lomonaaeren

There was a wrinkle in his left sleeve.

Draco smoothed the wrinkle out, and then sneaked a glance sideways at Scorpius. He still had a dangling bit of fluff on the back of his head, a single blond hair that would not lie down. Draco frowned. He didn't know where this tendency to wildness came from. Both his hair and Astoria's was as smooth as could be imagined, and he was sure that he had not been so unruly when he was Scorpius's age, either.

"Scorpius," he began.

His son sighed, most unbecomingly, and reached up to tap his wand against the hair and make it lie flat. It was the first spell he had learned, out of necessity. Draco nodded stiffly-if he knew what his father had wanted to say, why did he need the reminder at all?-and then faced the door again.

He and Scorpius were waiting in the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor for Potter, partially because it was the best room to impress a new visitor to the house and partially because Draco was determined that Potter would find nothing out of place about his son's behavior or appearance. Potter would be looking about with beady eyes, seeking something to make fun of if he could. Draco would leave him no dangling thread to seize, and then he would be compelled to offer respect.

Potter knocked a few minutes after eight. Draco drew himself up straight, assumed the most thunderous expression he possibly could, and nodded to the scurrying house-elves to let Potter in. House-elves. That is another thing Scorpius will not manage to inherit if we cannot fix this. He's never lived a day without their devoted care. What will happen to him if he doesn't have it?

Draco reminded himself, then, when the thoughts might have managed to fluster him as Potter entered the room, that this was one reason he was obliged to have Potter in his house at all. They had time before Scorpius came of age and Draco died. They would just have to find a solution.

Potter stepped into the entrance hall and didn't look up, at the great vaulted ceiling, or around, at the gilded tops of the pillars and the sweeping staircase. Instead, he smiled at Scorpius, held out his hand, and said, "I'm Harry Potter. You must be Scorpius Malfoy."

Draco's son blinked, so slowly that he looked like a lizard. Draco opened his mouth to intervene. Scorpius had always been too slow to recognize honor being done to him, too slow for a Malfoy.

But then Scorpius grinned, a dazzling grin Draco had never seen before, and shook Potter's hand firmly. "I am," he said. "And I would have recognized you without your introducing yourself, you know. You're pretty recognizable." He gestured to the faded scar on Potter's forehead, still grinning.

Draco froze, because he was so mortified. How was it possible that he had raised a boy who would respond like this in front of someone he didn't know?

But Potter smiled back, and Draco remembered: Potter was an undisciplined brat at Scorpius's age, too. He would expect a certain amount of informality, and he was unfamiliar with pure-blood customs. He probably thought Scorpius was acting natural and child-like.

"I like to introduce myself anyway," Potter explained, "just so people don't confuse me with my scar."

"I'd like to do that," Scorpius confided, "someday when I'm grown up and famous. So people don't confuse me with my name."

"A good plan." Potter nodded, as if satisfied, and then turned to Draco. "Do you have a drawing room where we can sit and talk about this? I want to explain some of what I've found out about potential cures for curses like this so far."

Draco opened his mouth to object. He and Potter should meet by themselves if at all. Scorpius wasn't old enough to understand all the information Potter would give him, let alone make decisions that affected his own welfare.

But then he saw the way Scorpius was looking back and forth between the two of them, his eyes bright for the first time since the confirmation ceremony, and the level gaze Potter was giving him. Draco suspected that Potter would try to include Scorpius in the conversation anyway if Draco refused.

And it might be better for Scorpius to hear about it.

Silently, Draco nodded and led the way.

*

Harry watched with an ache in his heart as the train began to move, carrying Al away. He hadn't realized until today that his son harbored such a strong fear of being put in Slytherin. Al was more like himself than Harry ever known.

But he's going to have a better childhood, Harry resolved as the train pulled out of the station. If he's in Slytherin, then I hope he owls me immediately, and I'm going to owl him back and repeat what I told him about Snape. He doesn't deserve to think he'll be evil because of where the Sorting Hat chose to put him when he was eleven. I wish someone had thought to tell me that.

And Scorpius Malfoy, whom Harry had seen climb onto the same train with a determined but haunted look in his eyes, didn't deserve to suffer through the rest of his life because of a curse that had been cast before he was born.

