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Author: MagnoliaMama Story: The Transformation of Ducklings Rating: Teens Setting: DH-interview Status: Abandoned Reviews: 10 Words: 25,436
Scorpius set down his quill, mindful it didn't drip ink on the margins of his essay, and rubbed his fingers along either side of his nose. One essay down, four more to go, and he'd been home from Hogwarts for half a week; in previous summers, he'd have done more than twice the amount of homework in the same length of time. True, N.E.W.T.-level work was naturally more rigorous and demanding, but that wasn't the reason for the delay. He got up from his desk and went to the window, which he'd left open to admit the warm evening air and in anticipation of Rose's response to his invitation. He knew he'd hear back from her tonight; the question was when, and what her answer would be. As the shadows had lengthened into twilight and then dusk, and the sky had begun to fill with bats and other night flyers, Scorpius had begun to wonder if maybe he'd made a mistake, if he'd presumed too much. Had he let himself get so carried away by the realization he fancied Rose that he'd misread the signals he thought she was giving him? What if he was all wrong about this? What if she hadn't deliberately lingered by his side, standing closer to him than might be proper for a casual friend, while he tried on the Headless Hat? What if he'd made more out of her gift of the Hat than she'd intended to imply? What if she was only being friendly when she said she hoped to see him again before the end of summer? Questions such as these had haunted him for the past few hours as he tried to pass the time by working on his Transfiguration essay. The essay would have to be re-written; while superficially it might pass muster, his thesis lacked conviction, his argument was full of holes big enough to accommodate the Knight Bus, and his citations were shoddy. That would have to wait until tomorrow, though, because Scorpius knew there was no hope of accomplishing anything else tonight until he'd heard back from Rose. He hoped beyond all reasoning that she would say yes. Mother had offered, without his asking, to supervise the menu, which meant the courses would show off the diversity of Venetian cuisine, each set off with a good Italian wine. For dessert, espresso, of course, and a delicate chocolate gelato Mother would make with her own hand, from a recipe handed down from mother to daughter for generations. Scorpius thought he would take Rose through the sitting room and on to the balcony, where they could sit on a bench beneath the wisteria and look up at the stars and eat their gelato and talk--about what, he couldn't guess, but he knew Rose would see to it that they never lacked for conversation. The piano in the sitting room would be charmed to play for them, and somehow Scorpius would find the courage to ask Rose if she would like to dance. He smiled to himself as he imagined her nose wrinkling as she considered his suggestion, but she would say yes in the end. They'd set their gelato cups down and he'd get to his feet first, then turn and offer his hand to her. Her hand would be cool from holding the gelato cup, but beneath the chill he'd detect a slight dampness, and find relief in the knowledge that she was just as nervous as he was. He'd guide her to the far end of the balcony, away from the light spilling out from the sitting room, where night would cloak them in privacy, and take her into his arms. She would be stiff at first, and would probably apologize in advance for stepping on his feet, but he would reassure her that he knew what he was doing. Eventually she would begin to relax, loosening her grip on his hand and allowing his arm to slide a little further around her waist, drawing her closer. Perhaps she might even lay her head on his shoulder, and her beautiful, untameable hair would tickle his face and neck. They would continue to dance, but their movements would slow to the point where they were merely moving from side to side. Finally he would stop and, once again summoning courage he was not entirely convinced he possessed, he would look down at her and whisper her name. She'd look up at him and, seeing the look on his face, would lift her head. She was tall enough that he wouldn't have to bend far to kiss her. Her lips, warm and full, would taste slightly of chocolate gelato, and she would be hesitant and unsure at first, perhaps even a bit surprised. Their kissing would start out tentatively--he didn't know what prior experience Rose had, but his was limited to a girl he met while on holiday at his grandparents' in France the previous summer, who had been less interested in kissing than more carnal activities, and who in less than an hour had ushered him through a multitude of first experiences--but with the reassurance of familiarity would come curiosity, and with curiosity, desire for more. And all of it would be brilliant, of that Scorpius was absolutely certain. If only Rose would say yes to his invitation. The hoot of an owl broke through the fantasy Scorpius had constructed for himself. Hoping this was the long-awaited response, he leaned out the window and watched the bird approach. When it didn't angle down towards one of the lower-level windows, but instead remained on a straight and sure path towards him, he stepped back to allow it room for entrance. The owl soared in through the window and claimed a perch on the back of Scorpius' chair, then stuck out its leg. He immediately recognized Rose's large, loopy handwriting on the envelope. His hands shaking, he freed the letter, then gave the owl a treat from the jar he kept handy. "There's fresh water in the fountain in the garden, if you're thirsty," he said, unable to take his eyes off his name, preserved