Narcissa Malfoy patted her beloved grandson on the head. The scent of fried eggs and sizzling bacon permeated the air and the entire Malfoy family, including Draco, sat at a grand, elongated table. In front of each of them was Narcissa's favorite emerald china and silverware. Draco quietly sipped his tea as an aged Lucius Malfoy scooted his mahogany chair closer to the table. Narcissa's gaze darted from her husband to her son to her grandson. There was an obvious awkwardness between the three Malfoy males; Lucius tried to lessen it by clearing his throat.
"Maridel should be finished soon," he announced, his piercing eyes shooting from Draco to Scorpius.
Narcissa flashed a small, uneasy smile. "I hope everyone slept well?"
"I did," Draco replied. "I appreciate the hospitality, Mother."
"Oh, it's a pleasure to have you, darling." She reached out to touch her son's arm. "Always a pleasure."
Scorpius rolled his eyes and turned away. He and his father had always had a strained relationship, but after his mother's death, their bond only diminished more. He and his only friend had not made the best decisions, and while his father always came to his aid, he still judged him. Scorpius never reacted well to being scolded. In fact, it usually made him act out more. Sadly, his father simply did not understand his only child. On the other hand, his mother always knew him better than she knew herself. As his living, emotionally deaf parent sat across from him, Scorpius craved her protective, long-armed embrace.
"Scorpius," Draco drawled, lacing his fingers together, "we did not get much of a chance to speak last night."
Scorpius had cleared his plate the night before, refusing to acknowledge anything that his father said to him. Of course, this tactic was so he could retreat to one of the many guestrooms before he had to spend too much time with his paternal figure. The only person that could have stopped him was his grandmother, and she was too tenderhearted to do so.
"And?" Scorpius crossed his arms.
Narcissa and Draco's eyes met. She bit her lip, feeling torn between her beloved son and her grieving grandchild. "Well, Scorpius, sweetie, how about you tell your father about your midyear exams? Tell him what you told Grandmummy."
"I did best of my year in all of them," he mumbled, not looking up from his still-empty plate.
"That's brilliant, son," Draco congratulated him. He cocked an eyebrow. "Even better than the Granger-Weasley girl?"
"Dad," Scorpius groaned. "It doesn't matter."
Draco held up his hands up in surrender. "No, of course not."
"Don't accept mediocrity, Draco. Of course it matters," Lucius hissed. "It's bad enough that that Mudblood is the Minister for Magic. While my son may not have been able to outscore her in school, I would expect my grandson to outscore her and the blood traitor's idiotic hell-spawn."
Before the situation could become more awkward, a tiny house-elf wandered into the dining room, several platters of food hovering above her bow-laden head. She meekly clapped her hands, hoping not to upset her unhinged employer. Before he could reprimand her, eggs, bacon, sausage, scones, and beans floated from the levitating platters onto each of their emerald plates. A pitcher of pumpkin juice emptied itself into their goblets, and with a snap of her fingers, the platters lowered onto the grand table.
"Maridel hopes this humble meal pleases the almighty Lord Malfoy and his lovely family." She curtseyed, her two emerald bows moving with her.
Lucius cut into an egg and stabbed it with his fork. After putting it in his mouth and chewing on it for a moment, he sneered. "Under-seasoned again."
Maridel hung her head. "Lord Malfoy, my deepest apologies. It will not happen again."
"It better not," he growled, "or you'll be fired. Now get out of my sight."
Draco and his mother exchanged nervous glances as the elf sulked her way out of the dining room. Neither of them approved of the way that Lucius handled his employees, but they did not dare to argue with him. Even in his old age, he was cold and unapproachable to most. He had one soft spot, and he reserved that for his scholarly grandson.
Barely chewing, Scorpius shoveled food into his mouth as quickly as he could. It was the same way that he had eaten the night before, hurrying along so he did not have to make small talk with his father. He much preferred the company of his grandmother.
Narcissa bit into her lemon scone and swallowed it. "So, Draco, how have you been spending your time, lately? Still expanding your collection of family heirlooms?"
Draco nodded. "Always. It's incredible how many things were stolen. We never should have allowed those blasted Snatchers to enter our home." He shot a meaningful glare in his father's direction. They would not have visited so often if it were not for his many failures.
"Those people were animals," Narcissa replied, pointedly. She turned to her grandson. "Your father has taken it upon himself to get Grandmummy and your grandfather's things back. Perhaps, you could help him this summer."
"I'd rather go with you, Grandmum." Scorpius refused to meet Draco's eyes.