I'm going to do my best for you, too, Harry told him silently. What are we for, if not to fight so that the next generation has a better chance?

"Are you all right, Harry?" Ginny smiled up at him and ran her hand over a sniffling Lily's hair. "You have that pensive look that means a monster's around the next corner and needs to feel the bite of one of your hexes."

Harry smiled back. He and Ginny really did work much better as friends than as spouses, and once they had divorced, Harry had noticed a massive relaxation of tension in his life. He didn't mind that Ginny had kept his name; it was a way to connect them as friends who had shared a bond that most of the rest of the world had no idea about. And Harry had come to think that sharing with other people was more productive than fighting with them-unless they were Dark wizards who needed to be shut into a cool cell in Azkaban and left to think over what they'd done for a while.

"Thinking," he said. "The same way I did when James went off last year, if you remember."

"I remember," Ginny said, and stretched up to kiss his cheek.

"Muuuuum," said Lily, who had reached the stage when kisses between her parents were the height of grossness. "Daaad. I want to go to Hogwarts, too."

"Next year, Lily-bee." Harry took her hand. He had charge of Lily for the next few weeks of his holiday. Ginny waved and vanished into the crowd at the train station, and Harry turned around to find Ron and Hermione. "Don't you want to go for ice cream with Hugo? I bet you can eat more than he can."

Hogwarts already half-forgotten, Lily pulled impatiently away from him and ran off to search for Hugo. Harry started to follow, then hesitated when he saw Malfoy standing near a pillar by himself, arms folded and shoulders hunched the way they always seemed to be. His wife had already vanished, and he looked cold.

He put Scorpius on a train this morning, too.

Harry changed his mind and strode over to Malfoy.

Malfoy, of course, straightened when he saw Harry coming, and tried to look as if he'd never done anything but stand there and sneer. Harry inwardly rolled his eyes, but he thought he was starting to understand Malfoy a bit better. Malfoy was someone who hadn't shared. He seemed anxious that Scorpius be nothing more than a perfect little automaton. Look at that first meeting they'd had, in August. He tried to direct the things Harry said, he frowned with disapproval whenever Harry asked Scorpius his opinion or answered one of his questions, and he continually snapped reminders for Scorpius to sit up, smooth his hair, not wrinkle his robes, and speak clearly.

He was worried for his child, and he seemed to always have lived with managing people-his parents, his wife-who ordered him around, so he didn't know what to do when he was left on his own. Harry told himself that so he wouldn't strangle the man for being such an annoying little pissant.

"We're meeting Scorpius at Hogwarts on September the fifteenth, right?" he asked, to have a plausible excuse for approaching Malfoy.

"Not even you could have forgotten the date that fast." Malfoy folded his arms until he looked as if he were trying to squeeze all the air out of his chest and squinted at him suspiciously. "What do you really want?"

Fine, then. Harry abandoned subtlety. Maybe that wasn't what Malfoy needed. Maybe his parents and his wife had tried to make him realize the truth in subtle ways, and he hadn't paid attention, because he wasn't forced to. "He'll be all right," Harry said softly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Malfoy sniffed and looked away.

"Yes, you do." Harry nodded after the train. "I just sent a son off to Hogwarts, too. Well, both of them, but James was already there one year and he's eager to be away from us." Harry had to smile as he thought of James. Compared to Al, James was insensitive, loud, and boisterous, but he always did land on his feet. "I know what it feels like, that shattering of childhood. When you don't see them around every day anymore. When you have to worry that every owl from Hogwarts could bring report of a potential accident, just because you weren't there to hover over them and protect them from danger. When you realize that in six years they'll be of age, and in seven years they'll even leave Hogwarts, and then what will you do?" He leaned a shoulder on the pillar and watched Malfoy intently.

Malfoy gaped at him, then shut his mouth with a ferocious click. "How do you know that?" he demanded. "Has Astoria been writing to you?"

Harry rolled his eyes openly this time. Someone needs to let him know when he's being an idiot. "Only you would think of spying and conspiracies first," he said. "I have three children, Malfoy. I'm speaking to you as one father to another. It's all right to feel lost and lonely and abandoned for a little while. It happens to the best of us."

