CHAPTER 11

Al has never seen Father's office before. Though it's not really his office; other people work there, too. Father is in the front though, directly under the sign saying CUSTOMER SERVICE. A security troll lumbers by the door, and Harry Potter shakes some man's hand.

Al laughs at a placard on Father's desk. It says, Sarcasm is not the only service I provide. Someone has scratched in beneath it, BUT IT IS MY BEST.

"Ready, boys?" Father asks. He's in his grey robes which do nothing to brighten his complexion. He looks worn and tired and ready to beat the daylights out of the next person who wants to open an account.

"I think you need a break, Father," I tell him.

"Yes yes, they call it lunch," he says.

"This place is cool. I could totally work here," Al says.

"You probably could," Father mutters. "Potter, are you nearly finished?"

"No, it was my pleasure, all in a day's work," Harry Potter is saying. He wrests his hand away. "Must go now, very busy, but do stop by the office, just set up an appointment with my secretary."

The man nods like his chin is on a trampoline and tips his hat. Father rolls his eyes.

"Remind me to tell Percy never to let that man set foot in my office," Harry Potter says. "Where were we then, everyone ready?"

"At your beck and call, as usual," Father says, though he doesn't look angry.

Harry Potter has them seat us at the back of the restaurant, away from the other patrons. It's a booth with shiny red seats. The waiter brings us waters.

"This place is so lowbrow, I practically have to duck while sitting down," Father says. He looks at his glass as though it offends him.

Harry Potter snorts and puts his hand on Father's thigh.

Al smiles at me over the rim of his glass.

The food is fine; I don't feel the need to duck at all. Father complains, and Harry Potter listens and nods a lot. Makes soothing noises at appropriate intervals. He must think we can't see his hand. What it's doing probably isn't legal in a public venue.

I could eat lunch like this every day.

"So I told you about my plan to become seeker, right, Score?" Al asks around a bite of bread.

"Yes," I say, "but I'm sure you'd like to explain it again."

He rolls his eyes. "Just wait. Slytherin shall vanquish."

"I do hope so," I tell him.

"Dad," he says. "Hey, Dad. You'll help me practice Quidditch this summer, right? I'm trying out."

Father was saying something rude about Goblins, and he sighs.

"Next year?" Harry Potter says. "Are you sure?"

"No, last year," Al says. "Honestly, Dad."

"Well, I don't know if, ah, this next year would be a good time to start," he answers. "It is your OWL year, and with your… you know, with James still playing…"

"James is a twat," Al tells him.

"Al, please don't talk that way about your brother," he says. "And watch your mouth. You never know, there might not even be Quidditch next year…"

"No Quidditch!" Al exclaims. His mouth hangs open. "That would be anarchy! Governments would topple! Planets would collide! And-- and I'd fart monkeys!"

"That would be anarchy," I agree.

"Are you entirely sure this corned beef is edible?" Father asks.

Harry Potter sighs. "The corned beef is fine, Malfoy. And… we'll see, Al. You know how busy I am right now at work."

"Come on, Dad, you can't be that busy," Al says. "You go out with Mr Malfoy all the time."

"Look, why don't you play with your uncle? You know he's been asking," he says. "He'd love to spend some time with you."

"Just a couple nights a week," Al urges. "I'm trying for seeker, and I know you played in school. Please, Dad? It'll be like father/son bonding."

"Alright, well… maybe later in the summer, okay Al," Harry Potter says. "I've been up all hours of the night lately-- bloody cursed idols are showing up everywhere, we've had to put an embargo on trade with Greece--"

"I told you the East is bringing this country to ruin," Father says. "It's like I was saying about the flying carpets--"

"Wow, so helping out people you don't even know is way more important than your own son. Really cool, Dad," Al says. He tosses his bread onto his plate.

"I'm sorry, Al," Harry Potter says.

"Yeah, you are pretty sorry," Al tells him.

"We will talk about this later," Harry Potter says. "Do not make a scene in the restaurant."

"Fine," Al tells him. "I'll practice with Uncle George. Bet he's loads better than you, anyway."

Harry Potter gives him a look.

