Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
A/N: A little something written for Strictly Dramione's Halloween Fest 2018. Thank you so much to the mods for putting together another amazing fest!
Hero Worship
When Scorpius bought a Boy Who Lived doll, Draco said nothing—just threw a small pouch of Galleons on the counter on their way out of the store. The coins jingled when they hit the hard surface as if to say, 'Woweee! There are so many of us in here! Are you sure you meant to trade us all for that rubbish toy your son's going to forget by teatime?'
The redheaded twin behind the counter—the two-eared one—picked up the leather pouch and grinned at him widely. 'So long, sucker!' his feline smile said. 'Hope you enjoy watching your son play with your childhood nemesis' action figure! Bet you didn't see that one coming when you were charming those "Potter Stinks" buttons, huh?'
Draco slammed the glass door behind him, hoping it produced a crack through the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sign. He glanced over his shoulder and sighed—no such luck.
Instead of heading straight home as he initially planned, Draco toured Scorpius through Diagon Alley. They popped inside fragrant candy shops, browsed through the shelves of several toy stores, and checked out displays inside Quality Quidditch Supplies.
"Is that Harry Potta's broom, Daddy?" asked Scorpius as he gazed up at the Firebolt X. The Boy Who Lived doll was clutched possessively against his chest.
Draco's eyes flicked up to the garish display. Briefly, he debated the wisdom of buying a three-year-old child a professional racing broom to waylay his unhealthy obsession with Potter. Would the shiny wooden handle be tempting enough that he could wrestle the toy from his son's grasp without prompting a Fiendfyre-level tantrum?
Half an hour and three hundred Galleons later, he found that it was not. He left the store with a new broom in one hand and a sniffling toddler in the other. Scorpius' red-rimmed eyes were bright, and a watery-yet-triumphant smile flashed on his face as he carried the Boy Who Lived in his arms.
Perhaps sensing that his father would hide the doll the second he let go—smart lad—the Boy Who Lived stayed firmly at the tot's side. Through meals, the doll sat at the table. The House Elves humored their young master by preparing a third place setting in the dining room. Watching his one and only child spoon-feed the bespectacled toy roiled his stomach, though he tried his best to keep the displeasure off his face.
Incidentally, Draco lost five pounds in the subsequent weeks for lack of appetite.
It was without surprise that, on Halloween, Scorpius raced down the wide marble steps in glaring Gryffindor red. Blitzy even charmed Scorp's fine blond locks into a dark, unruly mop. Draco bit down the urge to offer the indulgent House Elf a paid vacation in the tropics.
"Look, Daddy!" Scorpius dashed to his side and lifted the bangs off his forehead. "I got a scar!" He pointed to the fake, jagged mark on his brow, hopping up to make sure Draco got a good look.
"How very nice, son," he pushed through gritted teeth. He glared at the tittering House Elf at the top of the stairs. "Did you thank Blitzy for all her hard work? Because I certainly will."
With a mischievous snort, the floppy-eared little monster popped out of the line of fire.
Scorpius shrugged on his backpack, in which, of course, the Boy Who Lived was safely nestled. Then, he tugged on Draco's hand. "School, Daddy! I wanna go school, and people gonna see me, and they gonna say, 'Oh! Hey! Look, it's Harry Potta!' and—"
A pained groan rumbled in his throat. Draco masked it by turning on his heels and Apparating them out of the Manor.
"—they gonna think I'm the coolest!" Scorpius' declaration echoed as they popped into the courtyard of Little Bits of Magic preschool.
Some parents hid their grins under collars or scarves. Many chuckled outright. Hannah Longbottom glanced away with only a hint of mirth on her face while she adjusted her daughter's Mandrake arms. Cho Nott spared him a wave as she fixed her son's Tornadoes uniform and handed him a toy broom.
Scorpius immediately let go of his hand and ran for the entrance.
Draco threw up his arms. "Uhhh—bye?" he called after his son, who didn't glance back.
At the door, he was greeted by a teacher. He jumped up and down, showcasing his 'cool' outfit; she praised his authentic-looking scar. As she patted Scorp's messy hair, her keen gaze zoned in on Draco.
Heat flared under his cashmere scarf. He reached up and loosened it, venting the flush before it crept into his cheeks.