"Ah, I avoid such places," Narcissa admitted. "I'm just a bit too old to haggle with people of…lower status."
"You don't have to go, of course," Draco told his son. "But if you'd like to come along, we could always go shopping afterwards. There's a shop with rare books and other odds and ends in Knockturn Alley—just across from the butcher. I'll bet you'd find all sorts of treasures there." He raised his brows, hoping to entice Scorpius with promises of books that he could not even find in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library.
"Grandmum takes me book shopping all the time."
Draco opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by his father. "Have you found any items of value during your little excursions, Draco?"
"Some," he replied. "You're welcome to stop by the cottage and look any time."
"Speaking of that cottage," Lucius said the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth, "do you have any plans to move back into Malfoy Manor? Perhaps, you could return our belongings to the place where they belong?"
Scorpius peered at his father, curious to hear his answer.
"Well I—I don't think it's necessary," Draco stumbled over his words. "It's a bit large for just me and the boy."
Lucius arched an eyebrow. "Don't you think your son deserves a large home? He is a Malfoy, isn't he?"
Narcissa touched her husband's arm. "Lucius, leave it alone."
"No, it's fine," Draco sighed, setting his silverware down onto his plate. He planted his elbows onto the table and clasped his hands together, resting his chin just atop them. "I think my son deserves to grow up somewhere without unhappy memories. Unfortunately, that is all that that place has."
Lucius clenched his jaw. "So you plan to let it rot?"
"I've hired caretakers," Draco retorted. "The few valuable items that are there are protected by Dark Magic, so I suspect everything is preserved rather well. If Scorpius would prefer to live there, that's solely up to him."
The attention brought redness to Scorpius's cheeks. While he and his father disagreed on most things, they had the same disdain for Malfoy Manor. Far too many miserable memories lived and died under its black roof. When he visited his father in the summers, he much preferred the small cottage in Willow Ale Court.
"That cottage is hardly fit for pure-bloods," Lucius spat. "We've spent a fortune to move into this place so you and your family could have the manor and still, you choose to live in squalor."
"Lucius," Narcissa hissed, "please just let us enjoy breakfast together."
He narrowed his eyes, but begrudgingly obeyed.
Scorpius scraped up the last of his egg yolk and chugged his juice. "Done," he announced, dropping his silverware onto the plate and excusing himself from the table.
"Scorpius—" Narcissa started, but before she could finish her thought, he had left the room and rushed up the stairs. She let out a sigh and touched her son's pale hand. "Draco, I promise you that we're trying. He's a moody teenager—it makes things much harder."
Draco nodded, sadly. "I know it, Mother. I suppose I ought to be going, anyway. I'm expecting a guest this afternoon and I should have a shower before she arrives."
She raised her blonde eyebrows. "She?"
Lucius listened, carefully, wondering who his son could possibly be seeing. There were not many unmarried pure-bloods in his age group. In fact, he could only think of two.
"I think I'm a bit old to discuss my love life with my mother. I'll be back in a few days for Christmas Eve." He stood and pushed in his chair before leaning down to kiss her on each cheek. "Thank you for having me. It's been just lovely." He gave his father a nod and Disapparated.
A moment passed. Both of the elderly Malfoys stared at their plates, their expressions stern and calculating. After thinking for a long time, Lucius finally decided to reveal his conclusion.
"She isn't a pure-blood," he guessed, his voice laced thick with anger. "That's why he's being so elusive." He said "elusive" rather slowly. It quite reminded his wife of the late Severus Snape.
"We don't know that, Lucius!" she gasped.
"How many single pure-bloods do you know anymore, Narcissa, let alone witches that are his age?" Lucius hissed, furiously squeezing his white kerchief. "He's refused to even entertain the idea of marrying the Fawley girl. How many others are there?"
Narcissa went quiet. She knew no others.
Hermione Granger fixed her robes before Apparating to the place that had become nearly as familiar as her own home. She took a deep breath and rapped on the door. Knots twisted in her stomach as she heard footfalls coming in her direction from inside of the cottage.
The moss green door opened. "Granger."
She nodded, stepping inside. "Malfoy."
The blond wizard shut the door behind her. "I must admit, I had a rather large breakfast, so I only made sandwiches. Fortunately, I think you're used to disappointment what with Weasley and all."
"Poor taste, Draco," she scolded, hanging her jacket.
"The sandwiches? Yes, you're probably right," he chortled, smirking. "I prefer to satisfy the women I invite over."