"Could we have ice cream after?" I ask. "If no scenes are made?"

"You're not helping, Scorpius," Father says.

Everyone goes back to eating, but the food doesn't taste as good. I pick at it and flip my chicken over. The underside of the breast is white and sickly.

Al leans toward me, thunder in his eyes. He whispers, "Bet there'd be a scene if everyone knew what he was doing to your dad's crotch."

I agree.

Father has moved on to tailors (Charge absolutely outrageous fees for snipping a bit of cloth, one wonders how they justify it legally…) when Al pulls out his eye pencil. He's barely touched it to his lid when his father notices.

"Don't even think about it," he says.

"Dad!" Al protests.

"I said no, now put it away," he insists.

Al rolls his eyes. "Jeez, you're being such a jerk today! It's just eyeliner!"

"I know what it is, and I told you you're not to wear it when you're out with me," Harry Potter says.

"You're fighting a losing battle," Father tells him. Sighs and contemplates his water glass. Takes a drink and makes a face as though it tastes bad.

"It's not a Dark Object, Dad, it's makeup," Al insists.

"Al, please, I'm really not in the mood for this today," Harry Potter says. "This was supposed to be a pleasant lunch out, and you're ruining it for everyone. I don't mean to be short with you, and I'll try to fit Quidditch into my schedule, but I can't make any promises. I'm really stressed to the gills with work and your mother and-- just no makeup, alright?"

A moment's pause.

Al says, "Scorpius's dad lets him wear it."

Harry Potter sets his fork down with a clunk. Shifts on his seat. "Do I look like Scorpius's dad?" he asks.

Al tilts his chin up. "You have more hair."

Father chokes on his water.

"That's enough. Give it to me. The eyeliner, right now." He holds out his hand.

"You used to understand," Al says. Stuffs it into his pocket. "Why don't you get it anymore?"

"I have no idea what you're saying. Give me the eyeliner," Harry Potter says.

"You of all people should understand!" Al tells him. "My self-identity is being torn from me! I'm being forced to conform to their rigid and unyielding social norms! They want to shape me into one of their cookie cutter moulds! I'm being disenfranchised!"

"You're being loud, people are staring, and I want you to please sit down and calm--"

"I'm not like them! I can't pretend I am anymore! How can you not get it, Dad? I thought you knew! You're the only one who could--"

"Albus Severus Potter, you are embarrassing yourself--"

"Because being what I am is so embarrassing! Merlin forbid I'm not perfect like your other children! Because you're perfect, aren't you, Dad! Everybody's saviour, not a toe out of line, can't be seen with his nancy little Slytherin son--"

"Albus Severus, this is your last warning!"

"Al," I say, and touch his shoulder. He swats my hand away.

"You're such a hypocrite!" he yells. "That's what you are! A fucking hypocrite! You're feeling up Score's dad, and I can't even line my bloody eyes! I hate you! I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU!"

He overturns his glass, knocks his chair to the floor and slams the bathroom door. Opens it up and screams I HATE YOU! one more time.

Everyone in the entire restaurant stares.

Father groans and covers his face. "Perfect way to keep a low profile, Potter. Bravo. This day just gets better and better."

Harry Potter clears his throat. "Sorry, folks," he announces. "Appleby Arrows fan. You know how it is…"

The other diners nod and go back to their meals. The Arrows just lost to the Cannons and went from being ranked first, to twenty-second. Broken bows littered the pitch. Cannons fans queued for hours at St Mungo's to have the magical arrows removed.

"Makeup never killed anyone," I announce. "It's nontoxic."

"For Merlin's sake, Scorpius," Father says, "just-- just finish your chicken. You've hardly touched it."

My chicken used to be a beautiful bird, with colourful plumage and a clever beak that plucked maize from between sharp stones. It clucked and laid eggs in a nest of straw, and dreamed of one day escaping its confinement to live a life unfettered by the demands of poultry spices and omelette connoisseurs.

But now it's just a dead looking slab turned upside down on a plate.

I push it away.

"I'm not hungry," I tell him.

Harry Potter sighs, rights the chair, and picks up the glass. Charms the water back into it. Pockets his wand and taps his fingertips on the tabletop.

