Saturday 1st July

Scorpius wasn't asleep, not really. From the way the sunlight crept through the cracks in his curtains, he knew it must be past noon, and the day outside was probably lovely. But he couldn't summon the motivation to get out of bed, his grandfather's words still ringing in his ears.

"I assume it didn't go too well, then."

Scorpius squinted in the near-dark, his father was leaning against his door frame—Scorpius couldn't make out his expression in the dim light, so he wasn't sure if it was sympathy or ire he had drawn. His father had always been a little distant—glimpses of emotion from Draco were few and far between—but the last thing he wanted was a lecture right now. He felt awful for Rose, they hadn't had the opportunity to discuss the dinner, but he'd known from the pallor of her skin that she was far from ok.

"That's one way to put it." replied Scorpius, flopping back down onto his pillow.

"May I come in?" Draco asked, and Scorpius grunted something. His father stepped past the clutter of his room, perching on the end of his bed.

"Your grandmother owled me this morning, she's worried."

"That I'm muddying the bloodline?" he replied bitterly.

"Scorpius." his father chided gently, "Don't be cruel."

Scorpius knew his parents had probably discussed who was going to come in and try to talk him out of his sulk. Usually his mother took the role, but as it concerned the Malfoys, his father was probably best suited. Scorpius should've known his grandfather would goad him, but it'd been hard to contain his anger with Rose sitting right there. He'd been so angry, but above all, embarrassed. It was fine to ignore Lucius' sick comments and other family functions, but when Rose was taking the brunt force of his judgemental stare, he couldn't help but leap to her defence.

"Your grandfather hasn't been right since the war." Draco began, and Scorpius rolled his eyes.

"You want me to forgive him?" he shot back. He knew it was childish to take his anger out on his father, but for once, he wanted to crack through his father's ever patient facade. He wanted someone to be just as angry as he was, to have a proper response in the face of Lucius' blood prejudice.

Draco sighed, "I'm not asking you to do that. I'm just trying to get you to understand. The war took so much from the Malfoys. Your grandfather spent a few years in Azkaban, and the rest under house arrest. The Manor was raided, artefacts taken, much of the family wealth appropriated by the Ministry. But most of all, it stripped away his honour, and his dignity. The name itself was muddied by the events of the war, many see Lucius as nothing more than a disgraced ex-Death Eater."

Scorpius sat up, his blood boiling still, "Then wouldn't it show him that all the blood purity stuff wasn't worth it? To be looked down upon, like he'd looked down on so many others, would he not realize how it felt?"

Draco shook his head, "The opposite, actually. All he has left is his blood purity, the cleanliness of the Malfoy House, so much so that he'd go to any lengths to preserve it. And bringing Rose into the picture—the daughter of people who'd played in his downfall—he'd take that as a slight against him."

"That's not Rose's fault." Scorpius' face heated.

"I know it's not. The war—" he could sense his father's reticence, he avoided talking about the events of the war wherever possible. He only knew the role Draco had played by news articles and books he'd read, and his knew it was far from honourable.

"We thought we were under attack. For years, the traditions of the old houses had been chipped away at, threatened by outsiders who didn't understand our way of life. The Malfoy Manor alone was raided by the Ministry more times than I could count, laws were creating criminalizing certain magic, holidays like Samhain and Yule were turned into cheap Muggle iterations of what they once were. Muggles outnumbered us so heavily, Muggleborn enrolments in Hogwarts only grew, and pureblood families of the highest breeding birthed more and more squibs the longer we mixed. It was an attack on us, an awful fear that we'd be driven to extinction and forgotten, that Muggles would rise up and exploit our magic. So when the Dark L—Voldemort rose to power, we saw him as a saviour, someone who would restore the rule of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, as it was meant to be."

"So murder and torture was the only option?" Scorpius knew he was being stubborn, but he didn't want to sympathise with people who justified such horrific actions to prejudiced ends.

"Most pureblood families thought the war against them began long before Lord Voldemort's rise. And that level of indoctrination... it's hard to fight it, Scorpius. Only the truly sick and twisted enjoy war, but there was no way out. Many of us had been groomed since birth to defend our families, and our purity. It was either join the ranks, or be cast from the family tree and be hunted down by your loved ones."

Scorpius knew his father was trying to speak generally, but he knew Draco was speaking of his own experience, which chipped away a little at Scorpius's outrage,

"Do you think you're free of it?" Scorpius probed, and he knew from the way his father sighed that he'd been trying to avoid this part of the conversation, to keep it distant from himself by speaking generally about it all.

His father pushed a hand through his hair—a replicate of Scorpius' but shorter—before finding the words,

"It's hard to know sometimes, son. Your mother saved me, really. After what I saw in the war, I had my doubts. I slowly realized that if our cause was truly righteous, then why would we commit such atrocities in the name of it? But your mother taught me tolerance, and patience. But it's still difficult. I've tried so hard to ensure I didn't pass it onto you, but that was the environment I was raised in. I still must check myself sometimes—am I being more judgemental of this person because they're not a pureblood? I am being more forgiving of this person because they bear a pureblooded last name? I'm working on it all the time."

Scorpius watched his Dad in the dim light, and for maybe the first time, appreciated his father's attempts, at least. There were things to criticize of his father—his distance, his apathy, his occasional coldness. But imagining his father at sixteen wasn't as hard as it had been before.

He knew his father was trying to be open, so he took his opportunity, "But do you approve of my relationship with Rose?"

Draco scratched the inside of his left forearm, a twitch he didn't seem to be conscious of.