there in Rose's distinct hand. As silent as a whisper, the owl took off through the window and soared into the darkness. His lips pressed together, Scorpius took his wand and neatly sliced open the envelope, then drew out the letter it contained. Then, laying his wand and the envelope on his desk, he held the folded sheet to his chest, closed his eyes, and murmured, "Please let it be a yes." He then opened his eyes and unfolded the letter to read it. Dear Scorpius, I'm sorry to have to say this, but I won't be able to come to your house for dinner Friday night. It's not because I don't want to, and even my mum seemed okay with the idea. My dad, though, is being excessively overprotective, and put his foot down. I'm really, really sorry, Scorpius, and I hope you're not too disappointed. Mum thought instead (and Dad agreed--or at least he didn't disagree) that maybe you could come over here. Would Sunday afternoon work for you? I'm sure you've already done all of our summer essay assignments so I won't suggest we work on those together, but you did offer to help me with Disapparating earlier today, if you remember. We've got a decent-sized garden behind our house that would be a good place to practice in. And when we get bored of that (or you've had enough of watching me fall on my arse) you could try your hand at explaining that Muggle science you were studying the other day. I don't know if you know this, but Mum's Muggle-born, and she might be able to lend us a hand. Afterwards, you can join us for supper (my brother won't be there, thank Merlin, since he's leaving for New Zealand that morning, so it'll just be the four of us). It won't be nearly as fancy as I'm sure dinner at your house is, but the food is good, and there'll be no lack of entertainment even without Hugo. I really am sorry I can't have dinner with you and your mum, Scorpius. I hope your parents are a little more open-minded than my dad. Your friend, Rose PS: Mum just came in and said I should tell you that your mum is welcome to come on Sunday as well. PPS: Again, I'm really sorry I had to say no. Maybe if things go well on Sunday Dad will reconsider (that is, if you and your mum don't decide we're all barking mad and don't want to have anything to do with any of us ever again. I really hope that doesn't happen!) Scorpius carefully set the letter down on his desk, then took a few long strides backwards to sit on the end of his bed. He wasn't quite certain how to react. On the one hand, it wasn't the reply he'd been hoping for. On the other, Rose's counter-invitation indicated she was interested in seeing him again. On the other other hand, the idea had been her mother's, not hers. On the other other other hand, however, she seemed genuinely distressed at the thought of disappointing him. He lay back with a groan and scrubbed his hands over his face. So much for his fantasy scenario. Given what Rose had said about her father, and what Scorpius had observed for himself, there wouldn't be much opportunity for privacy at her place. If he was going to try to kiss Rose, he'd probably be doing it before an audience; more importantly, he'd probably find himself facing down Rose's irate father seconds later. Scorpius was confident he could defend himself, and probably even disarm Mr. Weasley, if it came to that, but it wasn't a prospect he relished. He'd probably be permanently banned from Rose's presence. Then again, to have just one chance to kiss Rose... it might be worth the risk. Scorpius took the letter from his desk and opened the door to his bedroom and listened carefully. He couldn't hear voices filtering up from below, but that might not mean anything. His parents rarely argued in his presence, and Father never raised his voice against Mother. To say the news that Rose Weasley-Granger had been invited to dinner at a time when Father would be away had not gone over well, however, would be a gross understatement. Father had been so incensed he'd threatened to send Scorpius to spend the remainder of the summer with his Malfoy grandparents, and, if that didn't do the trick, to transfer him to Beauxbatons for his final year of school. "This foolishness has gone on long enough," he'd said in a venomously even tone. "I'm through indulging both of you." His frustration threatening to boil over, Scorpius had got to his feet then, intending to confront Father in defense of both Rose and himself, but Mother had intervened, positioning herself between Scorpius and his father. "Let me handle this," she'd said to Scorpius in Italian. "Your thoughts are too occupied with Rose right now, and you will end up saying something you regret." For perhaps the first time in his life, Scorpius had felt resentful towards his mother. "I'm seventeen, Mother," he'd replied indignantly. "I'm a man now. I should be allowed to speak up for myself." "A man knows when to back down and let others speak on his behalf when he cannot be objective. You wouldn't enter a dueling ring in this state of mind, would you?" She'd gestured towards his left hand, which was clenching his wand so tightly his knuckles stood out. "You should have more sense than to draw your wand on your own father, Scorpius. Now go, and let me try to make him see reason. Later, when you are both calm, you can explain to him in your own words what you find so endearing about Rose." He'd submitted, albeit reluctantly, and went upstairs, closing the doors to the sitting room behind him. Whatever Mother had said to Father he didn't know; although neither of them had bothered with a Silencing Spell, this house was too solidly-built to allow more than murmurs to pass through walls. For now, though, all was quiet, so Scorpius headed downstairs. There was a distinct chill in the air when he entered the sitting room, but both of his parents were in