Title: A Helping Handshake
Author: AristideCauquemaire
Pairing: Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Rating: M. "Sex." "Damn." "Shit." See? Language. Tsk.
Warnings: Self-reproach. Good-humoured bashing of the French. Me trying to be funny. The usual.
Thanks to Bridget Narcissa Malfoy, Xxpandagirl101xX, Mineha, Evanesco-Muffliato, AnneCpc, AnoGal and Plucie for favving and/or reviewing and/or following this story and/or me! Your nods make me happy and/or ecstatic. (Seriously. Sounded sarcastic, but wasn't.)
Furthermore:
Thanks to my Weird Guest for another review! Hush, love. You're getting your dinner now :)
And thank you, Random Person (why not 'Random Citizen'? I could totally have quoted Megamind. Man, that would have been awesome), for your review! First off: I hope your "silence" while reading the original story wasn't born from a general feeling of "meh, this story is, like, okay, I guess". Secondly: While I was working on this, I actually thought about giving both Ginny and Astoria - and, for a minute, even Lily Rose - a part (or parts) in the story. After all, their take on the whole affair would also be interesting, wouldn't it? But I also originally planned this as a one-shot/one(-long)-chapter thing, and then it was finally finished (only five chapters longer than I wanted it, whey!), and I sort of liked the end product. It now has three POV characters, plus one (see below, literally the last bit I wrote), becoming Draco-centric toward the end, which (I hope) will eliminate any confusion from here on. Thirdly: Me? Good at writing? *excited velociraptor*
Allright! Who's ready to meet The Potters? Draco, please put down that roast fork...
Chapter 4
/
Astoria knew that something was off the moment her husband came into the kitchen, dipped the tip of a finger into the mushroom soup, tasted it and said, "Ugh, Merlin, Astoria. This is really good."
She knew because he did not comment on the fact that she was just tending to the roast that was sitting in the oven, already smelling delicious despite being only about three quarters ready yet.
Also, he did not comment on the stunning dress she had donned for the occasion, and also, as far as she could tell, had not even glanced at her butt, even though it looked freaking phenomenal in aforementioned dress.
She flipped the oven door shut, set down the long-handled spoon she had poked the roast with, crossed her arms and gave him her most patient look. "Draco. Dearest. What's going on?"
He avoided her eyes for a full minute, replaced the lid on the mushroom soup pot and occupied himself fiddling with the oven switches without actually changing anything instead. Eventually, he rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache coming, looked at his wristwatch and mumbled something about 'The Potters' and 'fifteen minutes'.
"Draco," she repeated, just a smidgen more persistently without actually pressing him. Any other day, she would have used a different tone of voice, the one she knew would very efficiently and successfully worm the truth out of him indeed because that's how it had worked for seventeen years of matrimony, and counting. But it also always left him a little sore - wounded pride was a big thing for a Malfoy - and, as a consequence, a tad more cantankerous than usual. And cantankerous just wouldn't do when The Potters were indeed scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes.
If at all possible, she didn't particularly want to complicate things further for Scorpius. Everyone was tense enough as it was, and for good reason. She knew well about the history between the previous generations of the houses Malfoy, Potter and Weasley.
If at all possible, she wanted to spare the current generation that drama.
"Our son has lied to... us." Draco cleared his throat. "To me, at least."
She cocked her head and waited and listened.
"Up until..." He trailed off. Leaning onto the edge of the sideboard, he gave one of those deep sighs Astoria knew were the alternative to his throwing a fit or getting angry about insubordination or things generally not going his way. His father had been a terrible role model when it came to handling that.
"It seems to me that, up until Scorpius and the Potter boy got together, he didn't... He talked to me more. You know? He didn't keep secrets from me. And suddenly, he is in a serious relationship for half a year and doesn't tell me, just two weeks later I'm making a roast for his-" The pause was miniscule. "-boyfriend's parents, and then... it turns out that this was really all just an front, an arrangement so they can spend the night together. Here. By themselves. W...With each other, probably."
Now it was Astoria's turn to sigh.
"He slipped up when we talked, can you believe that? I wouldn't have had a clue..." He shook his head, huffing a short laugh while hitting the sideboard with the side of his fist in a frustrated gesture. "Tory, I'm... not sure he- How did I not notice? And he's- He's only sixteen and-"
"Draco," she said for the third time, interrupting him with gentle insistence.
"You knew, didn't you? Did he tell you?" Astoria heard the unspoken 'but not me?'
