Scorpius H. Malfoy (fullofsnark) wrote in unloading_zone, @ 2010-08-24 11:28:00 |
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“I must be a masochist,” Scorpius groaned to himself. He must be, because why else would he dare to open another piece of baggage in the hopes that something good might come from it? Why did he idiotically think that it might bring him back more magic or another photograph from home? There was nothing in it. Absolutely nothing but the overwhelming feeling that he was a complete and utter disappointment to his parents, his grandparents, and the entirety of the Greengrass-Malfoy family.
And he was, wasn’t it? The only child, the only one who would keep the Malfoy name alive, and he’d decided he would rather date a Weasley than settle down with a prospective wife. A male Weasley.
Sitting down on the porch steps, Scorpius buried his face in his hands and took in deep, shaky breaths to calm himself. It wasn’t working. But he still kept trying. He didn’t notice anyone walking up while he panicked and wallowed in misery.
While there had been many people at Potter’s party, Draco hadn’t missed the sight of his son with two Weasleys. How could he have? Though there had been an abnormal number of gingers in the room, that girl’s hair had been absolutely impossible to miss, almost as bad as Granger’s. In fact, it had possibly been even worse. And then another ginger, and between them both, seemingly gossipping happily, had been his son. Of course Draco had been far too busy with George at the time, but even still.
Even still.
It still smelled like sewage in his shop, and Draco had decided to schedule walks throughout the day. On this particular walk, he found his son sitting on a porch. He fixed his hair, striking a bit of a pose when his shadow reached the sitting figure.
“You’re really going to have to do better than that. You have an image to maintain, you know,” he said, changing his pose to a more commanding one, arms crossed over his chest and looking down his nose at Scorpius. “You can’t just sit on stoops crying like a girl where everyone can see and you can certainly not be seen associating with Weasleys.”
Slowly and reluctantly, Scorpius lifted his head up and stared into the young face of his father. It was like the damned piece of baggage had summoned the last person he wanted to see right in that moment. Draco Malfoy, stuck in a pose that spoke oceans about how disappointed he was in him. It only added to the mountain of reasons why Scorpius was a failure of a Malfoy.
“I’m not crying,” Scorpius protested, sullen and defensive. Definitely not in the way a man who was twenty-four years old should talk to his father. He sounded incredibly childish, and worse was that he knew it.
The remark about associating with Weasleys sunk in and hit him a moment later. The panic was back. His father must know about Hugo. Oh gods. Scorpius’s eyes widened. “How do you know I associate with Weasleys? Have you been spying on me?” In other words, how much do you know?
“Spying on you?” Draco repeated, incredulous. “What, do you imagine I hide in bushes to keep an eye on my son? To make sure he doesn’t associate with the wrong sort? No, I have not been spying on you, son.”
Oh yes, Draco had wanted to use that word in such a way for a long time now. He had come to terms with the fact that he had a son, that he had married the wrong woman and that his life had gone to shite. And now, he was going to step into the role. After all, everyone was doing the same for their children and it would not do to appear to be the only person resisting the truth, fighting a losing battle against eventuality. If Draco was to be seen fighting a battle against anything, he was going to win it.
“No, I have not been spying, but I have seen you. With the Weasley girl, Ron Weasley’s children. The bushy-haired girl. I saw how comfortable you were with her and her brother. I sincerely hope you don’t expect your mother and I to allow such an alliance.”
Scorpius’s relief to know his father didn’t know about Hugo was a fleeting feeling.
Son. That was a strange word coming from the young man who would grow into his father. Distress, however, largely overshadowed the strangeness of it after the way Draco used it in that condescending voice. It didn’t sound like he had come to terms with the fact he had a son. It sounded more like he was begrudgingly accepting his own resignation. Begrudgingly accepting a disappointment.
Scorpius didn’t want to be some disappointment his father was reluctantly shouldering. He wanted to be a good son. A son that his father could be proud of having raised.
“Her name is Rose,” he said quietly, neither arguing nor protesting. His eyes were fixed on his shoelaces.
Part of him wanted to grab Scorpius and drag him back inside where no one could see him moping. Draco didn’t need the whole town thinking his son was a ponce. It would appear that everyone thought it already, they didn’t exactly need additional proof.
Not proof, he reminded himself, and then amended the thought to, they don’t need further reason to believe that he might be a ponce. There. That was better already. It was bad enough people were talking... Draco could’ve killed Pucey that one time...
Draco had been quiet a moment now, staring down at his son, and he took a look around to make sure no one was staring at them. And then, reluctantly, Draco sat beside Scorpius, though he looked around rather than at his shoelaces. “You can’t, Scorpius. I understand what it’s like to fall in love with someone unattainable, someone you can’t marry. That’s why I was disappointed when I found out about your mother; I loved someone else and I was forced to marry her. If I hadn’t been in love... Maybe it would’ve been easier. So whatever it is you feel for Rose Weasley, stop. Right now. You can’t afford it. It’ll ruin your life.”
Scorpius might have laughed if he wasn’t feeling so miserable. His father thought he was in love with Rose. Fanbloodytastic. It was wrong on so many levels to feel the teensiest bit relieved his father didn’t think he was a ponce. His father was disappointed enough by the thought of him with a Weasley, and if he added on top of everything that it was a male Weasley, his father might keel over or go ballistic.
Rather than deny his feelings, Scorpius asked, “Who did you love?” He was genuinely curious.
Draco leaned forward, elbows on his knees but still looking around to make sure they were alone. “Pansy.” He didn’t need to be any more specific.
