WORD COUNT: 2216/3000

WRITTEN FOR IWSC, SEASON 3

Beauxbatons: Manhunt (a character who is running away from their problems)

Year 6

Mandatory Prompt: (word) comfort

Additional Prompt: (dialogue) "Are you decent?" / "Not morally, but I'm wearing pants if that's what you're asking."

WRITTEN FOR THC, YEAR 7

House: Gryffindor

Class: DADA

Standard

Prompt:

(word) smile

WRITTEN FOR QLFC, SEASON 9

Book Club: Cemetery Boys

Prompt:

10. (genre) family

A Malfoy's Rite of Passage

Every generation of Malfoy had, at one time or the other, found themselves hiding in the nook behind the last bookshelf. It's Scorpius' turn.

Scorpius Malfoy bolted down the hallways of the ancient manor, his bare bottom visible to the greatly offended and appalled portraits of his ancestors who gasped and covered their eyes. His father's cries of dismay and anger caused the six-year-old boy to run even faster in search of sanctuary.

"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy! You come back here this instant!" his father screamed as Scorpius scrambled up the long and winding stairs, panting and wheezing.

"No!" he yelled over his shoulder and stumbled into the first unlocked room. The library. His safe haven.

The door slammed behind him, which caused the bookshelves to tremble and tears to pool in Scorpius' eyes as he waited for the books to tumble off. Fortunately for him, they remained in their place. He whirled around and ran through the aisles, looking for his favourite place to hide.

It was a small nook in between the last bookshelf and the wall, too small for anyone but a house-elf—or a six-year-old boy—to hide in. As far as Scorpius was aware, no one else knew of his hiding place, and he wanted to keep it that way.

As he scrambled into the tight spot, the dust tickled his bare bottom, and he thought, 'Should have put on some pants.'

Wrapping his arms around his bare legs, Scorpius shuffled sideways until he was fully hidden from anyone who would be looking for him. And then, he waited with bated breath for everything to be over.

Scorpius abhorred the huge gatherings his grandparents hosted on every little occasion. Worst of all, he hated getting ready for them. He always felt like a show dog—one of the uglier ones whose owner had bought their way in—and he loathed the monkey suit his father insisted he wear. Sure, the black robes and suit showed the Malfoys' impeccable taste, but Scorpius was more interested in wearing shorts or jeans. He felt comfortable in those, but his father refused to even entertain the idea.

Which was why Scorpius was on the run.

Meanwhile, outside, Draco stormed through the hallways, his jaw clenched, Scorpius' suit hanging over his left arm. He had just reached the library door, adamant on giving his son a piece of his mind when his father stepped out of his office.

"I heard the yelling. What's going on?" Lucius inquired, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles from his shirt. He leaned against his cane and looked at Draco.

"Scorpius refuses to go back to his room and get dressed like a normal human being," Draco snapped, scowling at the library door before turning to Lucius. "Could you talk to him? He refuses to listen to me. I don't understand why he wants to rebel so much. It's not like a Malfoy to go against tradition and want to wear Muggle jeans, of all things! Why would he..."

Upon hearing Draco's words, Lucius was suddenly hit with a flashback. All of a sudden, Lucius was six years old, dressed in a colourful and patterned, short-sleeved, collared shirt with the ugliest knitted jumper known to mankind. His hair was greased back into a quiff, and his jeans were extremely narrow.

Lucius remembered the look of absolute horror on his father's face when he had seen young Lucius stroll into the middle of the Ministry ball dressed like a Muggle. Abraxas had shuddered and tried to get Lucius to leave the hall, but young Lucius had simply smirked and gone off to dance with his ailing mother, who had cooed and simpered at how adorable her precious son looked. As Abraxas couldn't possibly have dragged him off by his ear—though Lucius was sure he had wanted to—the older Malfoy had been forced to watch his only heir parade through the hall.

