A family Reunion

About seven miles southeast of Hampstead, in a far less leafy and pleasant part of London, Draco Malfoy was sat at his kitchen table surveying yet another job rejection letter with bitter hopelessness. The feeling had a harsher edge than usual which Draco knew to attribute to how detailed his fantasy of getting the job had become. Of turning up to lunch today and telling them the deal was over, that he didn't need them or their money anymore.

"Fuck off," he snapped at the owl, while scrunching the parchment up into a ball. The bird was hanging around, apparently thinking it deserved a treat, as it would never have been instructed to wait for a reply from him. Draco aimed at the owl's head, lopped the letter over, but narrowly missed. It gave an angry squawk and hopped up on to the window sill, talons clacking on the plastic. He stood up and stalked over to the window, slamming it shut behind the owl as it flew off.

Draco leaned his forehead against the cool glass and watched it swoop across the estate and back west towards Diagon Alley, dwelling on the rejection. He didn't want to do commercial potion ingredient preparation anyway. It was a complete waste of his skills; even a squib could do it.

Twenty stories down he could some Muggle kids on bikes on the grassy quadrangle that divided the blocks of flats pointing up towards the bird. Draco didn't care that they saw it today, they were probably too thick to notice the coming and going of owls most of the time anyway. He doubted they could even tell it from a pigeon.

"Father, are you okay?" Scorpius' small, concerned voice said from behind him.

Draco shut his eyes and tried to relax his tensed shoulders. Shit. Scorpius had probably heard him swear. "Of course," he said, turning around, his forced smile becoming genuine as he saw his son's hair. Scorp had tried to style it in the same, slicked back way as his own, but a few pale blonde strands were already falling into his eyes. Scorpius lifted a self-conscious hand to smooth them back, his gaze dropping from Draco's to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Draco asked. "You look great."

Scorpius snorted and shrugged, looking up through pale lashes at him in a shut up father kind of way. "Why do I have to wear these?" He stopped touching his hair to tug on the sleeves of robes that showed slightly too much wrist. Draco's pride muddied with guilt. He didn't know any tailoring spells advanced enough to permanently create fabric, though thinking of the cost of new robes for a boy who had grown that much in a month, the last time he'd worn the robes, he really ought to. "I hate robes. I feel so stupid," Scorpius continued. "No one will see us will they?"

No one, meaning the Muggles. "No, I think all of your friends are outside on the square. Besides, I don't think your grandparents would take too kindly to you turning up in jeans." Scorpius scowled. "Come on, get your shoes on."

Draco locked up the flat and the two began their walk through the halls, Scorpius rushing forward to check ahead whenever they approached a corner just in case of approaching Muggle witnesses to their wizard's robes. They passed no one, however, except for the scruffy evidence and unpleasant, stuffy smells of human habitation. The flats were old and past their best, if ever they had one. It was home though, their sanctuary. Draco just hoped Scorp felt the same way after lunch at the manor. It was the same every month, the same fears and insecurities plagued him as they Disapparated from silk upholstery back to polyester, from Persian rugs to linoleum, from topiary to concrete. From all the things a boy like his son should have to what Draco could offer him.

They made their way up the draughty staircase and finally reached the chained-up door that led to the outside courtyard. Draco unlocked it with his wand and they stepped through into the warmth and brilliant sunlight, temporarily blinded after the dusty perpetual twilight of the hallway.

"You sure you want to go?" Draco asked him. A pointless question really, as Scorpius was desperate to see his grandparents, even if he was trying to hide it from his father.

As expected, Scorpius gave a blasé shrug. Draco tried not to wince. Here was his son, eleven years old and already regularly employing the Malfoy skill of hiding his true feelings. "Look Scorpius, they're your grandparents. Just because I don't necessarily get on with them doesn't mean that you aren't allowed to want to see them. You don't need pretend just to please me."

Scorpius glanced up at his dad and gave him a small smile, so similar to Astoria's that even after all this time it took Draco's breath away. "Sorry, father."

