Draco surveys the two paintings in silence. After three minutes, Scorpius fidgets. How long does it take to fully look at a painting? The longer Draco stares, the deeper his grimace gets.
His father decides to break the silence with the most unfortunate words Scorpius could imagine.
"She's your-"
"Don't," Scorpius interrupts, raising his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. "Use that word. You know how I feel about it."
Draco sighs, but doesn't press the issue.
"Have you painted anything else other than these two?"
"No," Scorpius forces out, knowing his father already knows that.
"Have you tried?"
Scorpius glares deeply. Draco rolls his eyes.
"Oh, don't get so offended. You know I need to check."
"You know I've tried."
"How can you not just paint?" he asks skeptically. "There, look at that chair. Just draw it and maybe it'll spark something."
"It doesn't work like that," he mutters. Draco sighs again.
They fall into another silence, staring at the large canvases in front of them. The knot in Scorpius's stomach grows tighter.
"Well, I guess Weasley is good for something," Draco finally says.
"Yeah," Scorpius mutters. "Irritating the shit out of me."
"Helping you channel your emotions," he corrects.
This was not ideal. Scorpius had actually explicitly invited his father over so he could scoff in Scorpius's face at the idea that Rose Weasley could be an inspirational source. Draco Malfoy had instilled an appreciation for the arts in Scorpius, but that didn't mean he respected the creative process of the artist when that artist was his son and his son could have been pursuing business ventures instead. In hindsight, he should've figured his father was getting desperate over Scorpius's creative drought and would latch onto anything indicating a revitalization of his career. And that he would've brought his mother along.
Astoria steps out from the kitchen and gasps, looking delighted. "She's your muse!"
His father looks like he's about to throw up. Scorpius would normally find amusement in that except he's pretty sure he looks the same right now.
"Don't. Say. The m-word," he grinds out.
"Oh, sweetheart." His mother fusses. "Don't focus so much on these labels. She's what you need. We should really send her some flowers in thanks. Maybe she'll sit for you-"
"No," he says firmly. Over his dead body would he deign to ask Rose Weasley to sit for a painting. "Under no circumstances can you tell her. Or anyone actually."
"There's no need to be embarrassed-"
Scorpius runs a hand across his face. Draco's expression seems to indicate that he similarly feels that a Weasley muse is in fact quite embarrassing.
"Astoria dear," he coughs out. "Scorpius is the artist and he knows best. Let's, erm, leave him to figure out his process alone."
Scorpius briefly reflects that this is probably the closest Draco Malfoy would ever get to admitting that art requires a process. Another thing to thank Weasley for.
"You really can't control your….inspiration?" Draco grimaces, at either the prospect of having a creative process or Weasley being part of it, Scorpius doesn't know.
"That's not really how that works. Believe me, I wish." The Malfoy men exchange pained looks. Scorpius is now the one to sigh, looking mournfully at his paintings. "Are they really that bad?"
"No. That's the problem."
"If you refuse to work with her, you need to figure out how to channel this into something more consistent," Astoria adds.
"She's right. You need to capitalize on whatever she's sparked," Draco admits grudgingly.
"This is some of your most beautiful work yet, Scorpius. We just want you to continue doing what makes you happy. We don't care how you do it!"
Behind Astoria's back, Draco gives Scorpius a look that reads I very much do care how you do it and if how you do it involves asking that Weasley girl to help you out and letting her and by extension her family know how important they are to you right now, I will fling myself in front the Hogwarts Express. It's bad enough that you insist on fraternizing with the Potter spawn, I simply cannot handle any more of that wretched family in my life. Or something along those lines.
"Sure, Mom," Scorpius says, kissing her on the cheek. "Thanks for coming by."
"We'll follow up," his father promises (threatens?) and they Floo away leaving Scorpius feeling a mixture of anxiety and, dare he say it, hope.
When Albus sends a note with his owl Zeus reminding Scorpius to come over for dinner, Scorpius seizes the opportunity to ask who else is there and oh, it's fine if Rose will join.
Fifteen minutes after he sends his own note off with Zeus, Albus rings him on his Owl phone, or oPhone.
"What the fuck, Scorpius."
"I'm 27 now. Don't you think it's time we behave like adults?" Scorpius asks casually.
The long pause at the end does not do much to quell his nerves. Albus knows him better than anyone and could see through his ruse in an instant.
"I know what you're doing," Albus says finally. "And this is a monumentally bad idea."
"I don't know what you're talking about. Isn't this what you've always asked for? For us to hang out together?"
"I'll invite her. But I hope you know what you're doing because I'm not going to help you past this."
"That's all I need," Scorpius promises.
He behaves himself for the first hour at dinner—no need to ruin the entire night for everyone right off the bat. There are one or two comments she makes that he might've normally snapped back at, but he simply takes a sip of his wine and changes the subject, to her surprise if her confused glances at him are any indication. Nathaniel and Estra exchange raised eyebrows at this unexpected show of reticence but say nothing. Albus eyes him suspiciously. He knows what's coming.
But then the topic turns to politics. Scorpius tries not to smirk too much as Nathaniel complains about the recent environmental protections that Minister Granger-Weasley just so happens to have supported. Albus's rebuttal is polite, Rose's less so.
Scorpius rolls his shoulders back, sends a mental apology to Albus, and casually adds "Well, it makes sense the rollout is such a mess when you see how shoddily the legislation was drafted."
Rose stiffens, hackles raised, and Scorpius leans forward eagerly, fingers itching to grab a brush.
Oh, this was going to be fun.