It had been an act of rebellion as Abraxas had refused to let him off his supposed-duties that night. Lucius remembered he'd had that wonderful idea of insubordination in his secret hideout: the nook behind the last bookshelf in the library.

"...and I have no idea how to handle him! He definitely got that disobedience from Astoria's side of the family." Draco continued ranting about Scorpius' actions, and Lucius pursed his lips to hide his smirk. "I'm sure—"

"I have to disagree with you there, son," Lucius said, interrupting his son suddenly. Draco stopped and furrowed his brow.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember when you were five years old? You refused to wear anything but those ridiculous striped and patterned shirt and shorts to your birthday dinner," Lucius said, now openly smirking at Draco. "And what did you do to your hair? Do you remember that absurd green dye… or should your mother and I get out the accursed photographs?"

When Draco shivered and gagged at the memory, Lucius gave him a pointed look, his eyebrows raised high. "See? Apparently, rebellion does run in the Malfoy bloodline."

"I wasn't that bad… was I?"

Lucius thought of the number of times Draco had managed to get himself into trouble over the years, and he compared it to Scorpius' innocent antics. "Draco, son… You were worse. Now, go in there and comfort your son. The right way."

"How am I supposed to do that? You never taught me," Draco said pointedly.

Lucius sighed and replied, "Well, my father didn't teach me either, and I got on well enough with you, didn't I?"

It was Draco's turn to stare at him pointedly.

"Oh, just go find Scorpius and offer him whatever he desires. I do not want to see my grandson unhappy. Do you hear me?"

"Very well." Draco pushed the door of the library open and walked to the back where he knew Scorpius would be. The hideout wasn't as secret as each Malfoy man assumed it was. At one time or the other, they all had found themselves hiding in the surprisingly comfortable spot, and now, it was Scorpius' turn.

"Are you decent?" Draco called out when he reached the last bookshelf. He hoped his son had at the very least put on his trousers by then.

"Not morally, but I'm wearing pants if that's what you're asking," Scorpius grumbled, and Draco had to stop himself from chuckling at his son's reply. He knew Scorpius didn't know what he had said; the boy had only repeated what he had heard his grandfather say once.

Draco found his son—naked as the day he was born—sniffling softly. 'I thought he said he was wearing pants!' But then, a pang of guilt hit Draco at the pitiful sight. He sighed and pulled out his wand to make space for himself in the corner, ignoring the fact that Scorpius was not wearing anything. He knew he needed to comfort him to the best of his abilities.

When Scorpius caught sight of him, he tried to scamper away but was stopped by the presence of the wall behind him. He wailed, "Father, don't make me go out there! Please!"

Draco's heart clenched at the distress in his son's voice, and he immediately got down on his knees and slowly moved closer to him. "Hey, it's okay," he soothed, raising his hands to show he was defenceless. "It's okay, Scorp… I'm not going to force you to wear the suit, okay?"

"Really?" Scorpius sniffled, his grey eyes wide with hope. "You promise?"

Draco nodded. "I promise. I know how much the suit itches," he admitted, a small smile on his lips. He did know the feeling of the irritating collar, but he had forced himself to ignore it over the years. "Tell me… Do you come to hide here often?"

"Sometimes," Scorpius mumbled weakly, glancing up at him. "Only when you're mad at me."

Draco couldn't help but chuckle at the reply. "This used to be my hiding place, too. Every time your grandfather got angry at me, I would come here and wait for him to calm down."

"Really?" Scorpius asked, and Draco knew he was trying to imagine his father hiding in such a small space.

"Yes. It's a nice spot, isn't it? A bit cramped, but nice." Draco tried to push away the memories of huddling behind the bookshelf too many times to count while the Dark Lord was living in the Manor with them. The terror and panic of the past almost overwhelmed Draco, but Scorpius brought him out of his reverie by shyly nodding, his platinum-blond hair tickling Draco's chin.