Draco took a hold of Scorpius's hand with the excuse of the impending Apparition and gave it a squeeze. "Don't apologise for that," he said and with the warmth of that smile preventing his thoughts from turning back down purely apprehensive roads, Draco focused on the desired patch of field in rural Dorset and after a twist of his arm and an unpleasant, rib crushing surge they stumbled into soft, padded grass, fresher air and a cool breeze.

A few feet away a pheasant burst into the air with a screech and a frantic beating of its wings, red golden feathers flashing in the sunlight. Draco held his son steady as he felt him jump, but after a few moments Scorpius tugged himself out of Draco's hands. Scorp's attempt to run uphill through the long grass soon turned into forceful wading and Draco walked slowly behind along in his path, avoiding disturbed anthills and patches of nettles that Scorpius had bulldozed through, holding a constant but weary eye on his son as he went. The boy had reached the fence, but his robes had caught on something as he climbed, a nail perhaps. Legs astride the fence, Scorpius looked down, frowning, tugging and before Draco could shout he heard the sound of ripping fabric. With a quick, guilty grimace back at his father, Scorpius vaulted to the ground and sprinted into the copse of trees ahead.

It's for reasons like that that we do this. Keep remembering that. New robes for Scorp are more important than anything else. However, as Draco followed through the trees and on to the gravel drive of an elegant, Georgian mansion, it was hard to keep up the sentiment.

Scorpius was waiting at the front door, facing back towards Draco with a frown. "Come on, Father! Hurry up!" he called.

But before Draco could reach him, the door opened and a high pitch, quavering voice rang out, "Master Malfoy! Master Malfoy is here!"

Scorpius turned away from his father. "Hello Mopsy!" he said with a happy familiarity that nearly made Draco break into a jog as he approached. "How are you?"

"Oh Master Malfoy is such a kind boy, so like his mother, asking how poor old Mopsy is. Mopsy has been missing Master Malfoy a great deal! I is always saying it is not the same without you being here and –"

"Tell your master and mistress we are here," Draco interrupted, arriving on the doorstep, putting his hand on Scorp's shoulder.

The creature looked up at him, its ugly bulbous eyes narrowing. Scorpius did the same. "Father, Mopsy can show us in. You don't need to be so formal."

"Yes, of course Master Malfoy is right! Mopsy will show the kind master to the drawing room where master and mistress is waiting!"

Draco curbed the vicious urge to kick the elf's retreating back as Scorp ducked away from his hands. He followed them slowly into the house, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor. So it begins. Even the damn house elf was determined to undermine him.

The voices drifting out of the door at the end of the hallway suddenly stopped and were replaced by exclamations of greeting as Scorpius bounded through. Draco took his time, but even walking at a snail's pace would not put off the inevitable encounter forever.

He entered the drawing room just as his son was breaking apart from his grandmother's embrace. Draco's eyes were drawn instantly, as always, to the portrait of Astoria and Scorpius above the grand piano. Apart from a couple of tatty photographs he did not have any pictures of her of his own. She was softy rendered in the oil paint, all fluttering brushstrokes and in gentle colours that suited her personality perfectly. She gave him a huge smile before bending forward to whisper something in their young son's ear. That smile was the only good thing that existed in this house. No matter how much Draco knew it was only a painting, it always made the subsequent meal that tiny bit more bearable.

"Hullo Draco," came the clipped, unfriendly voice of Apollon Greengrass from a cream armchair next to the fireplace, pulling him abruptly from his thoughts. Apollon was a distinguished-looking man in his late sixties with a full grey mustache, whose cold blue eyes only seemed to soften on his immediate family, Draco not included. It was fine by him, he hated the pompous bastard anyway.

"Apollon." Draco gave him the curtest nod in reply. "Amelia," he turned to Scorpius's grandmother. She was a good-looking woman for her age, with long slim legs and a pale grey bob streaked with blonde. While both her daughters had taken after her physically, only Daphne seemed to have inherited her cold and haughty countenance. She rather reminded Draco of his own mother, or rather of how she used to be.

"Scorpius darling, look how much you've grown!" She trilled, ignoring Draco completely, holding Scorp away by the tops of his arms, her gaze running up and down his body.

