Draco landed back in his study, sitting down heavily in his chair. How could she? You'd think that such a bleeding heart like a sodding Gryffindor would be able to muster up even some semblance of compassion over a young boy who was being terrorized every day. And what was this nonsense about his prejudices?
Anyone who'd spent any amount of time with Draco Malfoy after the war had to admit that he was a changed man. Or, rather than being a changed man, he was a man who was finally permitted to take charge of his own life, rather than blindly follow the orders of a raving, lunatic of a half-blood. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd called someone a mudblood, and it certainly was before Scorpius were born. So that left the question—where one Merlin's green earth could the boy have heard such a thing?
Astoria was more into blood politics than he was, but even she'd had to admit that the Muggles weren't all bad—especially the first time she'd gone to London and realized what exactly it was that the Muggles had to offer in terms of fashion and design. Maybe it was just one of those things that the older children at the school would say, something to gain attention and shock value, rubbing it in for the younger years just how "cool" and "dangerous" they were.
Or as cool and dangerous as a ten-year-old can be, at any rate.
How dare she assume that just because he'd been a right terror as a child, that he was instilling some horrible copy of himself into his own son. Draco Malfoy was certainly a product of his upbringing, just as Scorpius Malfoy was a product of his own. Scorpius didn't need to fear drastic punishments, a dark lord, and a cold and detached home life. Sure, Astoria didn't seem to be able to pick her own son out of a line up, but Draco had certainly done his best to ensure that his son knew that he was loved. Unfortunately, that may have resulted in Scorpius being a bit spoiled at times, but at least it was a good, clean, honest spoiling, not a constant barrage of toys to make up for harsh words and harsher hands.
If there was one thing the Draco Malfoy had vowed to do differently from his own father, it would be to protect his son at all costs, and to listen to the things that brought him trouble. And, if Hermione Granger was too hung up on the past to listen to the tales of misery and woe that came from a young boy just because of his heritage, then Draco would be all too happy to point out just how much the tables had turned.
Merlin, he needed to talk to Scorpius. There must be some reason that all of the other children were treating him like this, and if he could just figure out the reason then he might be able to come up with some way to stop it.
A cursory check of Scorpius' bedroom, playroom, and library didn't reveal the whereabouts of the child. After close to an hour of searching with Draco getting rather close to just accio'ing the child to him, Scorpius suddenly appeared around a bend, near the entrance to the wing of the house that Draco had deemed off limits following the fall of the Dark Lord.
"Scorp, what are you doing over here? We talked about this, I don't want you playing this far into the house. Meet me in your room in a couple of minutes, I'd like to talk to you about Ms. Granger."
Scorpius nodded and hurried off to his room to await his father. Draco immediately turned his back to his son in order to check that the entrance to the wing was still locked tightly, and as such missed Scorpius sliding something from the folds of his robes into his pockets before he continued on his way.
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Scorpius Malfoy could still remember the day that he first met his grandfather Lucius. Of course, he'd never actually met his grandfather, for the man had died in Azkaban a few years before he was born. However, he'd somehow managed to stumble upon a little known entrance to the wing of the Manor that his own father had closed off after the war. Scorpius liked the east wing of the house, and he wished that he were allowed to spend more of his time there. Sure, it was dark and cold, which frightened him at times, but there was an undercurrent of magic in the walls that made him feel… alive.
He'd made his way one morning to a door that seemed to exude a welcoming warmth, inviting him to turn the knob and take a peek. And so he had.
The room was lit by a small fire that burned in the fireplace, and somehow managed to completely illuminate the portrait hanging above the mantle. As the door clicked shut, the portrait had sat up just a little bit taller in his velvet upholstered wingback chair. The same chair which sat facing the fireplace at that moment.
Lucius took a moment to observe the boy standing in the doorway. Based on the look of the boy, he wasn't very far removed from Lucius, only a generation or two. Time passed rather differently when you were a portrait stuck in a room without windows and the only clock in the room was directly beneath you. At any rate, the boy looked rather like Draco had at that age, leading Lucius to assume that his son was most likely the boy's father.
Draco. What a disappointment. Following his death and the fall of the Dark Lord, Lucius had been trapped to in his only portrait in the section of the Manor that was almost never explored. Immediately after his pardoning, his son had swept through and closed off half of his ancestral home, but not before giving his father an earful. Lucius was forced to sit and listen to some nonsense about how he'd ruined his only son's life, and how difficult it would be to restore the Malfoy name.
What a load of thestral dung.
Lucius himself had brought the Malfoys back from the edge of destruction no fewer than three separate times, and his son would surely be able to do the same. At least, he'd be able to do the same assuming that he wasn't a completely incompetent whelp. Unfortunately, that seemed to be too much to ask, as Draco seemed to think that he possessed the ability to do it all on his own. The fool.
This boy, assuming that he was as easily malleable as his own son had been, would be relatively easy to sway to his own side. With any luck, Lucius would be freed from the wall of his study, and would be able to exert some power over the direction that his family went.
"And who might you be, young one?"
The boy looked up at the regal man in the portrait. The portrait had been done well before the Dark Lord had an opportunity to root himself into the Manor and the Malfoys' lives, and as such Lucius was in the prime of his painted life. His hair was long, thick and smooth, hardly the frizzy, disheveled mess that it'd been by the end. His robes were full and well-tailored, and his cane gleamed from its place next to the chair.
Even young Scorpius could tell that this was a man who knew how powerful he was, and had absolutely no false modesty as to his own abilities.
"My name is Scorpius Malfoy, sir. Were you a Malfoy, too?"
Lucius smirked at the respectful tone in the boy's voice. At least there was one thing that his son had done properly. There was nothing worse than a child who didn't seem to possess the ability to respect those who were his betters—like those dreadful Weasleys. They wouldn't know how to properly address a Hippogriff, let alone a powerful wizard.
"I still am a Malfoy, young Scorpius. That is one thing that even death can never take away from you. There are some things that are far greater than this realm, and the legacy of our family is one of them. Tell me, lad, who are your parents?"
The boy still stood standing in front of the portrait, head craned back in order to see the figure of his grandfather.
"And please, have a seat," Lucius added with a sweep of his hand toward the chair before him. Scorpius had climbed up into the chair as gracefully as someone of only four feet tall could, before answering Lucius' question.
"My name is Scorpius Malfoy, and my parents are Draco and Astoria Malfoy. Do you know them?" Lucius had to chuckle at the eager tone in the boy's voice. This might be even easier than he'd thought.
"Yes, I knew your father quite well at one point. In fact, when he was a little boy, he looked rather a lot like you do. Tell me, young Scorpius, what is your father like now?" Lucius leaned forward in his chair, trying to seem inviting and curious.
"He's very sad. My mummy isn't around very much and I think that makes him sad."
Lucius rolled his eyes. So, Draco couldn't even handle typical pureblooded family politics. Of course. How hard is it to acknowledge that it just goes with the territory? The only duty in a pureblooded marriage is too produce an heir. In fact, Draco should be thankful that he didn't have a doddering wife constantly hounding him. Ungrateful swine. Well then, Lucius would just have to provide the strong male influence that Scorpius seemed to be lacking in his life.
Merlin knows the boy needed it.
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Since then, Scorpius had made quite the habit out of visiting his grandfather in times of trouble. He'd heard, of course, all sorts of awful things about the former Malfoy patriarch from his own father, but he was having an awfully hard time reconciling all of that nonsense with the man who helped him sort out his troubles. The Lucius Malfoy that Scorpius spent much of his time speaking with seemed to take a genuine interest in the boy, and often gave him very helpful advice, quite unlike what his father had led him to believe of the man.
He was growing to see just how weak his father really was. It was far from challenging for Scorpius to get him to do as he wished, and all it took were a few tears and a bit of shaking for his father to do as he wished and believe any word that came out of his mouth. What a fool. Grandfather was right in that regard—Draco Malfoy was absolutely and completely weak.
How else could he tolerate the ridiculousness that his mother insisted on carrying on with? It was as his grandfather had said: women were to do as their husbands wished, and the husband had a duty to ensure that his wishes were carried out. Instead, his father acted like a simpering fool and allowed his mother to gallivant off to Italy or France with anyone who would take her. Foolish behavior from a Pureblood coming from the both of them.
In the beginning, Scorpius really had been bullied by the other children at the school, but this had been before entering Hermione's year. The other children had made fun of him, telling him that his Grandfather was a bad man and his father deserved to be in Azkaban. When he'd told his grandfather of all of this, Lucius had calmly assured him that they were all jealous because the Malfoy bloodline remained one of the few, truly pure lines in wizarding Britain, and it was certainly something to be proud of.