Draco asked, "You want to talk about what's really troubling you? I know it can't just be the suit."

Hesitating for a few moments, Scorpius shrugged his bony little shoulders and mumbled, "Okay."

"Could you put on some pants first?" Draco asked, rifling through the suit on his arm and pulling out his son's underwear. Handing it to Scorpius, he made sure the boy had pulled the pants on before saying, "Now, tell me what's wrong."

Big fat tears rolled down Scorpius' face and he wailed, "I don't like the parties! I don't want to s-sosalize! Everyone hates me! They think I'm the b-bad m-man's child! I'm not! I'm your and Mummy's child!"

Draco was filled with guilt as he realised the root of his son's problem. It wasn't the suit or the dancing, though Draco was sure Scorpius disliked that, as well; it was the looks of distrust and wariness on the guests' faces. He knew the rumours, of course, that his wife had given birth to Voldemort's child, and he hated it. Astoria was an adult and fared as well as she could, but none of them had ever expected to see how the rumours would affect their son.

"Oh, Scorpius," Draco murmured, leaning closer to wrap his arm around his son's shoulders. He pressed his lips to the top of his head and closed his eyes as the boy trembled with suppressed sobs. "I didn't know you felt this way… I apologise. I can't understand what you're going through, but… I want you to know that I'm here for you. Would you like to tell me what would make this party better for you? Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

Scorpius whispered, "I don't want to go to the party… It's so boring! And Grandfather doesn't let me leave early either. I just want to go play in the garden with the peacocks."

A devious smile formed on Draco's face as an idea began developing in his mind. As an adult, Draco hadn't had the opportunity to shake things up a bit, too busy with his responsibilities to his family. But, now? Draco cleared his throat and looked down at Scorpius. "Have I ever told you about the time I wore a striped shirt and Muggle jeans for my birthday dinner?"

Scorpius gasped. "You?"

"Yes… If you promise me you'll wear your robes over your suit, I'll allow you to wear whatever you desire." Draco thought it was a fair trade for what he was about to do.

"But what if everyone laughs at me?"

"Let me handle them. Now, off you go. Get dressed quickly and come downstairs. Make sure to wear your robes." Draco scooted out of the hideout and stood upright. Dusting himself off, he reached out and helped Scorpius out.

Scorpius beamed as he threw his arms around Draco's legs before sprinting out of the library, his uncovered back glistening with dust and grime. Draco called out, "And take a shower!"

Later that evening

The sound of voices mingled with the scraping of chairs and clinking of champagne flutes. Scorpius barely paid any attention to the conversation his mother was engaged in; he was too scared of what the people would say once they noticed his clothes.

He was trying to hide behind the dinner table, fidgeting with his little red blazer and bow tie and tapping his foot repeatedly. He hoped his grandfather wouldn't call him over to his side to introduce him to the Ministry workers; Scorpius was terrible at making small talk.

Just then, he heard the voices grow dimmer until there was pin-drop silence in the ballroom. Scorpius squinted as he turned to look at what had caused everyone to quiet down. A soft gasp escaped his lips.

His father strolled through the crowd dressed in a white shirt, brown corduroy trousers and a calf-length cantaloupe coat that billowed out around him. He looked confident and arrogant, the two main traits of a Malfoy, and when he met Scorpius' eye, he gave him a genuine smile.

Scorpius couldn't help but smile back, his heart lifting in encouragement as his father walked over to his side. He couldn't believe what his father had done for him.

"What in Merlin's name are you two wearing?" Scorpius heard his grandmother ask, but his eyes were still trained on his father's self-assured form.

"At least, they're wearing pants. Thank Merlin for that," his grandfather muttered under his breath.

If his father could do it, then Scorpius would do it, too. No more running from my problems.

And with that, Scorpius straightened his shoulders and walked out from behind the table to join his father, who smiled and placed his hand on Scorpius' shoulder in approval.

No rumours would bring him down now that his father was by his side.

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