"It's only been a month Granny," Scorpius replied, rolling his eyes.

"A month is an eternity without you my love." She ran her hands across his shoulders, pinching at the fabric. Draco knew what was coming."Now now, those robes are far too small for you. Don't you agree Apollon."

"Oh yes, far too small," replied her husband, shooting Draco a look which he ignored in favour of attempting to battle his own guilt at how embarrassed Scorpius looked, his hands tugging once again at his sleeves.

"Oh Scorpius, don't worry about that now, you look splendid." Amelia said, her hand on his cheek. "Growing up into the perfect Greengrass man."

Scorpius ducked his head and muttered his thanks. Draco could just make out a smile he hoped Scorpius wasn't hiding for his sake.

His grandmother beamed. "Darling boy. Now, we have a little gift for you." She clicked her fingers and Mopsy reappeared, clutching a long wrapped package.

It was another broom.

Amelia met Draco's eyes for a split second and a let out a tiny bubble of laughter just as Draco realised how badly he was scowling. They're just doing this to get at me. Don't give her the satisfaction of knowing how much this affects you, he thought, but it was too late. Glowing with smug pride Amelia flicked her hair from her face as she took the package off the elf, and handed to his son who didn't wait to start ripping off the paper.

"Oh my God. Oh my God." Scorpius said, exposing a beautiful, shining honey coloured handle. "Oh my god!" His voice broke into a shout. "It's the new Firebolt Supreme!" He was jumping on the spot, his face so animated with happiness Draco suddenly felt petty at the amount of anger surging through his body. "Thank you so much, Granny and Grandfather!" He threw his free arm back around the bony body of Amelia in a one-armed hug and ran over to do the same to Apollo.

"Look, Father!" Scorpius span around to Draco. "Look! The Firebolt Supreme! It's such a sick broom!"

A slight grimace spasmed across Amelia's face at the use of the obvious Muggle slang, no doubt picked up hanging around the boys on the estate, and Draco did not have to try so hard to force out a smirk.

"Yes, Scorpius, it is indeed sick. Now why don't you go and try it out, we can watch you from in here," he bit out, gesturing to the french windows. As Scorpius ran from the room, Draco took a deep, steadying breath and tried to collect his wits. How dare they buy him a broom that cost that much. It was at least triple the amount of money they were about to provide him with for them to live off for a month. The least Draco could do was accuse them of horrendous insensitivity. Though he knew that would be far too generous.

"Well, try not to look like you want to strangle the poor boy, Malfoy," Amelia remarked, flouncing down onto the sofa.

"Scorpius is not who I would like to strangle at this moment, Amelia," he snapped back.

She gave a tinkling laugh and waved her hand breezily, dismissing his reply. "It's only a broomstick."

Draco clenched his nails into his palm. Only a broomstick. "It's not even his birthday, what warrants such a gift?" he said.

"You barely let us see our grandson, Malfoy," said Apollon, gruffly. "What's the harm in spoiling him a little when you do bring him over?"

"Spoiling him? Don't you think that money could have been put to better use on –" rent, robes, food, he thought, but couldn't say. "-books, a pet, or – or even a holiday –"

"Oh, Draco," Amelia said on a sigh that made Draco want curse her. Her elbow rested on the arm of the sofa as she idly swilled a half drunk glass of pale white wine. "You're the one who won't let us take him down to the villa. We've wanted to all summer long. I hadn't realised you'd changed your mind."

"No, I haven't. No holidays." Draco backtracked, frustrated with himself for the slip. "You'll see him once a month for lunch, in accordance with our agreement."

"Oh yes . . . that. Well the thing is, it rather does appear as if things sound a little tight at your end. You know we can always give you more money. You only need to ask." She smiled and looked up at him. "Apollon and I both feel we could spend a little more time with Scorpius. I know you'll agree, since we are paying you for the privilege of bringing him up."

"You cannot blackmail me with my own son," Draco's voice wavered slightly. They could; they had been doing it ever since he'd left Azkaban and the court gave them that power. He got custody on the condition of their aid. Financial and 'emotional.' And because it was no secret how destitute the Malfoys had become since the war, he'd had no choice but to agree.