The worst bit was that if it had been anyone else, Draco might have been able to look the other way. But Ron Weasley... If it had been any other Weasley, Draco might have been able to handle it. One of the twins’ kids, maybe. Or if Percy ever reproduced, that would be fine. Or even the little Potter girl. But... Not Rose Weasley. Anyone but her.
“You are aware what people are saying about you, don’t you?” He asked, curious.
“You loved my Godmother?” Scorpius’s nose scrunched up as if Draco had just put a saucer of curdled milk under it. It was wrong enough to think about Pansy with George. He didn’t need to think about her with his father (even if the match would have been infinitely better).
“No, enlighten me,” he said, lifting up his head and turning to look at his father. Scorpius had an inkling, but something – perhaps a masochistic impulse – made him want to hear his father pinpoint it. “What are they saying?”
“Why do you think I made her your Godmother?” Draco retorted, practically rolling his eyes as he did so. That Scorpius was disgusted by what he’d just said didn’t escape Draco’s notice, nor did he care. It was like being disgusted that your father loved your mother. At least she should’ve been... At least then she might be happy, and Draco too, and it was also possible that, had that been the case, Draco would’ve been far more willing to accept the fact that he had a son.
And then, something in the way Scorpius responded gave Draco pause. Did Scorpius already know and merely want his father to say the words aloud, to speak the atrocity being spread around about his son?
“They’re saying,” Draco enunciated, making it clear he only intended to say this once and then forget about it for the rest of his life - because what would people think? That Draco was gay by extension because he’d produced one? That would not do. That was unacceptable. “They’re saying that you’re gay. A homosexual. That you love another man, this Hugo...” Hadn’t Hugo been the other boy Scorpius had been with? Draco’s eyes narrowed as they suddenly zeroed in on his son. That just couldn’t be. Scorpius was dating Rose and had merely been accompanied by Hugo in that one instance. Right?
“Because I thought she was your best friend?” Scorpius ventured to put out there, cringe still present. Just like he didn’t like to think about his father and mother being – intimate – he didn’t like to think about his father and godmother in that way, thankyouverymuch.
Scorpius averted his gaze. His father’s was far too piercing to hold. It was true, he might fancy blokes, but that didn’t mean he loved Hugo. They’d had two dates so far. Hardly anything to swoon over. “Do you believe what they’re saying?” he asked, neither confirming nor denying anything. Scorpius wanted to know what his father thought.
“I don’t know.” It was a lot more thoughtful an answer than Draco had thought he’d offer. He’d thought for sure he would deny believing such a thing about his own flesh and blood but something in Scorpius’s gaze dared him to answer truthfully. Draco found he couldn’t deny it. “Are you gay, Scorpius?” He would never have thought he’d something like that in quite so straightforward a manner. “Do you like blokes?”
“I’m not gay,” Scorpius lied. Straight through his teeth. He didn’t know if he was completely gay and birds were out of the question, but he did fancy blokes. There was no denying that to himself, but he could deny it to his father. He would rather say anything than feel the force of his father’s full disappointment. “All right?”
All the air in Draco’s body left him in a rush, the biggest sigh of relief he’d ever breathed. “Thank Merlin and Salazar and every great wizard in history.” He shook his head, both at himself and at Scorpius. He’d been so afraid! To think that his son, his son could’ve been a homosexual, that he’d started to wonder, to doubt his own son, the way he’d raised him, the way he’d made him. Merlin, the relief!
“I... good, Scorpius, good.” Draco smiled and turned his eyes to the skies before sighing happily again. “Good. I don’t know what I would’ve done, honestly!” he said, laughing a little. He’d been silly to believe it was a possibility. Pucey was a jackass and Draco was going to find someone to beat the snot out of him, he really was.
Besides, smiling looked good on him. He’d checked in the mirror that morning. So now he looked good and he felt good and his son was straight. His life was good. “So tell me then, why were you moping? It doesn’t look good on you, son.” This time, the word was accompanied with a smile, distracted as he was by the reassurance that his son was normal. Even if he was dating a Weasley - that could always be remedied.
His father’s display of tremendous relief only made things worse. The man was finally smiling and it was all for a lie. A lie that could only last for so long before the truth came out and shattered his father’s delusions of happiness and Malfoy heirs.
Scorpius wished the ground would swallow him up. This is what it took for his father to be pleasant and caring, was it? A perfectly normal heterosexual son who was in no danger of making Draco look bad.
“You’ve opened your baggage, right? Let’s just say that’s why and leave it at that,” Scorpius replied, not caring to elaborate or smile back.
“I could help,” Draco replied easily, the smile still comfortable on his face. He didn’t know what the luggage was, exactly, but he was confident that he could help. “After all, what are fathers for if not to help their sons go through traumatic experiences?” Not that his own luggage was particularly traumatic, but he could see from Scorpius’s expression that his son’s was not so easily tolerated. He looked like Draco himself had looked in his sixth year at Hogwarts - a terrible time he would always remember and which had been all the worse for him because his father had been markedly absent. “I sure I can help, whatever it is.”
Besides, wouldn’t it look really good if he helped his son, the son whose existence he had denied, through something like this?
Ugh. Why, of all times, did his father decide to be nice and helpful now? Scorpius almost wished his father would have dismissed him after extracting what he had wanted to know: that his son wasn’t a ponce. He would have gladly watched Draco turn his back and walk away.
Conflicted between making up another lie or telling the truth, Scorpius finally settled on the latter. A web of lies was not something he wanted to start making today. That, and part of him was curious to see how his father would attempt to make him feel better. Was he mature enough to help his son? Scorpius figured his pride could suffer for his Ravenclaw tendencies. “The moment I opened it, I got an overwhelming feeling that I’m a disappointment to the family. That I’m not good enough to be a Malfoy. How can you help with that?”