there--Father reading a book, Mother at her easel--which Scorpius took as a good sign that they had at least reached a truce. What that meant for him, Scorpius knew he'd soon find out. They both looked up when he cleared his throat. "I've heard back from Rose," he said, "and she says she can't come." The look of triumph in Father's eyes was galling, but Mother's exclamation of regret soothed Scorpius' wounded ego. "Did she already have plans?" she asked. "Perhaps we could try for another--" "It's all right," Scorpius said. He gave his father a wary look. "She's invited us to her house, instead." Father's mouth dropped open slightly. "Us?" Scorpius tried not to falter. "Just Mother and me." Father's mouth clamped shut and he returned to his book. Emboldened by Father's non-reaction, Scorpius added, "Sunday afternoon, if that's all right, Mother. I'd like to send Rose a reply tonight, if I may." She wiped off her paintbrush and set it in a jar before coming over to take the letter Scorpius held out to her. She read over it quickly, touching her fingers to her lips to hide a smile when she got to the end, then turned to Father. "Do you have any objections, Draco?" "You know my feelings on the matter," he said irritably. She looked cross for a moment, but returned the letter to Scorpius with a smile. "Tell Rose we'll both be there at 2:30 on Sunday. Let her know I look forward to spending the afternoon with her mother." Scorpius beamed. "Oh, and Scorpius?" she said as he headed out of the sitting room. "Yes, Mother?" "Don't stay up 'til all hours composing your reply. The owls won't appreciate being sent out on a delivery at dawn." Draco waited until the doors had completely shut before he closed his book with a snap. "Their house? In the name of all that is sacred, you're letting him go to their house?" "I'll be there too, Draco." "As if that's supposed to make me feel any better." He got to his feet, tossing the book in the seat he'd just vacated, and went to stand by the fireplace, leaning his elbow on the mantel and propping his head up with his hand. "What happens after Sunday, Grazia? Have you thought about that? What happens if everything goes so splendidly they decide they want to do it again?" He looked at her in anguish. "Have you really thought about the long-term consequences of what's at stake here?" "You're talking about two children in love. What's so awful about that?" "Children, yes. That's what I'm on about. He's just a child. A na•ve child who has no idea what he's getting himself into." "He's trying to be a man, Draco. Why won't you let him?" She gradually approached. "Have you seen the way his face lights up when he looks at her? I remember when you used to look at me like that. Why do you want to deprive him of that?" "You don't understand. It's more complicated than--" He made a vague gesture with his hand. "--that." "Than what, lust? I don't think that's what's keeping you awake at night." She reached out and took his left hand, raising it so that his forearm was extended between them. Then, working quickly, she removed his cufflink and rolled up the shirtsleeve to his elbow. The image of a skull, a snake slithering out of its mouth, that had been branded there many years before was almost translucent, but still visible even against Draco's pale skin. Grazia's finger delicately traced the outline of the Dark Mark. "It's about this, isn't it?" she asked, gazing up at him. Draco closed his eyes, fighting back the urge to flinch, the compulsion to jerk his hand free of her grasp, the desire to roll down his sleeve and once again hide the symbol of his family's ignominy from her scrutiny. The Mark was not unknown to her, but she'd never before been so brazen about acknowledging it. "Draco, why are you trembling?" She released his hand to wrap her arms around him and lay her head on his chest. "It's about them, isn't it? Rose's family. You have a personal history with them." Draco swallowed, anticipating the next step in her thought process. "No, not her whole family. Her mother. Am I right? Because she's Muggle-born?" Draco extracted himself from Grazia's arms and stepped back, putting distance between them as he rolled down his shirtsleeve. "I always said you were much too clever for your own good, Grazia." He Summoned his traveling robe and threw it over his shoulders. Before she could ask he said, "I'm just going for a fly. Don't wait up for me." Then, before she could stop him, he swept out of the room. * * * * * Some time later, Draco returned to a quiet, darkened home, only the light in the entrance foyer to illuminate his return. It left him with mixed feelings; he was glad not to have to deal with Grazia when his emotions were still so raw, but he felt remorseful for the way he'd behaved so beastly towards her. His personal demons were not her fault. He hung up his traveling robe and was about to head upstairs for bed when he heard footsteps coming from upstairs. Girding himself for the inevitable confrontation, Draco waited at the foot of the stairs, his hand resting atop the newel post. To his surprise, it was not Grazia who came down, but his son. Draco glanced at the nearby clock. "It's nearly one, Scorpius. What are you still doing up at this hour?" "I've been waiting for you." "I see." He exhaled deeply. One confrontation was just as inevitable as the other, he supposed. "C'mon, then," he said, stepping back to allow Scorpius room to pass. They went into his study, where Draco ignited the lamps by the hearth as he strode across the room to the liquor cabinet. "Sit down," he instructed, confident Scorpius would obey. Then, after pouring a measure of Ogden's Old Firewhisky into two tumblers, he went to join Scorpius, handing him one of the tumblers. "Seeing as you're a man now, it seems only fitting I should serve