"Blackmail is a little extreme, Draco" Amelia began, "It's just, since he's off to Hogwarts soon-"

"But he isn't going to Hogwarts, Amelia," Draco ground out, his resolve to remain calm fracturing gradually, but surely.

Apollon snorted. "Of course he is. What, do you think you could give him a better education at home? It's unnatural, wanting to spend so much time with the boy. We've been through this, you'll let us send him to Hogwarts and that's the end of it."

"He's not going to Hogwarts." Draco repeated quietly. "You cannot make him."

"We don't need to make him do anything," Apollon said. "He'd go happily."

"He's not going."

Apollon stood up, spluttering, his face turning a blotchy red. "You dare- you and your bloody selfish Malfoy attitude, always harming those around you," he blustered. "You're only thinking of yourself and it's despicable."

"Obviously he's only thinking of himself, darling." Amelia's nonchalance was betrayed by the narrow-eyed look of abhorrence she was giving Draco. "His family has been doing it for years. Like father like son." Draco flinched at the accusation and Amelia's eyes gleamed. "Yes you're behaving just like dear Lucius. Have you even considered what Scorpius wants, Draco? Of course you haven't. Scorpius wants to go to Hogwarts, just like every Greengrass before him."

But Draco had considered how much Scorpius wanted to attend the school. It was why keeping the Hogwarts letter from him had felt so awful, why sending back a rejection in secret had had been so difficult, despite having thought carefully about it for months and knowing he was right to do so.

"There are many reasons why I am not sending him to Hogwarts, none of which I feel the need to go over with you." Draco spoke slowly and clearly, and watched in satisfaction as Amelia grimaced and downed the last of her wine. "However, I will assure you, yet again, they are all in his best interests. You forget that as his father, I am his legal guardian, and if I wanted to I could stop these visits all together."

"You couldn't afford to stop," Amelia spat.

"I'd find a way," he said, barely keeping his voice from wavering. "If I think that you are trying to get between me and my son."

At that moment, Scorpius burst back into the room like a gust of fresh air and the charged atmosphere was blown away. "Father! Aunt Daphne and Uncle Blaise are coming! I saw them from the broom! It's so so fast, did you watch me through the window?"

Draco strode over to his son and enveloped him in a hug, face buried in his soft pale blonde hair. He smelt of sunshine and the wind. The smell of Quidditch. Draco felt himself calm with the tranquillising effects of warmth and nostalgia and felt Scorpius relax from his initial surprise and begin to return the hug. They were not usually that close physically, but right now, Draco needed this.

But he couldn't have it for long. "Father, let go! Stop being weird!" Scorpius whined after a few moments.

Draco pulled away, suddenly feeling awkward, but Scorpius was grinning up at him. "I'm gonna go and meet them on the drive!" With that he sprinted back out of the room, leaving Draco to collect himself under the thunderous glares of the Greengrasses.

Lunch was a horrid affair of tense silences, put-downs that barely scraped by as back-handed compliments, and small talk that was steadily becoming more and more inappropriate children's ears. Daphne was her usual chilly self with Draco and spent most of lunch picking at her food and steadily getting more and more drunk and outrageous while ignoring her two small daughters. Zabini wasn't much better. If Draco had to graciously decline his 'generous' offer of work on one of his factory floors once more, he would have to curse something. At least Scorpius seemed to be having a nice time: chatting away to his cousins about broomsticks and London, and politely joining in with the adult conversation when required.

"I say, did anyone read the Prophet article about the WIP this morning? Front page?" asked Apollon in the wait between the roast beef and pudding.

"Oh yes," said Zabini, folding up his napkin with fastidious care, smoothing it into a neat rectangle. "It's rather interesting how popular they're becoming. This Nigellus Mirage is an exceptional character."

"Yes indeed," Apollon boomed. "Finally we have a party that our kind can get behind." He raised his glass to Zabini who clinked his own against it with a nod and a small smile. "It's about time we started being proud again of being wizards, and not hiding behind all this – cringing, apologetic - this Muggle loving."