"You're not eloquent, Potter." Malfoy was whispering harshly now. "You're not interested in my welfare. Far be it from me to forbid you to feel these things, with your sensitive little Gryffindor heart, but why are you talking about them to me?"

"Because you looked lost, and lonely, and abandoned." Harry cocked his head when Malfoy's mouth dropped open again. "And because your feelings aren't the only ones involved here. Scorpius's are too, as you should have realized by now. If you don't, you're such a berk that you really don't deserve any further consideration. Right now, you're a pissant, yes, but no worse than that. Grow up and realize that your acting like this-haughty and unaffected and cold when you aren't those things at all-hurts Scorpius as well as you." Harry paused, then added, "Ponce."

And he turned and walked away, shaking his head. Right now, ice cream with Lily, Hugo, Ron, and Hermione sounded much more enjoyable than spending another minute with Malfoy.

He was almost dreading the fifteenth, or would have been, except that Scorpius was a great kid, and more than someone like Malfoy deserved.

*

What did Potter mean, calling me a ponce?

Draco knew he should be thinking about other things, but there weren't other things to think about. He'd done some desultory research during the last two weeks, but Astoria was the real expert on magic like this, and she hadn't found anything, so how could he? He'd done his usual Ministry work, made the right contributions to the right people, and got all the business out of the way that he could. He'd received a few owls from Scorpius, saying that he was Sorted into Slytherin and was friends with Potter's son Albus and that Transfiguration under Professor Brown was wonderful. Draco had already sent back plenty of advice on acting right and not betraying the Malfoy name, and anyway, he'd be seeing Scorpius in a few moments.

It was a bright, clear Sunday morning, and Draco was pacing back and forth in the Astronomy classroom. He'd wanted to meet in Hogsmeade at first, but the Headmaster wouldn't agree to let a first-year leave Hogwarts.

If anyone's a ponce, it's Longbottom.

Why did Potter feel free to insult me?

Draco scowled and paced faster.

Yes, he had to admit reluctantly, he'd felt some of the things Potter had accused him of feeling when he saw Scorpius climb into the train. But that didn't mean that Potter had the right to just announce them to Draco's face and expect Draco to gladly accept the announcement.

He didn't understand the Malfoy legacy. He didn't know what it was like after Lucius was discredited, and then basically resigned himself to not living in a world where he wasn't treated with dignity and respect, and died from it. It had been a quiet death, but one where every time Draco went into Lucius's room, he saw a pair of gray eyes staring at him with silent condemnation. Draco had to be the one who lived up to the Malfoy legacy now, who made sure it continued to survive, and he knew Lucius had severe doubts about his ability to be that person.

But Draco had worked, and worked, and worked. He had tried his best to raise Scorpius with the right pure-blood values. He had revived what political contacts he could and extended others that he thought Lucius would have liked him to pursue. He had tried to give his father a second chance to live again through him, and even a third, through Scorpius-

But he could never really know if he'd succeeded or not, and with Scorpius, it seemed as if he was foredoomed to failure.

Draco swore at himself under his breath and paced rapidly in a circle. He had to calm down. He had to meet Potter with serene eyes and contempt breathing through every pore in his face.

"You're almost human when you look like that."

Correction: You might have managed that if you'd heard Potter coming. Draco planted his hands on his hips and spun about. He could at least show anger if not contempt. "You took your time getting here, didn't you?" he drawled.

"I thought Scorpius would be here first," Potter said calmly, letting the door of the classroom fall shut behind him. "I wanted to give you some time alone with him, since you haven't seen each other in a fortnight."

"I'm not that weak, Potter." Draco leaned forwards, trying to emphasize the inch or so of height he had on the other man to make his point.

Potter stared at him with his mouth open, which Draco could imagine women found endearing, which no doubt was why he did it. "Why in the world would that make you weak?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

But then Draco reminded himself again that Potter had no way of understanding the Malfoy legacy, and so, yes, his mistaken conclusions were entirely natural. Maybe it was time he came up against the limits of his familiarity with the pure-blood world.

"Scorpius and I are more than father and son," he said coolly. "We are Master of the Manor and heir." He ignored Potter's muttering, which had the word "master" in it in no complimentary tone. He didn't have to pay attention to things that displeased him. "That creates a relationship that necessitates a certain degree of distance."

