Written for the Family Bootcamp Challenge.
Arthur Weasley had three rules (as opposed to Molly's twenty-odd).
All of them concern Malfoys ("Or any uppity Pureblood family, really," - his father's words).
They were the following:
•Do make eye contact when passing,
•Nod courteously when they look at you, ("Or grin—that means you two, Fred and George; it'll unnerve them.")
•Do not rise to their taunts or snide remarks. ("So, Fred, that means—no, you can not call Draco Malfoy 'the antichrist' or 'Devil's Spawn'...in his or his father's hearing, at least. Oh, you're George, are you? Well, you were Fred two hours ago.")
When Charlie was thirteen and visiting Diagon Alley, at the start of the Christmas hols, with the two youngest and their father, he was surprised to learn that there was no exception to Arthur Weasley's rules.
It happened when they passed the Ice Cream Parlor. Charlie was holding onto Ron's hand and had to pull him back when he strained towards the Parlor; their father, carrying Ginny—who was actually quite old to be carried at four—was lamenting the rising price of stuffing. The Weasleys usually cooked two turkeys for Chrismas dinner—if they had turkey at all. (Charlie hoped they would this year; he loved his mum's leftover turkey sandwiches, with the succulent slices of turkey, the spicy mustard, the crisp onions and the crispier lettuce.)
Charlie didn't think his father could go into the Muggle World to get what he needed; he'd get distracted by something and forget what he'd gone there for. There were so many things in that World that could drive his father to distraction, such as the different shapes and sizes of their coins—or the chased designs on their backs. Charlie had certainly been fascinated by them when they'd been passed around during a Muggle Studies lesson. He tightened his hold on Ron's hand as his brother tugged at it again; he murmured, "No, Ron."
He wondered what the turn of the century had in store for those Muggle coins—Charlie couldn't wait to see them. Especially their designs of the Queen. Charlie wasn't named for royalty—as his mum was wont to boast to Muggleborn and halfblood acquaintances—but he still had a healthy fascination with the Royal family. Their history was just so rich, certainly richer than that of Charlie's distant relatives, the Blacks'—and wouldn't that just stick in their craw if they knew...
Charlie, smirking a little, was jolted out of his musings by a man in too-bright robes sitting outside the Parlor. His hand was raised in a wave and he had just called out, "Arthur." There was a girl, about Ginny's age, sitting by him and tucking into a rather colourful sundae (which had Ron whining and trying to pull away all over again).
The man's geniality was infectious; even though the blonde wizard wasn't addressing him, Charlie wanted to grin and wave back.
Arthur Weasley didn't feel the same.
His father didn't stop, like he usually would; he merely acknowledged the younger man with a nod and wan smile.
"Who was that?" Charlie asked curiously, as they walked straight past the double doors of the Ice Cream Parlor—to a quietly sulking Ron's dismay.
"Xenophilius Lovegood, kin to Lucius Malfoy. A Slytherin, too—just a few years younger..." Charlie wasn't shocked to find that his father's distracted mutterings explained everything. "He resembles him a bit—don't you think?" Those words were said in a murmur, like his father was undecided in saying them, like he was thinking aloud.
Regardless, Charlie looked closer at the man. His hair was dirty-blonde—not silvery—yet he wore it long like Malfoy senior. But it wasn't as long, barely reaching the collar of his outlandish robes—and it was messier. Definitely messier. The man was pale, like Malfoy and his ilk, but his features weren't as pointed. He didn't remind Charlie of a ferret, but maybe a fox... Maybe.
If his eyes weren't so pale and unnerving—even from this distance—and if he was straight-faced, he might have even been handsome. In an eccentric sort of way.
Charlie squinted, sure that if he tilted his head, he might see the resemblance to Lucius Malfoy. But Lovegood was smiling, and it was full of warmth as he tweaked the little girl's nose and she giggled. There could almost be something aristocratic about Lovegood's visage, but Charlie was distracted from the possibility by the crinkles near the blonde's eyes, by the wide curve of his mouth, the flash of white teeth.
Charlie didn't think he'd ever seen anything more than a smirk or a sneer on Lucius Malfoy's face. Not even directed towards his wife and son.
In contrast, this man was openly, publicly, warm and affectionate towards the girl who might be his daughter. They were laughing together, even now (so it was hard to see any resemblance—if there was any at all).
Charlie looked away, dismissing the twinge in his stomach—which he refused to think of as longing (how long had it been since he'd been swept up in one of his father's bear hugs? In public or behind the leaning walls of their home?).
"Suppose you can't help who you resemble," his father was muttering to himself.
But Charlie thought that if this man, this Slytherin kin to Lucius Malfoy, had been simply a Slytherin, or a Malfoy relative—one or the other, and not both—things would have been different.
Would Ron say, "Bad," as he pointed at Xenophilius?
Would Ginny, looking over their father's shoulder, nod with all the sageness of a four year old in reply?
(Because children could pick up on things like that, especially Weasley children.)
Charlie took one last look at the smiling man and his young, probable daughter. Then, as he admonished Ron for pointing (which was Not Nice), Charlie thought to himself, you can't help who you're related to.