Draco looked over at Scorpius, who he noticed had stopped chatting to the girls and was watching his Apollon intently. "What do you mean, Grandfather?" the boy asked.

"Well, after the war and while your father was in prison-" Draco set his glass down loudly at the table. Apollon shot him a look and continued to Scorpius: "Yes, after the war, the good wizards and witches of this country decided that they needed to become more... Muggle. To stop anyone like You Know Who from rising again. Why they thought this was the answer is as good as anyone's guess, and the result was that slowly but surely our culture and society has been degrading to one that is equal to the Muggles."

He leant in conspiratorially to Scorpius, cheeks flushed slightly with Merlot. "Now, we're not supposed to say this anymore, but no one round this table will mind. But wizards are better than Muggles!"

"Hear, hear!" Amelia said, clinking her own glass against Daphne's.

Scorpius's smile faltered and he sent his dad a nervous, hesitant look. Draco kept quiet, not sure whether he should intervene in this lesson in modern right-wing politics, not knowing himself what he believed in, in all honesty.

When he and Astoria had had Scorpius they had agreed to raise him in such a way that they did not impart their own prejudices on to their son, knowing full well the damage it could wreak. However, while Draco had swept Scorpius away from his grandparents and into the little world he had carved for them in the estate in Bethnal Green, two years spent under the care of proud pure-bloods had done its damage. Since then he had had many frank conversations with his son about Muggles and how they felt about them. Since Scorpius had been making friends with the local Muggle children recently, something Draco was simultaneously at loath to encourage yet did not exactly want to discourage, he thought perhaps Scorpius was seeing the potential in them in a way that he still could not quite manage to do.

"Not all wizards are better than Muggles," Scorpius said uncertainly.

Draco smiled to himself. After two years of getting to know his son, Scorpius still had the ability to surprise him.

"What a surprise, someone's been feeding him horse shit." Daphne whispered to Blaise loudly, her voice audible to everyone. Draco smirked, she didn't even know the worst of it.

"Well, yes," Apollon said gruffly, ignoring his daughter. "Maybe there are some Muggles out there who are better than others. But anyway, the WIP aren't trying to say that wizards are superior to Muggles, but the fact that we are different and have a culture that we need to preserve."

"Why don't you join them then, Grandfather?" Scorpius asked, appeased by Apollon's vague, transparent backpedaling.

"Greengrass's have a history of staying politically neutral, my boy!" he boomed. "You can support someone politically, but only do it behind closed doors."

Scorpius frowned, as if trying to visualise these mysterious doors.

"It's the true Slytherin way of doing things," his grandfather explained. Scorpius instantly perked up at the sound of the Hogwarts house and gazed in rapture at Apollon.

"Yes, that's right, my boy, you'd be a good a Slytherin as any of us in the Greengrass family," Apollon praised. "None of this ridiculous posturing you find in other families, putting their reputations on the line for the words of individual men, whether it is the insanity of the l Dark Lord himself, or even Nigellus Mirage. Not that the two are similar at all, mind you," he added hastily.

Draco grit his teeth and willed the conversation away from what he could see was its inevitable path.

"The Malfoys and the Blacks -"

Here we go, Draco thought, now grinding his teeth.

"- two noble pure blooded families from which you are descended on your father's side - have met with ruin for this reason. You'll do well to remember this, my boy."

Draco watched with unease as Scorpius drank in his grandfather's words. Any mention of his former school House and Scorpius was all ears. He had mythologized Slytherin to such an extent that he wouldn't listen to Draco's measured words of caution. Luckily, he was saved from weighing in to defend his family's questionable honour by Daphne.

"God, enough about politics, Daddy! All this family history is utterly tedious," she complained loudly. "Did anyone read what else was in the paper this morning? That piece about this 'Burbage High?' That reporter utterly demolished the new head."

"Do you remember her, darling?" she drawled to Draco. "That insufferable Mudblood girl we hated, Hermione Granger. Well, we could always tell she'd end up on the shelf!" She let out a shrill laugh and the other adults joined in.