As Scorp zoomed through the entrance, his teacher wandered the courtyard. She bestowed a compliment on Mavis Corner's pumpkin costume; straightened Etienne Zabini's shiny helmet; and helped Oliver Wood place flowers in his daughter's hair.
Draco rooted to the spot like a weed. For something to do, he peered into the picture window and found his son, who raced around the classroom in a blur. After several minutes, Draco's patience was rewarded.
"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy."
He parted his lips and shifted his eyebrows up his forehead in feigned surprise. "Oh! Good morning, Ms. Granger."
The corners of her eyes crinkled. "How lovely to see Scorpius dressed up for Halloween," she mused.
"Isn't it just,"—his gaze caught on her bright smile; his mind blanked at a setting-appropriate word—"something?"
"It's something, all right." Hermione laughed. She dropped the volume of her voice as she said, "I'm glad you're taking it in stride."
He found it difficult to hear her lowered tone; he sidled closer. "It's fine," he answered magnanimously. A cool breeze carried the spiced apple fragrance of her curls. Instinctively, he leaned towards her more. "Though I had wondered just how this Potter obsession came about."
"My fault, I'm afraid." A wayward curl escaped her loose bun, and she tucked it behind an ear. "I had Harry come in and talk to the kids earlier this term. For such a down-to-earth man, he has a way of capturing one's imagination."
Draco scoffed. "It's the scar," he muttered. "It can make anyone seem interesting. Harry Potter…Harvey Dent…Freddy Krueger…"
Hermione hummed. "Someone's been diving into Muggle pop culture." The impressed undertone of her voice puffed his chest out.
"Just loading up my arsenal. Movies, shows,"—he gave an artful shrug—"As Scorp gets older, I'm sure those will interest him." Draco flashed a grin. "At least I have Saint Potter to thank for now. I'm not ready to explain the Marvel universe to him just yet."
"You'd need diagrams." She nodded. The movement released the curl behind her ear. It danced across the soft curve of her cheek. 'Hey! Look at me!' it said as it fluttered. 'Won't a kind fellow help out a poor Lock and put me back in place?'
'Let's be Good Samaritans,' itched his fingers. Draco shoved his hands deeper in their pockets to bar his noble digits.
A melody chimed, signaling the start of class. "Well." Hermione nudged her head towards the doors. "Must head in."
Draco nodded farewell, and she strolled across the courtyard. Through the window, he caught Scorpius, who now straddled Thomas Nott's toy broom and chased an invisible Snitch. A thought budded. It was still forming into a coherent idea as he jogged after Hermione.
"Ms. Granger." He fell into step at her side. "The Halloween experience isn't quite complete without knocking on strangers' doors and collecting questionably safe treats. I'm surprising Scorpius with an outing to a Muggle neighborhood to do just that, and,"—he took a deep breath and exhaled out the words—"wouldyouliketocomealong?"
Hermione stared at him, her eyes so comically wide he would have laughed had his heart not been jammed in his throat. Slowly, her expression melted. Her cheeks grew rosy, and he was pleased to think it had nothing to do with the ambient fall temperature. "Okay," she whispered.
Draco reached around her for the door handle; his hand inadvertently grazed her waist. Her face glowed even brighter as he pulled the door open. "Wonderful," murmured, gesturing her through.
As she walked inside, her dazed expression morphed into a playful smile. "You'll be in costume, of course?"
He gulped. "Certainly."
Her eyes twinkled with a challenge. "Looking forward to it." Hermione hurried to her classroom, where she was greeted with a cheerful ruckus.
Draco floated back to the middle of the courtyard. Hermione Granger had agreed to accompany him—and his son, of course. His son, who was dressed as Harry-bloody-Potter...
Though, if Draco had his way, he supposed he ought to get used to Scorp's hero worship. After all, Draco planned on wooing the lovely Ms. Granger. Unfortunately, she came as a set—she, Potter, and the Weasel were still as inseparable as they were at Hogwarts.
Another idea arrested him in his tracks: if his son was Harry Potter, and they were going with Hermione Granger, then that meant…
"Oh, bollocks." As he Disapparated, he wondered if even Blitzy's magic was potent enough to change his hair to that ghastly Weasley orange.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated!