The next morning, Draco awoke quietly with a distinct feeling of unease. There was something afoot, and whatever it was, he certainly was not pleased. Scorpius was, in fact, lying to him about the bullying at school, and while part of him still held out hope that Scorpius was just melding several different memories into one badly remembered occurrence, the vast majority of him knew the truth.
There was something horribly wrong with Scorpius Malfoy.
Another question that he absolutely needed to know that answer to, was where exactly had Scorpius picked up the word "mudblood"? He had made a dramatic effort after the war to not become embroiled with the ridiculous pureblooded politics that were his birthright, and instead he had made more of an effort to recognize that which the muggles and muggle-borns had to offer to the wizarding world. After all, their greatest despot was a halfblood, and two-thirds of the Golden Trio that had brought about his destruction were of "inferior" bloodrights themselves.
Making his way downstairs, Draco sat in the solarium, looking out over the wide expanse of the Malfoy gardens. The gardens had been his mother's only refuge, and she had spent much of her time constantly managing the upkeep of the grounds. This room had been one of his favorites growing up, and for that he was immensely grateful that it was in the west wing of the house, and as such still available to him.
The sunroom was surprisingly small for a room in the Malfoy Manor, but still on a scale that would make the average wizard balk. Any wall not covered in windows was a pale yellow close to white, and gauzy white curtains framed each window. Furniture built purely for comfort, not appearances lined the room, and a slight smell of verbena always hung in the air. Lying back against the arm of the chaise, he called a house elf for a light breakfast, and gazed out of the windows while drinking a cuppa.
With any luck, a response from Granger would be arriving this morning, as he knew now that it was absolutely fundamental that he speak with her—but that would involve him swallowing his pride and apologizing, which was still rather difficult for him, given that he'd been raised to believe that, as a Malfoy, he owed absolutely nothing to anyone else.
As he ruminated on the possibilities of a discussion with Granger, that same handsome owl from a couple of nights before arrived at one of the room's many windows. Letting it in, he called a house elf to see that it was given proper treats and water before unrolling the missive.
Mr. Malfoy,
What a shocking coincidence, given that I now also have quite a lot to tell you about your son—with any luck, my information and yours will be mutually enlightening. I would like to meet with you as soon as possible, and given that this morning is a Saturday I am free at almost any time that works for you. I won't be able to go into my office because of the day, but we can surely pick some venue for our discussion that will be mutually agreeable. Please contact me with a time and a location that you find suitable, and I look forward to trying to make some progress into the enigma that appears to be your son.
Hermione Granger.
Draco quickly drafted a reply asking her if they could meet for lunch at a bistro in Diagon Alley. With any luck, this could all be sorted by dinner time.
TTWT TTWT TTWT TTWT
At exactly 12 noon, Hermione Granger found herself seated in a booth waiting for Draco Malfoy. She had with her copies of the reports filed against Scorpius from the start of the term, as well as copies of his grades and the original version of that horrid essay he'd written about crups. While it was true that crups were, in fact, known to terrorize muggles when given the chance, there was something about the boy's wording that made the entire thing seem somewhat sinister, especially given the details of many of the reports recorded in the preceding weeks.
Finally, Draco appeared, and quickly spotting her, he made his way over to the table, sliding in across from her.
"Good Morning, Granger. Pleasant night?"
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Regardless of how she felt about Draco Malfoy, she was an education professional and he was the father of one of her students. She must do her absolute best to not let him get under her skin.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. I did not, in fact, have a pleasant night because I was up grading essays about the habits of magical creatures. I thought that you might be interested in reading the one that your son wrote," she said as coolly as possible, sliding the lined parchment across to him.
Draco let his eyes scan the paper quickly, wondering why an essay was the highlight of Granger's concern at the moment. Everything doesn't always have to relate back to books, but how did he expect her, of all people, to think that—
As he actually read his son's writing, his mental diatribe ceased. So that's why she brought the essay. If it had been on its own, it might have seemed fairly innocuous. If it hadn't used the word 'mudblood' it might have been fairly innocuous. But when coupled with the goings on of the past few months this was downright sinister. Having to get a special license to exist as a muggle? How absolutely appalling. And there it was. There it was, in his son's large, childish handwriting.
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 becasecrups 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.
"Now," Hermione began as she saw his eyes stop moving across the page. "I don't know what it is that he's being taught at home, but if he's going to remain at Eaglecall—"
"Not this," Draco interrupted, waving a hand halfheartedly towards the parchment. "This is not what's being taught in our home. Now, I know that you have absolutely no reason to believe me, but I really have put aside the supremacist bullshit that my father used to spout off to me. If my father weren't dead, I'd almost think that this has his markings all over it. He was, in fact, a firm supporter of muggle and muggle-born registration. His opinions on the matter weren't too far removed from those of those of Hitler.
"Furthermore, I can't even remember the last time that that infernal word came out of my mouth, but I certainly know that it was before my son's birth. Wherever it is that he's picking this up, I know that it isn't in my home."
Hermione really had a hard time believing that one. This man, the same Draco Malfoy that had made her life absolutely miserable for so many years, had called her every name in the book, and had made her doubt her impressive prowess as a witch, was claiming that he had not instilled any of those same traits in his own son, and their appearance was due to some other influence? They certainly didn't call her the most gullible witch of the age, so why was he treating her as though she were?
"Fine, Mr. Malfoy," she began, sitting up straighter in her chair and trying to look as though she were in control of the situation, even though he had grabbed the reins from her the minute he'd sat down. "We'll assume for the moment that he didn't learn any of this from you. Who else is an influence in his life that might be preaching these messages? How does his mother feel on the matter?"