Draco saw Scorpius' eyes widen with shock at the use of that word, and he himself felt a flip of unease at how easily it rolled off Daphne's tongue. It would have rolled just as easily off his own at one point, and had done with regularity. Even now it was sometimes hard not to let it slip out. Funny how something once so casual was now fraught with confusing associations.

"Granger is such a common, Muggle name," Amelia said unpleasantly. "Well, Burbage High is a school for common people, so I'm not surprised. I shudder to think what goes on in those walls and how on earth it could pass for an education. I mean, what sensible witch or wizard would send their child there when Hogwarts would have them? They should just shut it down. Even one of the European schools would be preferable. A second-class school, for second-class students."

Her prattle was met with a murmur of agreement around the table. Draco met his son's round eyes and averted them quickly. He couldn't forget the look of quiet shock he'd just seen in them at Amelia's words, but he pushed the thought away: This was it, the moment he had been anticipating with both frantic apprehension, and a slight thrill of excitement. He just couldn't wait to wipe the smirks off their smug faces. The image of the 100 Galleon broom flared to mind. Scorpius would understand; he was doing it for him anyway.

"Funny you should bring it up, Daphne, as Scorpius and I actually have decided that he will be attending Burbage High in September," Draco drawled in what he hoped was a convincingly offhand way.

There was complete silence at his words. He glanced up at Scorpius who was glaring into his lap.

"I'm sorry? What did you just say?" The voice of Mr. Greengrass thundered.

"Our grandson, attend a Muggle school?" Mrs. Greengrass shrieked.

"But I don't understand. You're Draco Malfoy. Even with your whole reformation thing, I can't see you wanting your son to grow up loving Muggles. I mean, that is ridiculous!" Daphne muttered drunkenly.

Blaise just sat there shaking his head and laughing silently, as if everything was oh so amusing. He clearly didn't give a shit.

"Taught by a Mudblood?" screeched Daphne.

"They learn Muggle subjects!" Amelia shrieked.

Draco reveled in the momentary distress his words had caused the Greengrass family. That was until he spotted Scorpius with tears trickling down his face, still glaring at his lap. Draco's mirth from only a second ago suddenly felt brittle and facile. His smirk fell and he tried to reach out to him across the table, but the boy flinched away.

"You said that we were only going to the open day, but we hadn't decided yet. That we hadn't ruled out Hogwarts. You lied to me," Scorpius choked out quietly.

Draco cringed at his words, not knowing what to say and suddenly feeling incredibly dirty for all his self-satisfaction.

"I WANT TO GO TO HOGWARTS!" his son suddenly shouted, small, clenched fists banging on the table. He turned his face up towards his father and Draco cringed at the rage he saw directed at him. "I want to be in Slytherin, and play Quidditch on my new broom and have friends that are WIZARDS for once, not stupid... Mudbloods!"

Draco felt something deep and raw inside him break and slowly stood up.

"Look what you've done, you stupid man!" Amelia spat at Draco, also standing up and blocking his path to his son. "Can't you see what's best for him? Let the poor boy go to school with his own kind. Stop depriving him of what he deserves!"

Draco felt his resolve start to weaken. How could he have completely fucked this up so badly? Perhaps they were all right. Hogwarts had been his own home for six years and he had loved it so much more than the manor. Well, before he had ruined everything.

"Mudbloods!" yelled Draco's youngest niece, banging her fork down on her plate, trying to draw some of the attention back to herself.

Daphne broke the tension by braying in laughter and Draco winced, feeling his determination return in a wave at the vulgarity of the scene. This was why Scorpius was not going to Hogwarts. He turned towards Amelia and used his considerable height to look down on her face usually so composed, now twisted and ugly in anger. "My son will be with his own kind at Burbage High. Witches and wizards. Come Scorpius, we are leaving."

Scorpius recognised his authoritative tone and violently pushed his chair back from the table. Furiously rubbing the tears from his eyes he stormed from the room, pausing just before the door to scream that he hated his father, before slamming it loudly behind him.

Draco raced to catch up with him, leaving the Greengrass's to their ruined pudding and their hysteria, and taking with him the monstrous task of repairing a ruined relationship.