Potter's eyebrows slowly rose. "So you can't tell him you miss him."

"You understand nothing," said Draco. He should have known trying to explain wouldn't work. But luckily the classroom door opened then and Scorpius came in, so he could turn around and nod welcome to his son.

Correction again, he thought, incredulous and then furious as he realized Scorpius had not come alone. No question who the boy standing beside him was; only two people in the world could look that much like a young Potter, and Scorpius's letters had revealed that James Potter looked different from his father and was in Gryffindor besides, whilst this boy had on a Slytherin tie. "Scorpius," he said, and was glad to at least see his son jump a little. "I told you this was to be a private meeting."

Scorpius, his obedient son, the boy who understood, some of the time, how far he was from living up to the Malfoy legacy and respected that, lifted his chin and replied like an insolent Mudblood. "Al saw me getting ready and asked where I was going. I couldn't lie to him, so I brought him with me."

Albus Potter blinked and looked uncomfortable, but also looked at Draco defiantly. Draco spun on Potter. "He's your son," he said. "Order him out of here."

Potter looked at him evenly. "I would if he were doing something wrong. But he's standing by his friend, and that's admirable." He nodded at Albus, and the boy beamed.

"He can keep a secret, I suppose?" Draco hated it, but since the boy was here and no one else agreed to his going, he knew he would lose dignity if he went on insisting that Albus leave.

"He can," Potter said firmly. "He's kept quiet before about his brother's Christmas presents, and that is a challenge and a temptation in our house, let me tell you." He grinned and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Especially when he knows that James isn't getting everything he asked for."

With a sigh, Draco accepted the offer as the best one he would get. He was living in a diminished world since he knew of the curse; really, he'd been living in a diminished world since Scorpius's birth. He would just have to live with this. "Then you should know that I haven't discovered anything new, Scorpius," he said.

Scorpius nodded, but didn't take a bracing breath, the way that he had when Draco told him that right before he left home. He actually looked as if he cared less about not being of pure blood when he was at school, Draco thought, though being around his peers, who all had more claim to their heritage than he did to his, should have taught him better. "That's all right, Dad," he said. "I know you're trying."

Draco opened his mouth to question why the boy thought he needed to forgive Draco instead of the other way around, but Potter interrupted. "I, on the other hand, have discovered something that might work," he said.

"What?" Draco snapped, vaguely noticing that Scorpius didn't look as hopeful as he should have. "Why did you wait until now to tell me?"

Potter gave him an odd look. "Because it's Scorpius's blood and Scorpius's life," he said. "I thought he should know first." And whilst Draco was still spluttering, he turned and looked into Scorpius's eyes and spoke exactly as if the boy were either an adult or the perfect heir of the family that Draco had always envisioned and strived to rear. "The process is dangerous, though, and involves several steps. A potion is first." Draco scoffed to himself. A potion might be dangerous for Potter, but I can brew it with no problem. "Then several spells with long incantations, and then a ritual. Do you want to go through with it?"

Scorpius's face was pale, but he responded with a logical question, the first intelligent thing Draco had heard him say all day. "Why is it dangerous?"

Potter nodded, as if he'd been expecting Scorpius to ask that, too. "Because there's an emotional component to it all," he said. "And if the emotional component isn't perfect for each step of this, then the potion or the spells or the ritual could react badly. The potion might poison you. The spells might twist your limbs or cause you to grow an extra head. The ritual might drain all the blood from your body."

Scorpius looked at the floor and thought about it whilst Draco tried to grapple with this information. "Who told you?" Scorpius asked finally, sounding subdued. Draco, still too stunned to speak, wondered if the boy had unexpected talents with Legilimency. It was as if he was reading Draco's mind, asking the questions that Draco wanted or needed to ask.

"No one, really." Potter looked triumphant at last, in the way that Draco had thought he would from the beginning of the conversation, since he was getting one over on Draco by not telling him before by letter. "We found the procedure described in Ricardo Greengrass's notes. He was anxious that no one circumvent the spell, and so he listed all the ways they might be able to."