She shook her head. "He didn't. And he didn't need to. Frankly, I'd have been surprised if it hadn't been an arrangement. The timing was very convenient."
Her husband clenched his teeth, dismayed.
Astoria chuckled a little. "Draco, my darling. Scorpius and I have things in common that the two of you just don't. These things are few and far between, granted, but they exist. One of them is being head over heels in love at the really-not-so-tender age of sixteen."
She beamed, remembering the year when she had first met Draco Malfoy, two years her senior, personally, and he had actually taken note of her despite all the trials and tribulations he had been in at the time. Despite her being younger than him - significantly younger in every way; innocent, even naive. Despite her being the younger sister of the person whose eye he had originally caught, a person who was, by every measure, more attractive and accomplished and more congenial to him because they had gone through more similar experiences.
And still, here they were.
"In love at sixteen..." She stepped closer to him and lay a hand on his shoulder, then pressed herself gently against his back. "... and just ever so slightly... perpetually... so very, very..."
Resting her chin against the crook of his neck, she breathed a word into the general direction of his ear.
Which proceeded to redden just a little, especially when her other hand slid down his side and patted his left buttock. She heard him sigh again, another kind of sigh now. Her much preferred kind.
She pressed a kiss against his jawline, then stepped back with a slightly wistful sigh of her own, straightening her dress.
"Everything is fine, Draco. Scorpius loves you. He is nervous because he thinks he has a lot to lose. Everything is new and exciting, and he's being a little stupid and overcautious."
"A little stupid," Draco scoffed. "He means to have- have-"
"Sex," Astoria finished for him. "And that's perfectly fine, too. Morgane knows he has been patient as a saint." Something occurred to her. "Given, of course, that they haven't done it at Hogwarts yet, which I think rather unlikely, though..."
A visible jolt went through her husband. "Tory-"
"Draco. Stop it." She was getting a little tired of his fussing.
"Tory-" he tried again, turning around to face her.
"Darling, I'm serious." She locked eyes with him. "Don't be afraid for him. There's no need."
He wasn't convinced, she could see it in his eyes. But she also knew that he was never easily persuaded. Something about being swayed in his opinion always made him recoil and get angry at himself.
"I'm going to receive the Potters at the door now," she said, silently resolved that, one day, she would get to the bottom of the mystery that was her husband. "You go and put the finishing touches to your precious roast and meet us in the dining room when you're ready, alright?"
She gently touched his arm. He didn't pull away.
/
/
"I should have worn my uniform," Harry grumbled and loosened his tie for the tenth time. Was he just imagining things or did it keep getting tighter?
"Oh please, Harry, don't be melodramatic." Ginny reached out, swatted his hands away and shoved the knot of his tie back up to how it had been before. Somehow she managed this while walking backwards in heels over the gravel road that lead up to the Malfoy Manor. "Remember we're having dinner with them. We're not here to intimidate or arrest them."
He assumed that her 'we' was one of her royal plural 'we's she used so often, which actually meant 'I', therefore not actually implicitly including him. Because really, the sight of Malfoy Manor, clearly misnamed Malfoy just-two-spires-short-of-a-gothic-Castle, made his palms itch, his chest somewhat tight with stinging cold memories, and he suddenly was very much in the mood for both intimidating and arresting the shit out of Draco Malfoy. For whatever. Being a pompous, show-off-y bastard, maybe. For still living in this bloody mansion with all its shady, shoddy past.
Certainly for fathering a son who had bewitched Albus. After all, Scorpius was still underage for a few months, and parents are to be held responsible for the misdoings of their underage kids.
He glanced at Al who was walking slightly ahead of them, pulling them along like a pace-setter at a 5 kilometre race. He hadn't said more than five syllables all day – probably compensating for Ginny, who virtually hadn't stopped talking since she'd woken up this morning – but Harry also felt a nervous anticipation radiating off of his son that had somehow made him even more taciturn than usual. The good kind of nervous anticipation, the kind that he was used to from Lily – and which, unlike Al, Lily knew how to communicate it properly.
Albus just smiled serenely and acted cool, but Harry could see the signs that he was practically bubbling underneath his skin.
Clearly, he had been thoroughly bewitched.
For that alone, he wanted Draco Malfoy in the dock. Just in case.
"Why do they even have a gravel road?" he mumbled and frowned down at his tie. "It's not like anyone's going to drive up to the house with a car."