you a man's drink," he offered by way of explanation in response to Scorpius' puzzled look. "Thank you," Scorpius said, still eyeing him warily. He took a tentative swallow, trying not to wince as the Firewhisky burned a hole straight to his stomach, igniting wildfires all the way down. Draco studied his son, admiring his self-control. The first time his father had given him Firewhisky, Draco'd had tears streaming out of his eyes and was left gasping for breath. It was hardly the first, or the last, time he'd disappointed his father. In homage to that inauspicious occasion, he tipped his tumbler back and drained its contents. "So," he said, once he'd put out the flames on his tongue, "tell me about Rose." "W-What?" Scorpius asked, trying not to cough. "I want to hear why you're so arse over teakettle for this girl. That is why you waited up for me, isn't it? I may not be as fluent in Italian as you and your mother, but I understand well enough." He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. "Why her, of all people? You could have any witch you wanted." Scorpius set down his tumbler. "The hell I could." "Sorry?" "Father, there's no use in pretending. I'm not as na•ve as you'd like to think I am. Grandfather and Grandmother Malfoy can live out the rest of their lives in France, you can present yourself as an honest, successful businessman, I can be the top student at Hogwarts, but it's not enough. For some people it will never be enough." Draco recognized the quaver of repressed anger in his son's voice all too well. "Go on." "Do you remember how difficult my first year at Hogwarts was?" He waited for his father to acknowledge his question before continuing. "That was just the beginning. At first, they all hated me because of you--because of you and Grandfather and Grandmother, and stories they'd all grown up hearing about the war." "You managed to fight back, though. You learned to defend yourself." "Against the attacks, yes, but there was nothing I could do about the rumors and gossip." He took a breath before continuing. "Then, during my fourth year, things changed." Draco's eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "Changed? How?" "That spring, people started to show interest in me. Except it wasn't me they were really interested in. It was all about you and Grandfather and Grandmother." "I don't understand." Scorpius licked his lips. He'd never shared any of this with anyone, not even his mother, and even the memory of it was excruciatingly uncomfortable. "Some people got it into their heads that Dark magic is... well, sexy--" "What?" "--and hoped that, as a Malfoy, I might know things that I'd be willing to... share. For a price." Draco was flabbergasted. "You're telling me that you were being propositioned, in exchange for what? Private tutorials in the Dark Arts?" "That's about the full measure of it, yes." "Why didn't you tell me any of this before?" Scorpius clasped his hands between his knees and shook his head. Draco turned and stared into the empty fireplace, ashamed to look his son in the face. "I knew I should have pulled you out of there after your first year. What a damned bloody nightmare." "I'm glad you didn't," Scorpius said, leaning forward. "Indeed?" "For one thing, I wouldn't have been appointed a Prefect. And if that hadn't happened, I might never have had a chance to get to know Rose." Draco turned back towards him and gestured for him to continue. "Fifth year was when we learned about the war in History of Magic. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs met together--" "She's a Hufflepuff?" "Yes." Draco snorted. "Figures." "Anyway, Rose and I were in the same classroom, learning the same things, such as how you'd become a Death Eater--" He stopped abruptly at a look from his father. "The day we learned about Albus Dumbledore's murder, Rose and I had been assigned to corridor duty that night. She'd have been well within her rights to beg off, get someone else to do it for her, so she wouldn't have to be alone with me." He paused. "She didn't. She came, right on time--well," he added with a laugh, "ten minutes late, but that's on time for her." Draco marveled at the way his son's face had softened as he recounted the memory, reminding him of how young Scorpius was. He couldn't understand why, but he could see that it had been a vitally important moment for his son. "You really do care for her, don't you?" "Father, she's the only person at Hogwarts who's judged me for who I am, and not who I'm related to. Considering who she's related to, I think that's a rather big deal." "Hm." "I like her, Father. A lot. She's clever, and funny, and she's kind to everyone--" "Especially you." "Especially me. And," he continued, lowering his voice, "I think she's the most beautiful girl I've ever known." Draco rolled his eyes. "I doubt she's the last girl you'll ever say that about." "Don't mock me, Father. I care about Rose as a friend, and I'd like for there to be something more between us." "Look, Scorpius," Draco said after a moment's hesitation, "whether I think you're emotionally mature enough or not, you are legally capable of making your own decisions and acting on them. However," he continued, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, "being an adult also means accepting the consequences of your actions. Think about what you said earlier, about the way students treated you. Think about who you are, about the family you were born into, and all that entails. Think about how your grandparents would react if they knew you fancied the daughter of a Mudblood." He raised his hand as Scorpius' chin jerked up in response to the epithet. "Think about it, son. If you care for Rose so much, why would you want to burden her with any of that?"
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