"I can't say I was thrilled when you told us. I'm glad you don't bear the prejudice I once did, but I'm worried you won't take it seriously enough. This curse—it could ruin your happiness in the blink of an eye. I remember what it was like being your age, thinking that you're immortal. But all it would take is one mistake—"

"I know how serious it is."

"Do you? Are you truly willing to make such a commitment at sixteen, Scorpius? You think you're in love now, but you don't know what the future holds. What happens if you never break the curse?"

It was Scorpius' darkest fear realized, a life where he was forced to follow in the footsteps of his ancestors, settle down with a pureblood witch and continue the line. If the curse ended things for him and Rose, if she wanted to be with someone normal, someone who she could kiss, there'd always be the 'what if?' His children would be afflicted with the same curse as him, coerced by blood, their happiness balanced on one condition.

"I don't know."

They met up later that day. Scorpius wanted to show Rose the grounds of the Greengrass Manor, but he mostly wanted to apologise for last night's events. He'd shown her a side of his life he wasn't proud of, and put her in a situation that wasn't safe.

They walked in polite conversation for a time, neither of them wanted to broach the topic. He pointed out the koi pond he'd fallen in as a toddler, the spot he'd flown his first broom, and all the trees he'd climbed. His grandma had packed them a hefty lunch, and they under an oak tree in the paddock near the manor, the high grass bleached blonde by the July sun.

He couldn't even meet her eyes, as he rushed it out, "I'm sorry."

A pointed silence followed his apology, and he summed up the courage to finally look at her. Summer suited Rose, her skin was kissed by more freckles than ever, contrasted starkly by her white sundress. She looked angelic.

Strangely, she just looked at him with confusion, "For what?"

"For taking you there? I put you into an unsafe situation, it was my fault."

She didn't look at him with confusion now, her face twisting into pity, "Scorp... he invited me, and I said yes. We needed his books, anyway. It's not your fault that your grandfather is a purist."

"If you were dating someone normal—"

She scoffed at him, "Normal. Why does it feel like you're waiting for me to break up with you?"

"Because this burden is mine, Rose. You shouldn't have to bear it too. It's not fair."

She was picking at her sandwich anxiously, tearing off pieces of the crust and rolling it into little balls between her fingers,

"I don't know how many times I have to convince you that I'm here to stay."

Scorpius didn't know either. He'd known, all his life, he came with a curse. It wasn't just the curse itself—his last name, his family's history... They had always been things for him to bear, and suffer with, but inflicting it on someone he loved, it felt like a punishment. Rose had always been out of reach. Even though purity was the word of the week, she was the truly pure one. Showing her his dark secrets, the narrative he was born into, it felt like he was tainting her with it all, pulling her down to his level.

"I just wish I could wipe myself clean for you. My last name, the history, the purity bullshit. I want to be someone you deserve." his voice broke to spite him.

Her hand had moved to grab his now, squeezing it tightly. It made his heart hurt how beautiful she looked like this, her hair catching the light breeze, the sun through the leaves playing with the colours in her hazel eyes.

"Scorpius, you're so much more than that. I'd take all of it tenfold to have you." she looked at him with such optimism, it was hard not to catch it off her, "We'll get to Egypt, we'll see Bill. I'll get a job, we'll save up. I'd ask my parents, but..."

She trailed off, and he understood. Her parents would hardly fork out the money to get to Egypt, when they didn't know why she was going in the first place.

"I've asked mine." he chipped in, "But Dad's convinced it's pointless, he doesn't think we can break it."

"We can go to the library in Diagon Alley. We'll find something, we just have to keep looking."

He wanted so desperately to believe her, but he couldn't ignore that ever present chant in his mind, his father's voice mixing with his own: but what if we can't?

Sunday 9th July

Rose looked suspiciously at the pile of books under her bed. Checking them out hadn't been a fantastic experience—the librarian in Diagon Alley had watched them with some suspicion as she and Scorpius loitered casually around the 'Pureblood History' section. She'd muttered a weak excuse about a research project when she'd brought them to the counter. The librarian hadn't seemed convinced.

Their selection hadn't been as well-stocked as the restricted section; the Ministry had gone to great lengths to take many prejudiced books out of the system after the war. A good cause, but it didn't help Rose much.

She skimmed a page on pureblood adoptions, a magical process where pure-blooded families used blood magic to magically adopt illegitimate children in. She shut the book with a huff—fat lot of use that was—instead reaching for the small glass sphere that sat on her bedside table. Scorpius was hard to buy a birthday present for. The boy who had almost everything, and his parents could afford to buy him the rest.

The sphere itself was filled with a substance that was neither liquid nor gas, but it was mostly clear, and she shook it.

A memory filled the ball—her and Scorpius chatting on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. Another shake—they were running around on the lawn of the Burrow, twelve or thirteen, twirling sparklers in the dark. She shook it again—he was wrapped up in a sleeping bag on the floor, an arms-length away from her, sleeping soundly. Another one—he was feeding her strawberries by the Great Lake. It had a dozen more memories in it, a snapshot of every time she'd fallen a little more in love with him.

Her mother had helped her with the charm. She thought it might be difficult to summon good memories of their moments together, but it hadn't been. While many of her memories of him were laced in anger and outrage, the good ones had simply floated to the top, as her mother had copied them from her mind.

It didn't feel like enough, but she didn't know how many times she had to tell him. Rose wasn't going to leave him. While they'd only been official for a short time, in reality, it had been so much longer than that.

She put the glass ball back on her nightstand and attempted to direct her attention back to the book.

A/N: Sorry for the filler folks, more drama to come.