"Maybe it's from the carriage days." Ginny swatted at some dandruff or hairs or imaginary specks of dirt on his shoulder. "Or maybe they just like to let their guests have a nice stroll. I, for one, think it's quite lovely. Look at the statues and the trees..."
Indeed, they had passed at least a dozen stone statues ever since apparating up to the front gate. Most of them were classical ladies who had very little on, posing with vases or flower bouquets or bowls, their faces invariably set in uncomfortably melancholy expressions as if they had long since started to question their general working conditions and found that their job really wasn't very fulfilling, personally.
"I don't think it qualifies as a 'nice stroll' if you're yearning for a refreshment station before the Manor itself even comes into view," Harry groused. "Seriously, he could have just let us floo in, or put up an apparating field somewhere closer by... Also, what if it was raining?"
"Harry, shush now. We're almost there."
"You said the same thing like ten minutes ago."
"We've only been here for five minutes, Harry. Don't be a baby."
"I'm so thirsty."
"Harry."
He was pretty sure that there was an unwritten paragraph in every man's marriage contract that required him to shut up if his wife ever said his name in just that tone of voice lest he wanted trouble. Sage advice. Harry gritted his teeth, huffed through his nose, said nothing and went back to brooding internally.
All the while, Al wore a smile on his lips, and his eyes went wider and brighter at the sight of the Manor's roof over the trees and the twinkle of the countless windows in the low evening sun.
Bewitched for sure.
Harry huffed. His collar was itchy.
/
Ginny was still relentlessly fussing over her husband, his hair, his clothes, and his attitude, when Al pulled the brass door knocker.
Both the knock and a soft chime could be heard from inside Malfoy Manor which Harry had known was big, but now that he was standing in front of it, it was a bloody gigantic thing. A bloody gigantic thing which he remembered somehow... darker. And he thought that it wasn't just the weather. There had been a feeling, something that had been deeper, more fundamental, last time he had been here. Some sort of corruption he had instinctively known would never be erased, like a stain that had long since set into a fabric and chemically bonded with it so it would never come out.
And yet, now that he was looking at it...
Before he could finish the sentence in his head, the door was opened. Harry, who had expected a house-elf to do the duty, was taken aback by the elegant witch with long, chocolate-brown hair, flawless skin, pale green eyes and a wide, genuine smile who stood before them.
"Auror Potter!"- she addressed him first, shaking his hand vigorously - "Mrs Potter!"- she took and pressed Ginny's hands - "and Albus, of course." She took him by the elbows and kissed the air beside his right cheek, beaming at him. "Welcome! I'm Astoria. It's such a shame it took us so long to get acquainted properly. I'm very pleased to see you. Do come in. You must be starving. I know that the walk to the house from the front gates is somewhat of a peregrination. Dinner is almost ready. Come in, come in!"
Both Harry and Ginny interjected the required polite if somewhat meaningless noises into her warm welcome as they stepped into the front hall; Albus first, then Ginny, Harry last and with some hesitation and a noticeable twinge of discomfort behind his belly button. A tiny hind part of his brain kept anticipating a portcullis to come crashing down behind them.
The front hall was an enormous room, illuminated by the evening sun whose rays were refracted by the – glass? zircons? actual diamonds? - of the equally enormous, vaguely pear-shaped chandelier that filled the mid-air. It was all light marble, stones, mirror glass, and tasteful light woods. It wasn't dark enough at all. As if it were an entirely different place.
As Harry was staring and trying not to reconnoitre the area, and a house-elf by the name of Milly collected all their coats for the wardrobe, a voice rang out from the top of the stairs. A young man in impeccable clothes with short and very, very blond hair bounded down toward them, taking two steps at a time which made him seem like an excited child in a very expensive, well-tailored suit.
Harry tried his hardest to fight down the other twinge-y feeling. The one that veered more toward homicide.
"Scorpius!" Albus chose that moment to break his vow of silence and practically lit up in front of his father's eyes, his face competing with the chandelier in its brightness.
Ginny and Harry exchanged a meaningful look, and Ginny's eyes went momentarily wide.
The two boys exchanged an intricate handshake and a comradely half-hug/shoulder tackle which seemed like a comfortable ritual they had cultivated over the years. Harry had expected – and steeled himself for – an actual embrace, even a kiss, or just some sort of overt affection, and was both relieved and irritated that none of the latter happened. Instead, they immediately started chatting as if the rest of the world had just fallen away entirely. Which, Harry supposed, was another sort of display of overt affection.