"Women?" Inquisition spiked her tone as she plucked off her shoes.
He still wore the same smirk. "Would that be a problem?"
Her face flushed. "No—no, of course not." She cleared her throat. "So the children arrived yesterday."
Draco gave her a calculating look. "How are they?"
She sighed, brushing past him to seat herself at his dining room table. Had she not visited as often as she did, it would have been rude. "I'm sure they're fine. They were going to go pick up some food from the market."
Draco sat across from her in his usual spot. They each had a ham sandwich in front of their place, along with the typical afternoon tea.
"Did you see Scorpius last night?" she asked, raising a brow. The tea burned her lips as she lifted the cup to her mouth. She blew on it, her eyes still fixed on him.
"And this morning. I stayed at my parents' for the evening. Believe it or not, their house-elf cooks nearly as well as I do."
"How did it go?" She took a bite of her ham sandwich, ignoring his comment about his parents' hired help. It seemed like she only ate with Draco as of late.
"Same as usual," he muttered. "I suppose it's my fault he's so distant. I was rather harsh with him after the whole Time-Turner ordeal, but he ran away for Merlin's sake."
Hermione drew in a deep breath. "I'm still sorry I held onto that damned thing."
"It wasn't your fault," he grumbled with a sigh. "Honestly, he and the Potter boy would've found some other way to get into trouble without it."
She chewed on her lip for a moment. The ham sandwich was on the plate in front of her, still mostly uneaten. "You know, that was our family's turning point too."
Draco gave her a dark look. "It couldn't have been too hard on you. You moved to bloody Godric's Hollow. I don't even want to go near that place."
"You remember Ron back then," she said, harshly.
"Sure. Bloody idiot as he usually is."
She shook her head. "Still functioning, though. Sure, he had his days, but he was a happy drunk. Maybe we weren't—well, maybe we didn't have the perfect marriage or anything, but he was mostly tolerable. I thought we were past a lot of the squabbling that we did when we were younger. We were even going to renew our vows."
"But he started drinking more," Draco finished.
She nodded. "He went from happy and haphazard to sad, tired, and dilapidated. George asked him to take a sabbatical when he accidentally multiplied an order by ten. He got lazier and lazier and, well, he nearly burned our house down—our old house."
"What do you mean 'nearly'?"
She sighed. "Our old house had a fireplace. The order that Ron messed up—well, George didn't have room for the extra Bombtastic Bombs that Ron put the order in for. So, George—well, he made Ron take them home and keep them at the house. Then Ron—he—he—" She closed her eyes and exhaled. "—he left both cases beside it and—and—he passed out. I reminded him to put the fire out before he went to bed—I asked him probably a dozen times. He insisted that he would and I—I—" She began to tear up. "—I was a fool. I trusted him. I trusted him and there was an—there was an explosion."
His mouth was agape. "How did I never hear about this?"
"Harry and Ginny helped us cover it up," she mumbled. "I would've lost my seat, Draco. Everyone would've come after me if they knew—if they knew that he nearly killed our daughter."
Draco's eyes widened. "What?" His voice was cold.
She choked up a little. "The fireplace—it shared a wall with—with Rose's bedroom. The explosion just barely missed her. I-I mean it was an accident and—and she was fine! B-but it was close. Too close."
"How are you still married to that—that imbecile?" he breathed. "Your daughter—your children—they—"
"The Godric's Hollow home doesn't have a fireplace," Hermione defended herself. "That's why we moved there."
He stared at her for a long moment, disturbed by her disregard for her children's safety. "Granger, you have to get out of there. You have to get them out of there. This isn't just some funny story about good old Dad indulging in the sauce. He's dangerous."
She gave him a pleading look, her eyes still tearful. "I don't know how, Draco. H-he and I—there's just a lot of history, you know?"
His eyes were stormy. "Well, you best find a way, because Weaselbee is going to hurt someone, accident or not."
Hermione was quiet for a moment. Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of illness came over her; she pushed her plate away, her sandwich still nearly whole. While she knew that Draco was right, she did not want to take responsibility for her husband's foul actions.
"I think I may go for a walk," she finally said. "I need the fresh air."
His face was still contorted with disgust. "You'd like company, then?"
She tilted her head, hoping to lessen the tension between the two of them. "I suppose so."
Author's Note: I love all of you - especially if you leave a review! Some subtle reminders that I have a Luna/Neville one-shot that's a side story from the flashbacks of this storyline. Check it out here: ?chapterid=532832&showRestricted