From that day forward, Scorpius had taken note of those who dared insult him and his family, and he began planning how to best exact his revenge on the fools who thought that they might possibly be better than a Malfoy.
Unfortunately, in this way, he'd learned that his teacher, Ms. Granger, was a mudblood. That was very hard for him to wrap his head around, as his grandfather had told him that all mudbloods were foolish and inferior in every way to the purebloods. They were out to steal magic from their betters, and were just a waste of space and power.
But that didn't sound like Ms. Granger. She was very smart, and she knew almost everything. If any of the students had a question, she'd take the time to explain the answer exhaustively, and if she didn't know the answer she'd look it up at night and tell them the result the next day when they all arrived back in the classroom. She seemed very nice, and even when Scorpius was in trouble for saying mean things or hurting another child, she never got mad—instead, she seemed to be deeply disappointed with him, something that he was very unfamiliar with.
And besides, if she were trying to steal their magic from them, why would she be teaching them how to be the best wizards they that they could be?
It was all very confusing for him, but his grandfather had said that looks could be deceiving, so even though he cared rather a lot for his teacher, he tried to harden his heart against her. But it was certainly hard for him to do. Ms. Granger was more kind to him than his own mother was, and she made sure that he was okay and gave him extra help with his school work when he was struggling. She seemed to understand his desire to be the best, and she didn't seem to fault him for it either, where all of the other children had made fun of him.
Sitting on his bed, he made sure that his stories were all neatly lined up so that when his father came to talk to him about the meeting with Ms. Granger he would be able to hold his own. His grandfather was counting on him, and he could hardly let him down.
Draco opened the door to his son's room, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge across from Scorpius. "Scorp… what Ms. Granger told me tonight and what you told me last night don't line up. I'm not accusing you of lying, especially given some of the details of her story. Do you remember what happened last Wednesday at school? I want to hear about it again."
Scorpius' eyes widened somewhat, and tried to make his eyes water, jaw trembling. He couldn't quite remember the details of what he'd told his father. He could remember well enough that he thought he'd be able to convince his father that the teacher was wrong, but it'd really be pushing it. He'd need all of that Malfoy cunning that his grandfather had told him about in order to pull this one off.
"I was talking to Florence when she started making fun of me for being stupid."
"Why would she had called you stupid, Scorpius? And I want to tell you now, that no one who know you would ever be able to call you stupid."
Scorpius knew that he and his father had already gone over all of this the night before. Damn, he really should have put more effort into memorizing his story.
"She said that they were all going to go play and I said I'd rather be in the library and then she called me stupid and said all sorts of things."
Draco almost raised an eyebrow, but instead decided to keep a relatively cool façade against his son.
"Florence, did you say? That's the little Finnegan girl, isn't it?"
Scorpius nodded quickly. "Yeah, Florence Finnegan. She was so very mean, papa."
This time, it was far harder to avoid raising his eyebrow. Finnegan had no children, and he was actually very proud of the fact. He didn't know who this 'Florence' was, but she certainly wasn't a Finnegan. Not to mention, that the report from Granger had mentioned Electra Wood, that little Scottish girl, and had not even mentioned another girl. And their disagreement had been recorded as revolving around a circus and a stupid question, not about a library and a game.
Deciding not to ask his son any more questions, he stood from the bed and patted Scorpius on the shoulder before kissing him on the forehead. "Thanks, Scorp. I'll see that something is done about all of this."
Walking out of his son's bedroom and back into the hallway, Draco had a niggling feeling. This feeling told him that someone was lying to Draco Malfoy, and he had the biggest fear that he owed a certain someone an apology.
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Quite a ways away, on the European continent proper, Astoria Malfoy was laying between a set of silk sheets, her head on Theodore Nott's chest.
"I really wish you wouldn't go back to him. He's a fool, to not realize what a wonderful wife he's missing out on." As Theodore spoke, his voice vibrated in her ear, and she snuggled herself deeper against him.
"I know, Ted. You think I want to go back to a miserable excuse for a husband and a whiny brat? Sometimes I'm not certain which one of them drives me the craziest."
He chuckled lowly, and she tightened her arms around him. "You know how much I want to leave him, but you know that unless he's the one to request the divorce I'm not going to get anything out of it. He can keep the boy, I don't particularly want him anyway, but I do think that I deserve to be repaid somehow for my… services to the Malfoy line."