Just before it might be misconstrued as impoliteness, Scorpius turned to Ginny and him and introduced himself, shaking their hands.
"Auror Potter," he said, looking him in the eye and gripping his hand firmly. "Pleasure to finally meet you in person after seeing you for breakfast almost every morning when the Prophet comes in."
"Just 'Mr Potter' will do," he replied, shrugging, then glanced at Ginny. "I'm not wearing my uniform. Not here to intimidate or arrest anyone, after all."
Scorpius' previously self-assured smile faltered just a tiny bit at that. "'Mr Potter' it is then," he acknowledged, glancing at Albus for help and getting an encouraging smile in return.
"Right," Astoria interjected and clapped her hands together. "Now that we're all here, we can make our way to the dining room. My husband is tending the roast in the kitchen at the moment. He's convinced that the poor thing needs spiritual support in order to taste good later, and that he's the only person in the northern hemisphere who knows how to lend that support..."
The dining room, in which they arrived after a short walk down a wide hall, turned out to be situated against a full glass wall that allowed a panorama of the manor gardens, particularly the rose garden, while letting plenty of sunlight and warmth in.
The middle of the room was dominated by a rectangular mahogany dining table, big but not monstrously so, allowing everyone a comfortable amount of elbow room. It was already set for six persons. The silverware twinkled, polished to a shine. Ginny ooh'ed and aah'ed at the details, and at the view.
Astoria settled Harry at one head end of the table, Ginny to his right, Albus to his left. Scorpius took the seat next to Ginny, smiling a little almost rueful smile at Albus diagonally across the table, before he let himself be snared into conversation by the former Holyhead Harpies chaser. Astoria herself sat down next to Albus.
Harry declined the wine as an aperitif but nodded enthusiastically at cool sparkling water. He hadn't been lying to his wife, he was thirsty. He gulped the water down fast enough to almost give himself a brain freeze, then alternately tuned in to the two separate conversations.
Conversations. Interviews. Interrogations. Whatever. Same difference.
The seating arrangement had clearly been made by Astoria. Knowing that the two mothers in attendance would be most curious about the respective boyfriend of their respective son, she had enabled herself and Ginny to pick the respective brain to their heart's content.
How was he doing at Hogwarts?
How were his marks?
Which were his favourite subjects?
Which were his least favourite subjects?
Which were his elected subjects? (And why had he not chosen Muggle Studies? In this day and age, that seemed downright careless.)
How were the holiday assignments coming along?
And the preparations for the N.E.W.T.s?
How about the rest of the holidays? Any plans? How about an internship?
And how about after graduation? Any plans? How about an internship?
And apart from Quidditch, did he have any hobbies?
Harry sipped on his water and listened to Scorpius Malfoy's patient, consistently good-humoured answers. Scorpius, in turn, seemed determined to include him in the conversation even though he hadn't said a word yet, alternately making eye contact with Ginny and him and leaning toward him with his upper body.
Harry didn't want to admit it, but the boy didn't remind him of Draco Malfoy at all. The hair was there, in defiance of every law of genetic recessiveness, and the high forehead which wasn't so noticeable because Scorpius didn't wear his hair slicked back like his father always had, but the rest of it was simply... completely different.
And his answers were good, damn him, showing him as a well-rounded, well-educated, intelligent young man. The only obvious fault he had was that he didn't have proper ideas about his future career, but he was only sixteen years old and, really, which sixteen year old on this planet had any proper plans for the future – and damn it, Harry was defending the boy against himself already!
He even asked questions back, and he was genuinely interested in Ginny's replies.
"Albus told me that his disinclination to Potions runs in the family," he was just saying, implying the question – clearly addressing him this time, not Ginny – while simultaneously raising his own glass of water to his lips to give him the opportunity to answer.
"I'm afraid it does," Harry confessed, finally letting himself be included in the interrogation, and pursed his lips at the memories of Potions lessons long ago. Jokingly, he added, "We had hoped that his middle name would counteract that. Turns out it doesn't work that way."
"Middle names are tricky things," a voice rang out from almost behind him. "I've found that they rarely say much about a person. Thankfully."
Harry managed not to flinch, and to fight the urge to immediately stand up to not be looked down on by Draco Malfoy.