"I could help him with Quidditch," Father tells him. "Even teach him how to cheat properly. I wouldn't mind. You know that, right?"

"There's no Quidditch next year, it's the bloody Tournament," he says. "I'm not supposed to mention it. And I'm scared to death for James because I know he'll enter, and Ginny's threatening a custody hearing after all, and if Snape curses one more member of my staff--"

"Really, another? Who did he curse now?" Father asks.

"It's Perkins, he-- please, Malfoy, the curses are no joking matter. I've been to St Mungo's twelve times now, and no one's been able to counteract mine yet," he answers. "A bit embarrassing, actually. Head Auror being cursed…" Sighs and flattens his fringe.

It pops back up worse than it was before.

"Speaking of embarrassing, you seem to have a particular skill for making boys cry in bathrooms," Father says. "Are you just going to leave him there?"

He shakes his head. "This is all my fault. He's been so good natured about this whole thing… and he's never been upset with me in his life. I suppose it's finally catching up to him that his father's dating another man," he says.

"Really, I don't think he minds," I tell him. "He was more upset when you slept with Teddy's girlfriend."

His face reddens.

Father raises an eyebrow.

"That… was a mistake," Harry Potter says. "And she wasn't his girlfriend at the time. And if you could possibly not mention it again, as she was in training at the time, so it was technically against Auror regulations…"

"And the Muggle woman, I don't think he much cared for her either," I tell him.

"That was-- he never even met her, I got pissed one night and brought her home from the--"

"You really don't need to go into detail, Potter," Father says. "My food is settling badly enough as it is."

"She was a mistake, too," Harry Potter says. "I had to Obliviate her the next morning when she got a glimpse of the house-elf heads. Utterly humiliating experience…"

"Also, the twins," I say. "Though I hadn't realised there were two of them. Did you?"

He clears his throat. Looks down at his plate.

"Sweet Merlin, Potter, at the same time?" Father says.

"That… wasn't so much of a mistake," he admits. "Though I did feel horribly guilty after, I truly did. Now if we could please stop talking about my sex life and concentrate on Al for a moment--"

"Though he may be impressed that you managed to snag an Unspeakable," I tell him.

He shakes his head. "What Unspeakable?"

"You shagged an Unspeakable?" Father says, eyes wide.

"What are you talking about? I didn't--"

"Now that is impressive," Father announces. "I hear they're harder to crack than a magically reinforced chastity belt. And half of them wear the things!"

"I never-- look, there was no Unspeakable!" he insists.

"It's alright, we know you can't talk about it," I tell him.

He sighs. "My god, I have damaged my son beyond repair, haven't I?" he asks.

Father says, "Mine as well, apparently. But are you going to wallow in your own inadequacies-- or possibly hyper-adequacies, if the Patil twins have anything to say about it-- or are you going to go talk to your son? Buck up, Potter."

He nods. "Alright. If I'm not back in twenty minutes…"

"Then I'll assume you've cut him in half, and send for St Mungo's," Father finishes. "Just go."

"Don't worry, I was already damaged beyond repair," I tell Father.

He sighs. "Why am I not shocked to hear that?"

Five minutes later, he's getting antsy, and my chicken is making me nauseous. I have the impression it's going to start clucking at me from beyond the grave. And perhaps boycotting spatulas. I ask again about the ice cream, but Father just lights a cigarette.

"Do you remember when you first found out about us, Scorpius?" Father asks. Smoke drifts out between his lips.

"I thought he was eating your tongue," I tell him.

"No, no, the time before that," he says. Frowns. "Why in Merlin's name would he eat my tongue? We were-- never mind, I don't want to know. But you do remember, right? When he spent the night?"

I do remember. "Grandfather's malice runs on black pudding," I tell him.

He sighs.

It's true, though. You've never seen a man eat black pudding until you've seen Grandfather. He's shovelling it in-- though not shovelling really, because that would be undignified-- when Harry Potter walks into the room.

"Er, wrong turn," he says. "Place is like a maze. I'll just, um… if you could maybe just direct me to the front door…" His top button is ripped. Hair even more mussed than usual. He's maybe bitten his lip.

