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For the Calender Challenge. 3: March—spring; "I didn't say it was your fault."

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The Nineteenth Year:

Chapter Three: Malfoys Aren't Afraid of Anything

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"There's nothing more freeing than the shackles of love." –Emma Racine deFleur

"No matter what a man's past may have been, his future is spotless."

–John R. Rice

"Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid." –William Shakespeare

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"I'm worried about Scorpius."

Not the words a bloke wants to hear when his wife is in his lap, and the two of them are snogging. I protested.

She sat up straight, hands on her hips, and glared down at me. I sighed and capitulated.

"Why are you worried about Scorpius?"

Tori braced herself on the sides of the armchair, dark brown curls falling forward over her face adorably.

"I want to discuss this. Seriously."

"Go on."

"He's really nervous about going to school in the fall," Tori explained.

"Already?" I protested.

"He's very precocious," she said huffily. "He's worried we'll disown him and he'll have to beg in the streets because there'll be no money for school and he won't have any place to stay and he won't make any friends because they'll all judge him by his surname and everything will be dreadful, if he's not in Slytherin."

I blinked. "We won't disown him," I protested. "And he'll never have to beg in the streets for money—he's a Malfoy. As for not making friends—Hermogenes Bulstrode and Vincent Goyle are in his year, aren't they? Some people may judge him based on his surname, but they're not worth bothering about."

"Don't tell me, tell him," Tori said, rolling her eyes. She's adorable when she does that. She's got the most gorgeous grey-green eyes, with the longest lashes I've ever seen…

"Pay attention," Tori said, blushing. "If your father hadn't told him all those ridiculous stories about the Knights of Walpurgis…"

I frowned, feeling myself get angry. "I couldn't just refuse to let my father try and mold my son into a proper Malfoy—the shock would've killed him! And it's not as though the Knights of Walpurgis are particularly active anymore. Scorpius knows better than to believe those stories."

Tori started to answer back hotly, then sighed and leaned against my shoulder. "Oh, Drake, I didn't say it was your fault. I didn't mean to blame you."

"I know my father is difficult," I acknowledged, rubbing a small circle on Tori's shoulder with my thumb. "But Scorpius can manage him far better than I've ever been able to. He's got him wrapped around his little finger."

"Exactly," Tori agreed. "That's why Scorpius is so worried about disappointing him."

I frowned, thinking. "Why didn't we ever have this problem with Altaira? Still too soon for Vulpecula, I suppose." Altaira and Vulpecula are my daughters. V is two years younger than Scorpius, and Tairi's in her fourth year at Hogwarts.

"Tairi never looked up to Lucius the way Scorpius does," Tori explained. "The girls figure they've already disappointed him, just by not being more grandsons."

I shifted uncomfortably. I've had to come to terms with my father's racism (and my own), but his sexism is something I usually ignore. I'm an only child, my mother's never seemed to mind my father's prejudices, and Tori is remarkably adept at social situations. Plus, I think my father won her heart (against her will) when he was ready to curse her entire family for disowning her for marrying me. I haven't spoken to my sister-in-law, Daphne, since the last day of seventh year. What a hypocrite. One minute they're all behind the Dark Lord 100%, the next it's 'don't marry a pureblood, much less a Malfoy, or you'll ruin our image and we'll all be ostracized and taxed to starvation.' So they just ignore us. Poor Tori. Her family is awful.

"Maybe I should talk to Tairi," I suggested. After all, Tairi's very opinionated. The last thing I need is for her to answer back to my father some night at dinner, tell him Muggle culture is superior to generations of Malfoys, and give him a heart attack.

"Sure," Tori sighed, reaching up and stroking my jaw. "But it's Scorp who needs your help."

--

After that, I could hardly fail to go and reassure my son. Tori can always guilt-trip me into doing anything. After all, even if it was my father who convinced Scorp he has to be in Slytherin, I'm the one who encourages my parents to spend time with my kids. It helps my mother feel like she's got a purpose in life, and my father views his access to Scorpius, at least, as his right.

Plus, they do actually live in the Manor—just a separate wing. One of these days Father is going to give in to the inevitable and hire a house-elf. Ever since Granger (Weasley, actually, but I can't call her that, there are simply too many of them) wrote and passed the House-Elf Liberation Act a couple of years ago, my parents have been resisting getting a house-elf. Father claims it's on principle, but I reckon he doesn't want to spend the money (ridiculous, given how much we've got). Mother is quite adept at household spells, though, so for now they squeak by.

Tori cooks for everyone. She's amazing that way.

My son has several rooms to himself (I love how much more space there is since Tori and I did all that renovating and relegating the older portraits and heirlooms to the attic) and he's decorated them with posters of his and his mother's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons. I prefer the Montrose Magpies, myself. There's also a family portrait Tori painted a few years ago. All seven of us, smiling and waving (how she got herself in there—she's a brilliant artist)—except Father is scowling, of course, Scorpius perched on his knee. Tairi's about to go off to Hogwarts, so she's thrilled, my mother's arm around her shoulder. I'm holding V, and Tori is grinning from behind Tairi.