"Good evening, Mrs Potter. Auror Potter." His voice and demeanour was almost painfully neutral, even though Harry really wanted to detect a hint of condescension in his title. "Albus Severus," he finished his greetings with a certain bite in his voice. Al nodded politely in response, only a tiny uncertainty in the motion, and gave a "Mr Malfoy, thank you for inviting us" back.
"Draco, darling, has the roast finally succumbed to you?" Astoria asked, nipping on her red wine, eyes sparkling with laughter. Some inside joke, clearly.
"Despite your best efforts, my dear, it has. They always do. You know that," he answered, which made Astoria smile openly so her white teeth flashed.
"Since we have twice as many people to serve today, I thought it appropriate to arrange a service à la Hogwarts. But instead of a whole army of house-elves, Milly is doing it alone, so-"
"Everyone, hands and elbows off the table, please," Astoria finished for him. "Prevents misfortune during the serving. No sleeves in the butter tonight."
They all tucked their arms in for a few seconds. At Draco's call, Milly appeared and promptly disappeared again. Another moment later, one by one, plates of steaming creamy mushroom soup with some fresh bread to the side appeared on the table before each of them.
Once the first course was fully dished up, Draco sat down. Directly in front of Harry at the far end of the table, looking decidedly smug.
"Please, enjoy your meal," he said, toasted to no one in particular with his wine, and started with the soup.
Harry took up his own spoon mostly out of spite, and because Ginny was silently widening her eyes in a Be Nice sort of plea.
The soup was delicious. Damn it.
/
"Sweet Morgane, I'm stuffed."
Ginny leaned back in her seat with a contented sigh, pushing her dessert plate a mere centimetre away from herself. Harry knew that she would be returning to it in a few minutes. It was impossible for her to leave a plate unfinished. Wasting food was one of the major crimes in their house.
"So am I," Astoria concurred. "I hope the dessert stomach will be opening soon. I'm feeling positively pregnant over here."
The two women at the table had bonded over the main course, when Astoria had entertained the table with tales of her husband's (imagined) superiority in all things meat, and Ginny had countered with a recounting of Harry's (thankfully singular) barbecuing adventure two years ago.
Meanwhile, both Harry and Draco had done their best to never look straight ahead.
"Do you feel like refreshing, my dear?" Astoria asked and rose from the table.
"Very much so, yes," Ginny agreed and copied her movements.
They vanished from the room together, leaving four men looking after them with varying degrees of confusion (Albus and Scorpius) and desperation (Harry and Draco).
"Women," Scorpius murmured softly and returned to his chocolate meringue, and the three others grunted wordless acknowledgement.
The silence stretched and quickly became strange. Draco wished he hadn't finished his dessert and pondered, for a second, to go get himself seconds, but then decided that it would look like fleeing.
"So, uhm, Scorpius," Harry started when the awkwardness had reached an unbearable level. "Albus told me you and your father went to see Florence Villeneuve fly last week?"
"Yes," Scorpius replied, visibly relieved to speak about something that didn't have to do with Hogwarts and his marks and that wasn't designed to surreptitiously pump him for information about his future plans and whether or not and to what degree they included Albus. Something that he actually liked to talk about. "She played Sunday two weeks ago. We were lucky to get seats on short notice. From one season to the next, it got pretty crazy with all those people there. They're actually thinking about moving from Calais to the bigger stadium near Lille, just for her."
"And what do you think of her?"
"Oh, she's really amazing. Not just her flying skills, I mean. She's fearless, and so fast. But the way she gets so much force behind the Bludger and how precise her shots are..."
He carried on like that for quite some time, eventually enlisting the assistance of Albus and the salt and pepper shakers on the table to properly convey to two ignorant Seekers just how brilliant her beating technique was.
"The sad thing is," Draco added at the end of the very detailed description, "that she's French."
"Gods, yes," Harry nodded. "Downright tragic. Such talent when the national team overall sucks so badly. Watching them play is physically painful."
"You watched the Frenchies play?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "Did you lose a bet or something?"
"Free tickets from a Swiss colleague for France versus Switzerland, in November last year. One of the perks of working Ministry." He grimaced. "It was a miracle they weren't sitting backwards on their brooms, really."
Draco gave an amused, somewhat gleeful grunt in response, then asked, "So, are the Harpies on to Villeneuve already or what? Because they'd seriously be stupid if they weren't."
Harry have a half-shrug. "Rumour has it that they've been after her for years, yes. Ginny says the management is keeping very mum about the whole thing. Biggest issue's probably money. I wouldn't be surprised if she ended up with some big fancy billionaire's team or another in Canada or something. Stonewall Stormers, maybe."