"That's all well and good," Theo said as he disentangled himself from her arms and made his way over to the armoire in the corner, pouring himself a tumbler of firewhiskey. "But how many years now have yo0u been playing your subversive little game? He doesn't care, Tori. We're going to have to come up with something better than just sitting and waiting around for him to grow tired of this charade if you want to try to get out of there. I want to be able to walk down the street with you, in Diagon Alley, without having to worry about being recognized.
"I realize that the Malfoy name somehow managed to come out of the war more unscathed than the Nott name did, but we've been together for close to ten years now, and I'm tired of the hiding."
Theo crossed the room and reached into his robes, pulling out a small velvet box. "Damn it, Astoria. I've had a ring for you for years now, but I'm not going to give it to you or let you see it until you're Astoria Greengrass again, and until I have the possibility of making you Astoria Nott."
Astoria leapt from the bed and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his neck ad breathing in his smell. "Oh, Ted… I want nothing more than to be able to hold your hand and walk in the sun rather than slinking about in the shadows. But you know as well as I do that Britain has not been very quick to forgive those that took part on our side of that blasted war. Know this, Theodore Nott: I am yours in every way except for name only. I'll work harder, and I'll get him to end things. I'll get my fair share in the courts, and then you and I will have enough that we can be a proper pair. How does that sound?"
Theo sat his now empty tumbler down on the sideboard and gently crushed her to his chest.
"It sounds like the best thing I've heard all night, witch."
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Heading back to her flat, Hermione Granger was still furious over what had just occurred in her classroom. She'd heard all sorts of wonderful things about Malfoy, about how much he'd changed for the better and how he had so much to offer the wizarding world now that he wasn't tied down by the influence of his father.
Bullshit.
He was no different than that no good, rotten Lucius Malfoy. After all, the apple really mustn't fall far from the tree—and Scorpius was proof enough of that. The boy was kind enough when on his own, and had once applied himself very thoroughly to his studies. Lately, however, his performance had been a bit lacking and she'd had to help him far more than she had before, and with every point that his grades dropping, his attitude seemed to follow.
Hermione had little doubt that talking to Malfoy would not at all improve Scorpius' attitude. She knew that Malfoy didn't believe her for one minute, or that if he did he wouldn't be very likely to do anything to but a stop to the behavior either. And what was that load of thestral shit about not using the word 'mudblood' in their home? After all, Draco Malfoy himself had been Hermione's first introduction to that horrid phrase. He may come bearing the façade of a reformed Samaritan to the wizarding population as a whole, but based on his son's behavior and what she'd witnessed tonight, she had no doubt in her mind that it was nothing but a front. Draco Malfoy was the same terrible, prejudiced Wizard who'd left her in tears numerous times over the span of nearly a decade—and it seemed as though he was grooming young Scorpius to do the same.
Sitting down in her kitchen with a far too large glass of wine and the remnants of last night's chicken parm, she set to work grading her students' research reports into various magical creatures when she came to Scorpius'.
Crups look like dogs. They have a forked tail but one has to be sliced in case they get free. They hate mugles. If a crup ever finds a mugle it will be very bad becase crups will eat anything even mugles. You have to get a special lisense to have a crup but I think you should have to get a special lisense to be a mugle. Crups are the best pets for wizards becase they keep us safe from mugles and mud bloods.
Eyes wide, Hermione set the paper down on her table and stared at it. She hadn't realized that Malfoy's effects on the boy had gotten to be this bad. Merlin, he'd seemed like such a sweet boy, too. He used to stay after class to help her tidy up, and in reward she'd given him chocolate frogs. She still remembered the day that he got her as his frog card, and the awe in his eyes when he realized that Ms. Granger, his teacher, was a "decorated war hero". Eyes still wide, she got up almost unseeingly to answer the tapping of an owl at her window.
Sliding the letter from the owl's leg and showing it where she kept a bowl of treats, she unrolled in carefully, eyes even wider than before as she sat heavily on her couch.
Granger,
I don't know what's going on, but you and I need to talk again—and soon. I have a lot that I need to tell you, and quite a lot that I need to ask of you as well. We need to disregard what was said tonight, as I reckon that we both said much that we didn't mean.
Granger, something's wrong with my son, and I'm going to need your help to figure it out.
Draco Lucius Malfoy
Merlin, where had she left that glass of wine?