Scorp's window looks out on the Quidditch pitch. I made the goalposts myself. A lot of work, but it was worth it.

My eleven-year-old son lay sprawled across his bed, pretending to read a Calculus book.

Calculus isn't required at Hogwarts, but anyone who's going into investing knows it's crucial. Most wizards don't bother with math; Arithmancy is the closest we've got, but it's really a mix of Divination and ancient culture and history. Math is the one 'Muggle' thing my father ever taught me. It improved my spell-casting enormously. He's very good at it; the amount of money he's finagled out of the Ministry, his peers, and the unsuspecting populace (all perfectly legal) is truly astounding.

"Hey, Scorp," I said, sitting down on the edge of his embroidered bedspread. My mother made it—it depicts gold and silver scorpions and crowns.

"Hey, Dad," he said, not looking up from the book.

"Your mother tells me…" I tried. "Your grandfather can get a little carried away sometimes…"

Finally, he looked at me. His eyes are grey, like mine, but somehow they seem all wide and innocent. "Dad," he said, "I'm okay. You don't have to worry about me."

"But I do," I protested. After all, that's what parents are for.

"Really," Scorp insisted. "I'm okay."

"Listen, son," I said, trying to detect any signs that he was feeling insecure. Scorp is a rather reserved kid, unlike V, who talks as fast as a Firebolt, and you can't always tell what he's thinking. "I want you to know that it doesn't matter to your mother and I what House you get into. I won't lie and pretend it's a matter of indifference to your grandfather, but if you're not in Slytherin, he'll get over it."

"Even if I'm in Gryffindor?" Scorpius asked, staring searchingly at me.

I thought about it. I really doubt Scorp is going to be in Gryffindor—he's just a lot subtler than most Gryffindors I've known—but I have to admit it's a possibility. You never know what the Sorting Hat is going to give you. Besides, Scorp is definitely brave. Not to the point of being an idiot about it, but perhaps that's due to Tori's and my training.

As for Father—I don't quite know what he'd do if his only grandson were in Gryffindor, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be anything irreversible. He's learned something from the war, I know that much.

"Yes," I said decisively. "Even if you're in Gryffindor. He wants you to be in Slytherin, but, no matter what happens, he'll get over it and he'll end up being really proud of you wherever you're Sorted."

Scorp grinned. "Even Hufflepuff?"

"Even Hufflepuff," I repeated solemnly. Although, honestly—Gryffindor may be a possibility, I can't deny that—but Hufflepuff? Not my son. Nothing against those perpetual do-gooders of course—but come on.

"Are we done with that?" Scorp asked. "Because I just don't get L'Hôspital's Rule."

"Oh, well, you see, g(x) and g'(x) can never be zero…" I began, relieved. I peered over his shoulder and squinted at the textbook. Ah, numbers. There's something reassuring about how logical they are.

It was only after an exhaustive explanation, a break involving apples, pumpkin juice, and Chocolate Frogs, and several examples, that I began to suspect Scorp was only pretending not to understand L'Hôspital's Rule in order to get away from an awkward subject. By then, we were immersed in math-speak.

"Honey?" Tori said, a bit later, poking her head in. "I invited Andromeda over for dinner again. She's probably lonely, what with Teddy at school and all."

"Okay," I said absentmindedly, and she turned to go. Then I realized what she'd just said and jumped. "What? You told Father, right? So he can pretend to be busy with the Knights or something?"

Tori grinned from Scorp's doorway. "Not this time. He needs to get over it. Andromeda's visits are very important to your mother, and I'm sure it does the children good to have another relative who's actually around."

"Aunt Andromeda is cool," commented Scorpius.

"Tori," I complained, "Father is not going to like this."

"So? Don't tell me you're still in his shadow," Tori retorted. "I thought you got over that when we had V—if she'd been a boy, generations of tradition would've been upended like that." And she snapped her fingers.

I couldn't argue with that—Malfoys only ever have one son, it's tradition—originally I think it was a curse someone put on the line, but since then it's gotten to be one of those facts-of-life things, like how Blacks rarely make it past fifty and are all stunningly beautiful, or Weasleys have no money and oodles of sons (now broken—that is, they still have hardly any money and plenty of sons, but there're daughters as well), or Potters are self-sacrificing do-gooders with hero-complexes (still in place as far as I know). And yes, if V'd been a boy my father would've flipped, just because of this stupid tradition.

"Would you rather I rescinded the invitation?" Tori asked, a smile playing around her beautiful lips.

I sighed. "Fine," I said, "but don't blame me if she and Father get into a duel and burn the house down."

--

"Grandromeda!" shrieked V, running down two flights of majestic marble stairs and leaping the last eleven steps (I was worried, but it turned out to be more underage magic—she landed perfectly safely). She threw her arms around Aunt Andromeda (who she calls Grandromeda because Teddy does), and shrieked some more, as though she hadn't seen Gr—Aunt Andromeda in years.