"He had notes?" Draco demanded, finding his tongue at last. "Why haven't Astoria and I been allowed to look at them?"

"They were flung into an Auror file and forgotten about," Potter said. "At the time, we thought his claims of actually having used the Grimoire of Haunted Blood were ridiculous. But we went through the notes again. I can copy out the relevant portions for you. In fact, I have most of them here." He produced a thick sheaf of paper from his robe pocket and held it out. Draco snatched it.

"Do you think you want to go through with it, Scorpius?" Potter added then, his voice soft. "It's dangerous, like I said."

Scorpius looked at Draco, for some reason. Draco stared back at him impatiently. He hadn't had the chance to read the notes yet, which would be the ultimate deciding factor, but he knew what Scorpius would say, what he had to say. Of course he would go through with this. There was no price too great to pay to have pure blood again.

At least he had raised a son who would realize the inherent importance of that, because Scorpius turned back to Potter with a little nod. "Yeah," he said. "I want to go through with it."

Potter smiled. The expression was tinged with sadness for some reason. "All right," he said. "Then I reckon, unless you have questions, or unless you want to stay and speak with your father-Al and I can leave-"

"I don't want Al to leave," Scorpius said, too quickly. Draco frowned at him for showing his emotions like that-showing people that you were invested in them caused them to betray you-but he was looking at Potter instead and missed the frown. "I don't have questions, and I've communicated with my father by letter-I don't think there's anything more to say." He looked hesitantly towards Draco.

"If you think that," Draco said, and didn't bother to keep the coolness or the displeasure out of his voice, "then of course you must be right."

Scorpius bowed his head and left the room as soon as he could, Albus in tow. Once, that boy looked back and frowned at him. Draco raised an eyebrow. He had borne harder looks from harder men. An eleven-year-old could hardly compare to his father lying in bed, dying of grief, and trying to teach Draco everything he should have learned already through his eyes alone.

The minute the door shut behind their sons, Potter turned and strode towards him. From the look on his face, he had murder on his mind.

Draco widened his eyes and backed up, thinking that his reactions must appeal to Potter's instincts that told him to protect all things helpless and innocent, but instead Potter simply backed him into a corner. And then he stood there, his hands clenched at his sides, his breathing harsh and his eyes focused on Draco as if Draco had raped his daughter. It was hard to meet and match that stare.

"You," Potter whispered, "treat your son like shite."

Of all the accusations, that was the last thing Draco had expected. "I think you're hardly the authority on how I treat my son," he said stiffly, "and hardly in the position to offer advice about it. You didn't even act as if you knew your son was there."

Potter ignored him completely. "You know what one requirement of that ritual is?" he asked, nodding to the notes Draco still held. "The last step in reversing the curse and getting your son's ‘pure blood' back? It requires absolute trust between parent and child. Absolute trust, you tosspot. Do you think you'll pull that one off? Really? Does your son trust you to do anything but scold him and try to make him into something he's not?"

"Are you supposed to insult someone you're helping on official Auror business?" Draco said, feeling as if he were pushing against an avalanche that was falling on him.

"This isn't official Auror business," Potter said, his eyes shining with a shark-like joy. "Remember? I agreed to help you on my own time, for my own reasons, and a lot of them are because there's Scorpius in the case." He put one arm on the wall and leaned so close that Draco could feel his warm breath on his face. For some reason, that made him shiver, even though it was warm. But then, Draco had never understood his own body that well. It had sometimes done very strange things when he and Astoria were in the same bed. "But you're always and forever after him. Staring disapprovingly at everything he does, not treating him like he's an adult or has any right to know about this-"

"Most parents think that about their children. Or did you retell every gruesome detail of Auror cases in front of yours?" If Potter would just listen-

"I told them when I almost died," Potter said, snarling now. A fleck of spit leaped out from his mouth and landed on Draco's cheek, and Draco felt so frozen that he couldn't even wipe it off. "I told them when someone cursed Al as ‘revenge' for my putting their sister in prison where she belonged. I hide truths that have nothing to do with them. But I've always, always let them know about dangers that might change their lives drastically. And this is Scorpius's life, Draco. Not yours. If you offered him one ounce of the respect and dignity that you seem to have crammed into the Malfoy name, then you'd be doing one hundred times better."

