometimes I feel that it could be.
I approach the white-painted door and twisted the knob, the aroma of flowers and plants hitting me like a tidal wave. I gag briefly, but I'm also used to the scent that it doesn't faze me as much as it used to. I travel through the family room (consumed in floral décor) and reach the archway that opens to the kitchen. But as I arrive at the archway, I stop, and so does my heart.
The blonde man is sitting at the dining table across from my mum.
Does she know he's there, I wonder, but my question is soon answered when my mum takes a deep breath and gazes right into the man's eyes, and I know she sees him. Golden hair that is pulled over to one shoulder in a single plait with fringes framing her heart-shaped face, Mum is absolutely beautiful, and I wonder why she never comes home with a date. Not that I want her to, because imaging my mother dating is just downright awkward, but I don't doubt that many men eye her with such attraction. Her eyes are wide and blue, like dark sapphire gems, and her lips are full and red, even without lipstick. She has a thin figure, and she's perhaps a couple inches shorter than I am, and I'm nearly six foot.
"What the bloody hell is he doing here?" I blurt, staring at the both of them with a crazed expression. My eyebrows knit together in confusion and anger.
"Aiden, sweetheart," she begins as she exhales her held breath. "There's something I need to tell you—that we"—she looks back at the man before returning her gaze on me—"need to tell you."
"It would probably be best if you sat down. This could be a lot to take in," the man says, motioning to the spare chair that's placed beside him.
"I'm used to dealing with hard situations, so I'll stay here, thanks," I sneer, crossing my arms over my chest. I briefly look at my mother, who is narrowing her eyes at me, but is pursing her lips, not uttering a word. Usually by now she would have scolded me for being so rude, but she says nothing. My eyebrows narrow even further. This must be an extremely big deal, probably bigger than I think it is. I'm debating whether I should take the man's offer and sit down, afraid the impact will be too great. I don't really want to hear the news; I'm already broken inside because of my father's inexistence in my life.
"Very well." The man nods. "Aiden, I am your father."
What?
What did he just say?
What did he just say?
Every system in my body has completely shut down and stopped functioning as my stomach feels as if it is being crushed by a boulder. I can feel bile scratch at the back of my throat, and I honestly don't even care if I throw up in front of them. I'm too stunned to be embarrassed.
"My name is Draco Malfoy, Aiden," he continues. "I'm terribly sorry about the traumatic impact I must have caused, not being there in your life."
"I-I don't understand," I finally sputter. "My father is dead!"
"Aiden, I regret nothing more than keeping this from you, my darling son, but you wouldn't have understood, especially after thinking your father was dead," Mum begins, her eyes glittering with a wet film.
"Understand that my father was actually alive and that you hid him from me my entire life?" I snap, my anger reaching its boiling point. Now it's going to be hard to keep my temper down, and with the way things are going, it doesn't look like I'm going to be remotely happy for a while.
"You wouldn't have understood the reason," Draco corrects, eyeing my mother sympathetically for no more than a second. I glare.
"Well what could be a bloody good reason to keep my father out of my life? Are you a loser? Do you do drugs, or do you drink? Do you sleep around with other women? What? Were you afraid of influencing my life poorly? I hate to break it to you, but I'm not that great of a person either. I've been to so many schools, I've lost count, because of my behavior. So what could be your reason to keeping yourself out of my life?"
Draco gulps and closes his eyes, sighing heavily. My mother has tears streaming down her face. Had I struck a nerve? Had I guessed correctly? My blood curdled, and my stomach twisted, as if someone were wringing it dry.
"You are a good person, Aiden," Draco says softly. "You've just made a lot of the wrong decisions. Just as I have. You're a very bright boy for guessing correctly."
I gulp, fearing what exactly I guessed correctly, but Draco answers my mental question anyway.
"I am a loser. I am a married man with a seventeen-year-old son, yet I chose to cheat on her and unexpectedly created another family. Aiden, I love you because you are my son, but I—"
His voice cuts off there because he just doesn't know what more to say. Or, rather, he does know what to say, but he doesn't know how to say it. It doesn't matter, though, because I already know what he wants to say.
"I was an accident?" I ask, glancing at my mother. Her lower lip quivers and she looks away, ashamed. I could feel my jaw slowly dropping as her looking away from me stings my heart. My gaze drifts back towards Draco, his grey eyes filled with shame. So that what was why he had the same eyes as me, because he was my father. Not because he was an older version of me, but because he was my father.
I'm not sure how to handle this. All my life I only wished for a father, and here he was, but hearing that I was a child of an affair, a mistake, an unwanted baby, made all of those wants vanish into thin air. I didn't care for Draco to be my father. It was obvious he had his other family, his real family.