Grandfather stares.

"Is Al here, too?" I ask. I'm thirteen. I don't know these things.

"This is, ah, a bit… awkward…" Harry Potter starts.

"Please," says Grandfather. "Do sit down." He's recovered now, his face a mask of civility.

Harry Potter's face burns. "No, that's ah--"

"Oh, but I insist," Grandfather says. "What sort of a host would I be if I sent the Head Auror out the door without breakfast?"

He clears his throat. "No, really, it's--"

"Why, I can imagine any number of Ministry officials who would be utterly appalled to hear that Harry Potter spent the night at my home-- as a guest of my son, no less-- and I pushed him out into the street without so much as--"

"Fine," he says. "Okay, fine. I don't want anyone thinking you're a, er, bad host. Or anything."

Grandfather seats him across from me, next to Father's place. Where Mummy sits when she's here. Though she never really is.

They're talking about foreign trade and goods seizure policies when Father comes in.

He swears. Face white as parchment.

"Ah, good morning, Draco. I was just discussing with your… friend," Grandfather says, "some matters which might interest you. Were you aware that--"

"Don't do this, Father," he says. "Don't."

"I assure you, I am doing nothing," Grandfather tells him. "Though if you are implying that I am detaining Head Auror Potter for less than savoury purposes, such as, perhaps--"

"Stop it," Father hisses.

"Your breakfast is getting cold, Draco," he responds. "Please sit."

Harry Potter stands and pulls out Father's chair.

He sits.

"Could you please pass the sausage, Grandfather?" I say.

"Pass it?" Grandfather asks. "Oh, I should think your father quite capable of that."

"Father?" I say. "Sausage?" He doesn't look at me.

Harry Potter hands it across, but the table is too wide, and I can't reach it. I move my knife like a wand. He gets the hint and floats it across to me. Smiles.

"Do you need some dittany for your lip?" I ask.

Grandfather makes a noise and raises his cup. Snorts into his tea.

"Stop," Father tells him.

"It is sort of funny," Harry Potter says. "You have to admit."

"Hilarious," Father drawls.

"I think it's funny," he answers. "Ironic, at least."

Father sighs and pours himself some tea. "Do you even know what ironic means, Potter?"

He snorts. "Yeah, I think I've got a pretty good idea at this point. You?"

Father looks at him. Licks his lips. Swallows. "Yeah, maybe."

"Well, now that we have that cleared up," Grandfather says.

"It is funny," Harry Potter says again. His eyes look like amusement.

"Oh, will you shut up!" Father says. Tries very hard to hide his grin. "There is nothing the least bit funny about this! I should've known Professor Snape was up to something when he--"

"Snape?" Harry Potter cuts across him.

"He told me you'd been stood up," Father says. "Came to my office and told me where to find you. Offer to buy him dinner, he says. Insult the imbecile who's left him waiting. Offer him a-- well, you probably know what he told me to offer. Do you realise that man knows everything?"

"Snape," he repeats.

"It's almost like he can read minds," Father says. Contemplates his teacup.

"You are an absolute-- who did he tell you to insult?" Harry Potter asks. "The imbecile? He told you that? The imbecile who'd stood me up? God, that-- that's funny. Really. I mean--" he starts to laugh.

Father tries not to. "It's not funny! That man hates you! I thought you'd assault me, and I could blab it to the media!"

"You are good at that, Father," I tell him.

His friend Pansy came ranting about it one night. How she'd never speak to Father again because the entirety of Wizarding Britain now knew about Harry Potter's salacious affair with an anonymous curvaceous brunette. Now Potter's conscience had kicked in, and Father had deprived her of a completely decent and strings free shag that very evening, and wasn't he ashamed when he knew Marcus wasn't due back from Switzerland for another bloody month?

Her words, not mine.

I didn't grasp it at the time. Maybe I still don't.

Switzerland?

"Why thank you, Scorpius," Father says. He laughs.

"It is funny," Harry Potter repeats. He starts to laugh again as well.

"Well, now that we've all determined the relative hilarity of the situation," Grandfather says.