"You have no idea what it's like for me!" Part of Draco was appalled that he was screaming this, but when he grasped at his control, it whipped through his hands like uncoiling rope. "No idea at all! Trying to carry on my father's legacy-"

"Carry it on the way you like! I don't care! But you're forcing Scorpius into a mode he doesn't fucking fit, and you're doing it for what you think is his own good, and that doesn't fucking work, Malfoy! It doesn't fucking work!" Potter was screaming now, too, his eyes blazing like a sunset. "Dumbledore should have known that, and so should you!"

"So you see yourself in him." Draco sneered. "Very poetic and all that, but since you're sympathizing with him just because he's you-"

"If you had the least idea," Potter said, voice low and poisonous now, suddenly, "how unhappy that child is-if you knew a quarter of what Al told me in his letters, what he's said Scorpius said-how much he's afraid of you-"

"What?" Draco knew he should deny that, decry Albus's words as lies, but for some reason he could only stand there staring at Potter.

Potter laughed bitterly. "Yeah. Afraid of you, Malfoy. Afraid of disappointing you, that his life isn't worth anything if he isn't the kind of son you want. And he already knows that he isn't. He's interested in other things and he doesn't care that much about having his ‘pure blood' or the magical artifacts you want so badly for him to inherit. But he's doing it anyway, for you, because he loves you at the same time he's afraid of you." Potter abruptly flung himself away and stalked towards the door. "But you should have been able to figure this out on your own. I've said enough."

The sound of the classroom door slamming behind him echoed in Draco's bones, and then in his heart, and then in his soul.

*

You shouldn't have done that, you know.

Harry sighed and did his best to concentrate on Lily. She'd been staying with him the last few weeks, and she had demanded a lot of attention, as the only possible compensation for her brothers getting to go off to Hogwarts whilst she had to stay home. Right now she was chasing a paper bird that Harry had enchanted for her through the kitchen, her eyes fixed on its wings as if she could see the spell powering it.

But Lily was involved in her own giggling and jumping and the tiny efforts with her practice wand that didn't hurt the bird at all, and so there was nothing to distract Harry from his own punishing thoughts. Hermione-thoughts, he called them. Sometime during the Auror training process and their struggle to free the house-elves after that, her conscience had got into his head. And now it interrupted him at the most inconvenient times. It affected his work as an Auror, too. Sometimes he actually had to see a Dark wizard fire off a curse before he would consider them guilty.

You could have been gentler on him.

Harry growled under his breath. The sound was loud enough to make Lily turn and look at him in surprise. "What's the matter, Daddy? " she asked.

Harry made the bird dip down so that its wings brushed her hair. Lily smiled, but kept on looking at him, and he had to give her some answer. "I'm thinking about work," he said. "That always makes me grumpy."

Lily accepted that, since she knew it was true, and then stood still and began to fire spell after ineffective spell at the bird. Harry listened to her with a smile. Lily was going through the phase that all young children did, when they believed that wanting to perform a spell badly enough would result in its happening and make up for any pronunciation mistakes. She had yet to learn the phrase that Kingsley was fondest of repeating, "Magic is 1% inspiration and 99% incantation."

And Malfoy's got to learn that, too, if these spells are going to go successfully. The process that Greengrass's notes described was insanely complex, so much so that Harry couldn't really say he understood even now, but one thing was clear: the emotions guided the incantations of the spells as they guided the brewing of the potion and the success of the ritual. And during the spells, Malfoy had to be filled with affection, calmness, and trust.

He'll never make it. Not with the way he treats his son.

But did I have the right to explode at him? When I just lied to Lily, and I haven't always done well at raising my own children?

Harry folded his arms behind his head and thought about it for a moment. But the picture of Malfoy's face was overlaid in seconds by the picture of Scorpius's face as he looked at his father, and by the remembrance of the letters Al had written him from Hogwarts, full of indignation and sympathy over his new friend.

