Chapter Text
Damp deep-green meadows and bare trees covered the lands of Wiltshire, marked by the ongoing weeks of raw weather. Only a lordly manor house and its grounds at the end of a private lane indicated the beginning of Advent season with a dusting of snow, curiously stopping abruptly at the property line. Behind the tall and thick laurel hedges hundreds of fairy lights, hanging from tall ancestral trees, illuminated the grey of the morning with a golden glow.
Inside Malfoy Manor even more merry lights ensured that there was not a single shadow left throughout the opulent rooms and hallways. Sparkling silver ribbons and pastel-coloured ornaments festooned the bannisters and the mantelpieces of the huge fireplaces. Some of the more ancient and aristocratic house-elves also set up some Yule décor. The natural materials mixed in beautifully with the colourful, sparkling Christmas knick-knacks. Yule logs covered in pinecones and small branches, crystal figurines of mushrooms, stags, and goats, and occult wreaths enclosing Pegan symbols like Pentagrams and Keltic Knots definitely sparked nostalgia in Draco Malfoy. It beautifully melted the pureblood customs to celebrate the winter solstice with the cheerful touch of Christmas that his wife once bestowed on him.
Draco, still dressed in his silken morning gown, his long hair carelessly put up in a messy bun, strolled around the endless corridors, trying to get a glimpse of every room of his stately home. He kept greeting and congratulating each and every elf he saw on his way.
“Such a beautiful wreath, Hoopy”, he said and continued his journey from the kitchen to the formal sitting room, “Lilsey what a jolly Christmas tree! Oh, would you shift this ornament into one of the less formal rooms, please? We don’t want to scare off guests, now do we?”
He sceptically eyed a wood-carved ornament; huge, pointy antlers covered in ancient runes enclosed a pentagram. It sure looked striking, but even 22 years after the war, Draco had a reputation to maintain, too valuable to be questioned upon an utterly Dark-Magic-looking Yule decoration.
“Marvellous!” Draco declared upon entering his favourite parlour, merrily decorated in pastels and floating candles, “Splendid work, Codrey.” The elf bowed in acknowledgement before he continued to decorate a lavish Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Draco’s cheerful mood grew even bigger when his phone rang, audibly vibrating on a side table next to a light blue settee. There was no need to check – only one person in the world would call him on a phone. He picked up the familiar yet truly peculiar Muggle device and relaxed into the settee, accepting the video call.
“Scorpius, my dear boy! How are you?”
“Hi Dad. Oh, you know… How are you?” Scorpius drawled, looking pale and troubled.
“I’m doing great. What is it, darling? You look so upset. And where even are you? Are you in a broom cupboard?” Draco was glad to have this phone to see his son. Otherwise they would be limited to letters and there was no way Scorpius would have put anything of this mood into a letter. His written words were always kind and thoughtful, but never as blunt as he could be in an actual conversation.
“No, I’m in an empty classroom. Just sitting against a wall.” Scorpius’ white-blond, sleek hair fell from the crown of his head down over his dark eyebrows into his slate grey eyes, and Draco felt the urge to push the strands out of his face.
“Oh, I see,” Draco said, pursing his lips. “Is he still not talking to you?”
Scorpius looked like he was holding a breath, obviously contemplating his words and Draco didn’t push him. Finally, his son sighed. “Yes, no, I mean- We did talk yesterday. That’s the problem.”
“You mean, you and Albus had a fight?” Draco asked and after another sigh, Scorpius said, “Well, yes.”
“Alright then,” Draco swiftly pulled his wand and conjured a steaming hot cup of tea. “Tell me all about it. What did he say? Maybe an argument was exactly what you two needed.”
“I’m not sure. At least he said that it has nothing to do with me speaking to Rose. That’s something, I suppose. But,“ his eyes flickered over the screen, before he spoke again, “But he said his dad doesn’t want us to be friends. And then his dad came to Hogwarts last month as a guest lecturer for DADA and they had a fight, apparently. Dad, I…”
Scorpius shifted around a little before standing up and sitting down on a chair. Sipping his tee, Draco decided not to interrupt his son even though a wild range of thoughts crossed his mind upon the revelation of Potter telling his son to unfriend his Scorpius. “Look. When his dad was here and the others were mocking Albus – like, very cruelly, don’t even get me started – and then Mr Potter wanted to speak to Albus alone. So I left them alone. Of course, right?”