"Well, they'd also be speaking her native language, sort of," Draco conceded with a sigh. "And Merlin knows she'd be in very good company. Gernet. Furlong..."
"Madrigale," Harry pointed out.
"Madrigale," Draco gestured and nodded. "Even though he's always on the bench..."
As Draco and Harry went on enumerating the members of the Stormers' five star team, Albus and Scorpius exchanged a brief look that spoke volumes and a cautious smile across the table.
"Didn't the Stormers buy that super-expensive South-African fellow just last May, whatshisname-"
"Joseph Prinsloo," Albus interjected out of reflex.
"Yes, that one. He who's always injured and out of form."
"As long as Gernet is chasing with him, he's not going to shine anyway," Draco said with a tilt of his head. "I have no idea why they bought Prinsloo when Gernet is still there, and he'll still be going strong for at least three years."
"And he and Prinsloo are virtually identical, they can't complement each other at all," Scorpius added, gesturing with his dessert spoon.
"Maybe he'll go back to Pretoria, as soon as they clean themselves up," Al suggested.
"He'll only have to wait for that for a decade or so," Draco huffed patronisingly. "That scandal was just the tip of the iceberg, I'm telling you. Govender, Naidoo, even Fourie, they should all be barred from the sport, and the rest should just start from scratch under a new name."
"New Pretoria Proudsticks," Harry suggested.
"An actual new name, Potter," Draco drawled.
"Actually New Pretoria Proudsticks."
Al snorted despite himself. Scorpius groaned softly and murmured something about dad jokes. Draco just looked slightly disgusted.
Silence fell again, definitely more companionable this time.
"Anyway," Draco cleared his throat and threw his napkin onto his now empty dessert plate. Something had just occurred to him. "You could go see Villeneuve tomorrow afternoon, Potter. Her last appearance before Beauxbatons steals her away again for three months. I'm sure Albus would love the chance."
Scorpius abruptly went rigid in his seat to his father's left. Al noticed and threw him a questioning look which his boyfriend didn't return.
"Alas, we didn't reserve seats. It's not so bad, though, we just saw her a week ago after all," Harry answered, aware of the sudden change in the atmosphere on the table, but utterly clueless about what had happened.
"You can have our reservations," Draco offered with pointed politeness. "Astoria and I are going to be tied up in London until Monday so Scorpius and I can't go."
"Uhm. Are you sure?" Harry wrinkled his forehead. Something was odd.
"I am," Draco replied airily. "That is, unless Albus has other plans tomorrow." He turned to Albus, head cocked in slightly exaggerated inquisitiveness.
Al looked back at him, blinking and more than slightly alarmed at how Scorpius seemed to have frozen up on the other side of the table. "I, uh..."
A long, silent, tense moment went by. Draco continued to stare at Albus.
The moment was broken abruptly by the return of Astoria and Ginny, both of them giggling as if they were fourteen again and had just bonded to become besties 4eva, possibly even 5eva.
Just before he allowed the tension to melt away again for the benefit of his wife, Draco turned his face toward Harry and locked eyes.
Distaste and anger. None of this made any sense to Harry in this moment. Especially not when directed at Albus, who had been a perfect gentleman all evening, and they had all been chatting amiably for almost three whole minutes just a moment ago.
Harry stood up, which made the chair screech somewhat noisily over the floor.
"Mr Malfoy, a word, please?" he asked as politely as he could. "In private?"
The recently returned women looked from left to right, perplexed.
Albus looked at Scorpius.
Scorpius in turn looked at his father, managing to coax the shortest moment of eye contact out of him. "Dad. Please," he said quietly. "Please." Nothing else.
Eventually, Draco also got up, setting his chair out behind him almost noiselessly, then gestured toward the door that led to the hallway.
"We'll soon be relocating to the sitting room, darling," Astoria said, her light tone failing her just the tiniest bit for once. She, too, was mystified as to what exactly was going on, and had noted the tense set of her husband's shoulders.
"We'll go up to the balcony," Draco informed her curtly, mumbled something about "I think I need some fresh air", then said to Harry, "You'll want to finish your wine outside."
In truth, Harry had barely nipped at it during the meal. He wasn't much of a wine drinker. Something about the flatness of his suggestion compelled him to snatch up his wine glass, though.
Draco lead him out the room, his son's wide eyes palpably on his back.
/
TBC (tomorrow)