Prompt: "Personal"
Scorpius cringed under his covers, burrowing deeper into the blanket as his room lit up brightly for a moment before thunder rattled his windows. He bit his lip, (I mustn't be afraid, I mustn't be afraid,) because if he got up out of bed, he'd look like a coward. Of course, his mother wouldn't say that; no, she would pet his head gently, and shush him until her soothing noises became lullabies for him to drift off too. His father probably wouldn't have said it either, but he would frown, and quietly remind Scorpius that he was six now, and that honestly thunder couldn't hurt him.
And he knew it couldn't; but it was so loud.
"Here's what you do," his father told him once. "Wait for the lightning to strike, then count each second until the thunder booms. If you can count further and further each time that means the storm's going away."
Scorpius waited for another flash of light before trying to count. He barely got past three before it struck. Finally, he gave up, and hopped out of bed, tossing the bedding aside as he ran for his door. He rushed into the hallway, heading for the sitting room, where his father would still be up, finishing some paperwork.
He hesitated a long time before he finally knocked softly at the door, so quiet he imagined if he ran back to his bed, his father will never know it was him.
"Come in," his father called; Scorpius gulped, and opened the door, peeking in. His father blinked at him, one hand holding a pen, the other a glass of cognac, sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, signing papers. "What are you still doing up?"
Scorpius shuffled in, his tongue stuck to the roof of his parched mouth. Draco raised a brow, and Scorpius finally found his voice. "I tried counting," he begins. "But I can't get any higher than three." To emphasize his point, there was a crack of thunder, making him jump.
Draco frowned, looking up at the ceiling, listening to the storm. "The storm's overhead then. Give it time, and it will blow over soon."
Scorpius nodded, and scuffed his toe against the rug.
"…why don't you sit here, and we'll wait for it to blow over together?" Draco suggested, and Scorpius buried his face in his father's side in an instant. Draco sat his pen and drink aside, and pulled his son closer, leaving his arm around his child protectively. His father was not as great at comforting as his mother, but Scorpius was glad to be there, safe with his father. His father, he thought then, was surely the bravest man ever, to sit there, and comfort him while such a violent storm brewed overhead.
Draco glanced down at him. "It'll be a while yet—try closing your eyes for awhile."
Scorpius nodded, already tired. For a long time, he laid against his father side while Draco rubbed, and patted his back during the worst of the thunderclaps. "Dad," he started after one particular loud crack, "how are you so-" he paused at saying 'brave', because Draco had always said it was a foolish Gryffindor trait. "-so calm?"
Draco smiled wryly, perhaps he knew exactly what his son had started to say, but he made no comment on it. "One day, when you have children of your own, you'll be 'calm' too."
Scorpius looked up at him with wide eyes, mainly because he never pondered such a future before. "…I'll probably never be as brave as you though."
Draco made a noncommittal noise. "You'll do well," he said, before smirking down at him. "You're my son after all—I promise, you'll learn."
Years later, Scorpius holds the little bundle Lily handed him, and prays he can remember all the little lessons his father taught him. But Lily makes a soothing noise, and brushes his hair out of his eyes, and for a moment he looks at her then down at their child, and thinks For you, I think I can be brave enough.