"Hello, dear," said Aunt Andromeda bemusedly.

Father appeared at the head of the staircase. "Andromeda," he sneered.

"Lucius," she spat.

Oh, great, I mouthed to Tori, another one of those evenings.

V talked nonstop for the first half of dinner, all about her studies (she's still doing Algebra, and Tori and I think she's almost ready for Geometry) and the book of fairytales my mother is reading with her (Father banned "The Fountain of Fair Fortune" when I was growing up, but Mother will do anything for her grandchildren). Aunt Andromeda listened, Mother smiled, and Scorp put in a comment or two. Father glared.

At length, V's volubility ran out, and there was a sudden lull in the conversation.

"So," Tori said would-be-casually, "how are you, Andromeda? Meet anyone interesting lately?"

Ah, the feminine tendency to reduce everything to relationships.

"Well," Aunt Andromeda said, blushing. Yes, that's right: Aunt Andromeda blushed. I couldn't believe my eyes!

"For Salazar's sake!" shrieked Mother, grasping Aunt Andromeda's arm. "Tell me everything!"

"Well, his name's Kirley and he's lead guitarist for the Weird Sisters," Aunt Andromeda said, still blushing. "We only just started doing—whatever it is we're doing. I don't know if—I mean, it's no big deal."

"No big deal?" gasped my mother. "You never date! This is so exciting! When can we meet him?"

Aunt Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Good Godric, Cissy, I'm not fourteen with my first boyfriend, you know."

"Do I understand that this....wizard…is actually a…serious…interest?" drawled Father. You could almost hear him bite back the question of Kirley's blood status. I winced.

Mother closed her eyes for a moment. Aunt Andromeda glared at Father.

"That's great news, Andromeda, really," Tori said bravely.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Congratulations."

"Grandromeda's got a boyfriend!" giggled V. "Is he nice?"

"Very," said Aunt Andromeda, lips thinning. I've never told anyone this, but she reminds me of Aunt Bellatrix every time she gets angry. It's scary. Not that Malfoys are afraid of anything, of course. Far from it.

After that, dinner was pretty much a bust. Trust Father to ruin another family occasion. Not that I don't love sarcasm, but everyone knows Aunt Andromeda is fragile. Probably another Black on the brink of mental instability. It runs in the family, I'm sorry to say.

Oh, Aunt Andromeda asked about Tairi, Tori and I asked about Teddy…but our hearts weren't really in it.

Not even Tori's delicious Zillaberry ice cream (homemade) cleared the air completely.

V's eyelids were drooping, and I took her upstairs just as Mother and Aunt Andromeda withdrew to the hall and made a whispered assignation for the following day—presumably to discuss Kirley exhaustively.

Scorp stayed behind to help with the dishes, and, by the time I got back downstairs, Aunt Andromeda was gone, Mother had disappeared, Tori and Scorp were done cleaning up and sat reading Shakespeare together in the north parlor, and Father stood propped against a pillar in the main hall. Anyone else, in his position, would've looked aimless. He just looked sardonic.

"Do you have to do that every time?" I asked him, leaning against the adjacent pillar. Tori says the mansion looks like how she's always imagined the Roman Coliseum.

"Do what?" he drawled.

I snorted. "Don't play the innocent with me, Father."

He glared at me. "That woman is unworthy of us. How your mother can stand all that moralistic, self-righteous, fashionable loneliness—! As for her grandson, he's as reckless as his regrettable parents—and it shows. I only hope his ludicrous ideas of polite and logical behavior don't rub off on Scorpius."

I raised my eyebrows and retorted, "And I hope your ideas of polite and logical behavior don't rub off on Scorpius. Really, Father—would it kill you to back off and let Mother gossip with Aunt Andromeda in peace?"

He gave me a cold glance. "Your Mother. Is quite capable. Of bringing this. Topic. Up with. Me. Herself. Son," he said slowly, dramatically over-enunciating each syllable. I swear he learned how to do that from Professor Snape.

I sighed. "Fine. Don't blame me when Aunt Andromeda's new boyfriend challenges you to a duel."

I stomped off before he could get in the last word, which always really annoys him. Father is such a show-off.

I suspect he went outside to feed the peacocks. He really loves them.

--

I thought I'd reassured Scorpius, but that evening when I went to kiss him good night, he blinked up at me with those adorably large grey eyes of his, and asked, "Dad? Are you positive Grandfather won't hate me if I'm not in Slytherin?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation. Father may enjoy torturing Aunt Andromeda, but he's always hated her. He's really not that bad—most of the time. And he loves Scorpius.

"Are you absolutely, one-hundred percent, completely sure?" Scorp asked, voice higher than normal.

"I am absolutely, one-hundred percent, completely sure. Now go to sleep," I told him gently.

He sighed, and nestled under the covers. "Goodnight, Dad."

"Goodnight, Scorpius."

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Scorpius's sisters, Altaira and Vulpecula, are my own invention. However, I don't feel they are explicitly NOT-canon. If they still bother you, don't worry: their appearances will likely be minimal.