I don't know what to say to them now. My hands fall to my side and shake, clenching into fists. I long to hit something, to drive my knuckles into Grandmother's walls, but I know she'll fall over dead if something were to happen to her precious floral wallpaper.
"I know this is difficult to hear, son, and what I did was wrong. I shouldn't have stayed out of your life. I should have told my wife about having another son, but I didn't. I was afraid of what would become of our marriage, and I still am. I love her very much—"
"But you don't love my mother," I snarl, interrupting him. I don't want to hear about his other family. I could care less. I'm disgusted that the father I've always wanted could do something like this to me. I hate him, I hate his family, and I hate my mother for keeping this from me. Hell, Grandmother Eracebeth probably knew about this too!
"Not in the same manner, no," Draco says, his voice hesitant. I roll my eyes and turn on my heel. I've had enough. I no longer want to look at the both of them.
"Wait—Aiden!" Mum calls, her chair scraping against the tile floor. I ignore her and continue walking away from them.
Suddenly, a hand grasps my wrist and I turn my head, startled to see Draco looming over me, his tall athletic figure surprisingly intimidating. He's not that much taller than me, perhaps a couple or so inches taller. He looks down at me, his eyes narrowed, his pointed face coated with genuine concern.
"There's more, Aiden," he says softly. More? What more can there possibly be? The situation was already at its worst. I couldn't possibly find any more room for more news.
"What more could there be?" I ask, scoffing. Draco digs into the inside pocket of his coat (which I still don't understand why he's wearing it, since we're still in the middle of summer) and pulls out a crinkled envelope. The red seal has been broken, its contents already been read. On front is a very elegant script, stating my name and address. I narrow my eyes.
"That's for me, isn't it? Hand it over," I demand, extending an arm. Draco narrows his eyes and pulls it away from my reach.
"This isn't your average letter, Aiden. You must understand the vitality of it, of its significance, and why I couldn't give it to you when it first came."
"You went through my mailbox? What the bloody hell is wrong with you, you stalker?" I exclaim.
"I haven't been stalking you. I've been watching over you, watching you grow and become the young man you are today. I'm surprised this summer is the first time you really notice my existence."
"You've been watching me my entire life?" This both makes me feel excited, yet crept out, but either way it makes my stomach churn. All the time I thought I had no father in my life, in actuality there was one looking after me, watching me grow, watching me become what I am.
He nods, and then holds up the letter, and I realize we've briefly drifted away from it.
"This letter, Aiden, is an acceptance letter to a school here in England," he says, running a thumb over the broken seal. My eyebrows knit together. I look back at my mother, who's standing at the archway, watching us. An acceptance letter? To what school? What school could possibly want a reject like me anyway?
"What school?"
"It's a private school—very private," he says. "It arrived five years ago, but I couldn't let you have it because I didn't want you to go. I didn't want you to run into my other son."
My glare returns. How could this man be so selfish? And he was supposed to be my father? I feel as if my dreams have been mocked, that this man is really sent to make fun of me and to act like the worst father in the entire world, because that's what he's already become, and I've only been talking to him for thirty minutes.
"But I want you to go to this school now, because now I feel you are responsible to keep this secret. Scorpius doesn't know about my affair, and that you even exist. Astoria, on the other hand, knows about Celeste—about your mother—however she has no recollection of your existence. However, going to this school introduces a new life, a new person inside of you. Going to this school shows who you really are."
I'm still glaring and I'm too busy wondering what could be so life-changing going to this private school to question what in the bloody hell kind of name is Scorpius. Honestly, if my mother named me something similar to an arthropod, I definitely would not have been pleased.
"What's the school?" I finally ask. Draco hands me the envelope and I pull out its contents. Two pieces of parchment come out of the envelope, one of them the acceptance letter, the other a list of items.
I read the first sentence and am taken aback.
Dear Mr. Cooper,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"Is this some kind of joke?" I blurt, staring at Draco with confusion, but he shakes his head, his expression still firm, not a crack of a smile anywhere on his lips. I look back down at the letter, rereading the first sentence and then continuing the letter.
Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress
"Wh-what does this mean?" I ask. "Witchcraft and Wizardry? This truly has nothing to do with magic and sorcerers and all that rubbish, right?"
Draco closes his eyes and shakes his head. 'This was the other thing that I truly regret keeping from you as well," he says. "What that letter says is that you've been accepted to a school of magic, and to learn how to use it." His voice dropped into a low tone. "That letter, Aiden Xavier Cooper, means that you are a wizard."