He's afraid of his Dad!!!! Al had written in the latest one, underlining the word "Dad" for emphasis even with all the exclamation marks. I can't imagine being afraid of you. But Scorpius always worries that he'll do something wrong and then his Dad won't want him anymore. His Dad used to read him stories of pure-blood children who had to be abandoned because they didn't please their families. Why would you do that? Scorpius's Dad is a bastard. And then Al had made an obvious, but feeble, effort to scratch out the word "bastard" and substitute “idiot” in its place. Harry's children always had been too honest for their own good; it hadn't been a taste for lying that had got Al Sorted into Slytherin.

Harry felt his mouth settle into a grim line. After what he had seen today, the way Malfoy had looked when considering the notes, as if they were a blessing from heaven despite all their dangers, he thought fear was a common Malfoy family problem.

But Scorpius was only a child. Malfoy ought to grow up and stop making his son's life hell.

I'm glad I yelled at him. At least he looked stunned after I did that, as if it had never happened before. Maybe it'll give him something to think about, and he'll be clearer-minded and less of an idiot when he needs to start brewing the potion and such.

"Daddy, Daddy, look! "

Harry jerked his head up, startled. Lily had managed to singe one of the bird's wings with an Incendio, and now it flapped in ragged circles. Harry smiled and held out his arms, and Lily ran over and hugged him.

Scorpius deserves just as much love, Harry thought, as he held his daughter. And Malfoy better provide it for him. I'll get it for Scorpius if it involves pinning the stubborn bastard's head to the ground and sitting on his neck.

*

How long had it been since he brewed Veritaserum? Two years? Twelve?

Draco truly could not remember, and that, combined with the way his hands shook as he dropped in the final ingredients and how many times he had to pause and look up the recipe, told him it had been too long, no matter the length of months.

He had started doing this soon after the war: regularly brewing a small batch of Veritaserum, giving it to himself, and then speaking the answers to his own questions aloud in a private place, before a mirror, so that he could watch his facial expressions. It was the best way he knew to get at the truth of how he felt and at the same time avoid exposing his vulnerabilities to the people around him. He had asked himself with Veritaserum if he really wanted to marry Astoria instead of waiting for some less cool and collected pure-blood girl, someone who would let him dominate her, and he had done the same thing when he wondered how committed he really was to maintaining the Malfoy legacy. Both times, the answers had been clear and sharp and soothing.

But now, he wondered how in the world he was going to phrase the question, and he faced the mirror in dread as he placed the three drops on his tongue.

His face was pale, of course, but there were burning spots of color on his cheekbones. They had looked like that since the day before, when he had come home after Potter scolded him and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

He affected me. He shouldn't have been able to do that. I'm going to show him that I don't really need to listen to him.

And in the end, he didn't have to worry about phrasing. Veritaserum was a crude tool, if a sure one. He should go with crude questions.

"Do I love Scorpius?" he asked.

At once, the answer came bubbling and dancing up his throat and flung itself eagerly out from between his teeth. "Yes."

All right. One question answered the way I wanted it answered. Draco slowed his breathing and studied his expression. The spots of color had faded a little, he thought, but the grey eyes were still too wide and solemn, as if Draco had just watched his father die.

Too much honesty in thoughts, thank you. Draco had never spoken aloud about his grief for his father, and he was not about to start now. "Do I love him enough to go through with this ritual, the potion-brewing and all the rest of it, and do as I have to do for it to work?" he asked.

"Yes." No hesitation.

Draco relaxed. There was really no other question he wanted to ask. He had proved to himself, if not to Potter, that he did love his son and had never meant to cause him fear. And his own confidence was what he most needed. As long as he had the comfort of sure answers, he could confront Potter calmly.

But then-then another question seized him. His shoulders hunched, and his face became so pale that he looked on the verge of fainting. And then he asked the question, courage or stupidity acting like a lash. He had not been so stupid since the war, but there it was, and perhaps the fear of not knowing this answer was greater than the fear of hearing it.

"What do I love more, the Malfoy legacy or Scorpius? My father's memory or my son?"

There was a long moment when the answer rose like a bird, and Draco couldn't tell what it was or what he wanted it to be, and the silence swung and wavered like a pendulum.

"Scorpius. My son."

And Draco dropped to his knees and put his clammy hands over his burning face and knelt there, in that moment of truth and unexpectedly shattered perfection, and the silence swung and swung, and lasted.

Part 3.