But no one listens to him. They're laughing too hard.

Grandfather chews his blood pudding vey deliberately. He absorbs the malice through his teeth.

Harry Potter stays for breakfast. He eats a full plate: scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato, mushrooms, hash browns, beans, and even the pudding. He drinks three cups of tea.

Small wonder he's overweight.

"You are ridiculously late for work," Father tells him.

He looks at his watch. Swears.

Father says, "It's been fun, Potter. I'll see you around, I suppose."

"You talk about it like it's over," Harry Potter tells him. Wipes his mouth with a napkin and dabs at the swollen part with his fingertips.

"You're telling me it's not?" Father says.

Harry Potter stares at him. "You're jerking me around, right?"

"It was… interesting," Father says. "Nothing more, nothing less." Looks down at his plate.

"No. Oh no, you're not pulling this shit on me, Malfoy. If you think for one instant that--"

"Perhaps," Grandfather interjects, "we might all take a few moments to consider the best and least… detrimental course of action before--"

"You know what this thing between us is, what it means, and you can't just dismiss it! Don't fuck with me, Malfoy!" Harry Potter hisses. Maybe he thinks I can't hear. Maybe I'm in Switzerland.

"Funny, I think I already have," Father says.

Harry Potter stares at him.

Father stares back.

Harry Potter swears and stands. Kicks in his chair. He storms out the door like his own personal thundercloud.

Father hangs his head.

"Do not fear, Draco, this can all be smoothed over," Grandfather is saying.

"You're going the wrong way, Harry Potter," I call. "That hall goes back to the parlour."

Cursing from the hallway. He thunders back in and up to the table. Picks up the teapot, and dumps its contents onto Father's lap.

Father swears and jumps up, pulling his robes away. "What the hell are you doing, you lunatic?"

Harry Potter tosses the teapot to the ground. It shatters into a million pieces. "When can I see you again!" he demands.

Mummy's favourite teapot. All the magic in the world couldn't piece it back together now.

Father makes a noise in the back of his throat. Drops his robes and brings a hand to his mouth. Takes a shaky breath.

"Malfoy--"

"If you would allow me to escort you out," Grandfather begins.

"Malfoy!" Harry Potter repeats.

Father chews on his bottom lip. Brings his fingers to his temple. They tremble. "Tonight," he murmurs. "And tomorrow night. And the next night, and the next, and the next and…"

Harry Potter breathes like the air is heavy. "Well…" he says, "well, good."

Father nods, eyes on his feet. "You are… ridiculously late for work, Potter," he murmurs.

"Tonight," Harry Potter repeats. "I'll Floo you."

Father whispers something I can't hear.

Harry Potter swallows.

"Father, you're going to be late too," I tell him.

He sighs and turns away. "Thank you for the wakeup call, Scorpius," he says.

Harry Potter smiles at me and finally finds the right door.

Grandfather cleans up the mess and charms Father's robes dry. "Draco, you must inform me of your strategies before implementing them. If your plan is to blackmail Harry Potter in some way, I assure you that I have decades of experience to offer. You need only--"

"Scorpius?" Father says. "How would you like to visit your friend tonight?"

I smile.

"What are you so happy about?" Father asks. We're back in the restaurant. Shiny red seat under my arse. Dead looking chicken on my plate.

"Just thinking," I tell him. "It was really quite romantic, you and Harry Potter. I hadn't realised."

He nods and looks into the middle distance. "It was, wasn't it? That's the artist in you, you see, mind open to the wonders of the world. I'm glad I started you young on the piano. But did your friend feel the same when you told him?"

Huge grin on Al's face. We'll be together all the time now! he proclaims.

"He said it was the most wicked thing he'd ever heard," I tell him. "I'm sure he's only upset about the makeup."

Father asks, "And what would you do if I told you that you couldn't wear your makeup?"

I shake my head. "Don't worry. I know you would never do something so senseless, Father."

He sighs. Takes a long drag off the cigarette. Smoke out his nose. His name to a T. "Why don't you go check on them?" he says. "I'll get the bill. I've got a bit of pocket change, anyway."