Draco snorted, and actually did roll his eyes. "Astoria is hardly around enough to have an influence on his life. I haven't seen her in over a fortnight, and she only came by to pack a new suitcase full of clothes, so he hasn't seen her in even longer. She isn't quite as accepting as many people are since the war ended, but I'd hardly consider her to be the paragon of blood power politics."
Hermione nodded and opened the folder that contained the incidence reports. "I don't know if you want to look through these or not, but these are all of the recorded incidents that we have about what he's said and done to the other students that they thought was severe enough to come and report it to me. We really have no idea about the true scope of things, because I'm certain that plenty has happened that they didn't feel it was prudent to inform me of."
Sliding the folder across the table, Draco began flipping through some of the pages. The events ranged from slurs against other students' heritage, to bouts of "accidental" magic that often left other students in pain.
Every word that he read in the reports was like a knife between his ribs. This was his son. How could the sweet young boy who still asked for a bedtime story after dinner be the same one who would spit this vitriol at his classmates?
"Now, I'd sent home letters with him in the past asking you about the occurrences, but based on your responses today I'm assuming that he never gave them to you, not that you were ignoring them."
Draco's eyes shot up to hers wide and vividly gray.
Had his eyes always been that bright? Merlin…
"Granger, I assure you, if I had known… I don't want him to be anything like what I was. I was a hateful little boy, and I've been trying my best to prevent him from turning out like I did. Astoria's not around, she hasn't spent more than a few weeks at home since he was born. I'm all but raising him on my own, and I've tried so hard not to let him see that part of me that used to control every aspect of my life."
He made some noise in his throat that wasn't quite unlike a sob, and his head fell down in his hands.
"And you… I owe you an apology. I'm sorry for the other night—in your office, I mean. You didn't deserve that. I didn't want to believe you, I'd never seen this side of him until last night when he told me some story about the report from last Wednesday that you'd read to me. He'd already told me what had happened before I saw you, and what you said and what he said didn't match up at all, and then the story that he told me last night didn't match up with either of those."
There were many thoughts running through Hermione Granger's head, and only of few of those were intelligible. Draco sodding Malfoy was apologizing. To her. Because she "didn't deserve it"? Oh merciful Merlin. Harry and Ron would never believe this.
"Well… thank you. Really. It means a lot to me. We need to come up with a game plan as to figure out who exactly is exerting this influence over him. I was wondering if he was just maturing and if that's why he didn't show much of an interest in spending time with me anymore, but blood supremacy actually makes more sense—especially if he's lacking a female influence in his life."
Draco cleared his throat and took a sip of his water. "Spending time with you? He never really mentioned you much… How close were you two?"
Hermione wasn't too surprised that Scorpius hadn't mentioned her, especially if Draco and Astoria were having the kinds of problems that Draco had touched upon. She must have been some sort of refuge or outlet for the boy, and she would need to find a way to offer that to him again.
"Well, he would spend extra time with me during lunch and recesses, and I would help him with his school work or any additional learning that he wanted. Regardless of this mess that we're in now, Scorpius is a very bright lad, and I want to see him succeed. That's actually another topic of interest here."
Draco looked up and had to resist the urge to sigh. What else could possibly be going on here? What more could his son be doing?
"I've noticed," Hermione began with a somewhat concerned look towards Draco, "That his grades have slipped quite a lot. It seems as though the more of him is delegated to the harassment of his classmates, the less effort he puts into his schoolwork. We'll also need to discuss some way that we can improve his grades. Otherwise, there's always the possibility that we may have to hold him back."
Draco jerked in his seat and almost knocked over his water glass. Holding Scorpius back? No Malfoy had ever performed so inadequately in school as to have the even remotest possibility of being withheld from the next level of education.
"But I may have some good news," Hermione carried on, seemingly unaware that she'd just delivered a barrage of blows to Malfoy's poor psyche. "There's a spell I know of that will track who he spends his time talking to. That way, we'll be able to find out who exactly might be giving him these ideas. It's a fascinating spell really, originally created by husbands to—"
"Yes, Granger, I know which spell you're talking about. After all, it was invented by a Malfoy, was it not? What about his grades?"
Hermione, somewhat unsettled by the brusque interruption of what she thought was a very interesting history, quieted for a moment.
"What if I begin coming over to the manor? Or he could begin coming to my flat? I could work with him more on his work, and we could make it a bit like how it used to be, when he was perfectly willing to interact with me in an effort to learn more."
Draco liked this idea. Having the "brightest witch of the age" as his son's more-or-less private tutor? Sure, she was already his teacher, but this would give Scorpius a leg up on his studies.
"That sounds like it could certainly work. Not only that…" Draco trailed off, trying to think of a way of finishing the sentence. "But maybe with you around more, interacting on a slightly more casual front, he'll begin to see muggle-borns and muggles as any other person again. Could you come over tonight to begin his... reeducation? You could cast the charm that'll track his discussions as well."
Hermione mentally ran through her obligations for the night. Sure, she had agreed to meet Harry and Ron for drinks, but this was far, far more important. With any luck, she'd be able to come up with a convincing cover story, because the two of them certainly wouldn't understand why she'd be working with Draco Malfoy, of all people.
"Yes, tonight should work. Although, like you said, a Malfoy did invent the spell, so why don't you just do it yourself?"
Draco chuckled and put some money on the table to pay for his untouched cup of tea before standing. "Just because a Malfoy invented a spell to keep track of the movements of one's wife, doesn't mean that I have any experience with casting it. And besides," he said with a wry smile as he shrugged his jacket on, "You were always better than me at Charms. See you at seven, Granger. The floo will allow you in."
And with that, he was gone.