“Of course,” Draco agreed and sipped his tea, frowning.
“And when Albus came back to the common room, he was angry at his dad and at me too. See, I must’ve said something wrong then. I said something like, his dad probably had his reasons and that there must be some kind of misunderstanding – there must! And then Albus said, Sure, he must be right – he always is! I’ll better be listening to him and stop talking to you , and I told him that I just wanted him to get along with his dad again. Well, you know the rest of the story… Not one word in six weeks. Anyhow. Yesterday we tried to talk, and I was very, very careful with what to say. But when I finally asked if his dad was still angry with him, he just snapped at me and asked me which side I was on.”
Absently, Scorpius started flicking a little brooch pinned to his robes. Draco knew it was his favourite thing, and you could hardly spot Scorpius without the little silver scorpion on his chest. It also happened to be a gift from Albus. “I don’t get it, dad. He tried to talk to me about classes and I messed it up. But I just want to be there for him. He’s been through so much.”
“So have you,” Draco said with a shaky smile, touched by Scorpius’ kindness.
When Astoria died five years ago, Draco and Scorpius had been devastated. They had always known that the lethal blood curse that ran in her family would take its toll eventually but there was simply no way to prepare his ten-year-old boy of what was to come. Even the thought of his first year at Hogwarts barely sparked any joy in Scorpius while Draco frantically tried to hold himself together. They mourned and after some weeks mainly spent in a deafening silence, they started to speak again, very quietly. Step by step they started to enjoy things again in their now shrunken family; they picked up Scorpius’ homeschooling again, food finally stopped tasting stale, and Draco even taught Scorpius a ball dance. A task Scorpius’ mother had started months ago but was never able to finish.
They were two instead of three now. It bound them together, deeply so, after the first shock.
But at times, there had been no way for Draco to get through to him. He felt Scorpius’ insecurities, shying away from people; he’d rather read a book or spend time with his dad than playing with peers. Talking to him hadn’t felt like talking to a child anymore. But Draco was glad that Scorpius was eager to learn all the same. He taught him math and astronomy, French and Latin, cutting potion ingredients and flying a broom, the four elements and philosophy. Their studies had radically picked up in pace in contrast to the years before his mother’s death.
Draco had feared the day to let him off to Hogwarts. Their grief was still so fresh and their new-found confidence very fragile. But then a wonderful thing had happened. Scorpius met Albus Potter. Albus Potter of all people. But it turned out that they were sorted to be fellow Slytherins and that Scorpius almost didn’t seem depressed when he had come home for his first Christmas holidays that year. And Draco had learned that Albus was a lonely boy, taunted for being sorted into Slytherin as a Potter, taunted for his allegedly underwhelming magical abilities, not living up to his father’s legacy.
If anything, the longer he knew the youngest Potter boy, he started to remind Draco of his own childhood. Especially with the things Scorpius had just said. A father who was keen to dictate his friendships, who came to school to reprimand his son. He couldn’t deny that he did not only feel incredibly sad for his Scorpius, but for Albus, too. Draco has only met him briefly several times, but he always mused why Albus never came over to the Manor or why the two boys hadn’t met elsewhere during the summers. Draco would have understood if Potter weren’t a fan of Malfoy Manor, but part of him wished, he would simply see the house. It has changed a lot since Voldemort had occupied his home; it’s been repainted and most wings were completely renovated, rooms and stairs had changed positions in Draco’s and Mother’s attempt to forget what had happened there.
Unknowingly mimicking his son, Draco sighs before he utters his thoughts at last. “Listen. Three things, darling. First of all, you are a good person and a good friend. And no one, not even the Harry Potter can say anything else. So don’t ever think this is your fault. Second, Albus and his dad both are dreadfully unreasonable and ill-tempered. Third – you are a Slytherin, though. Find out what Albus wants to hear. Charm him. You know him well.”
“Yeah, but it won’t change the fact that Mr. Potter hates me. Why does it have to be Harry Potter?! He’s such an intriguing person from what I’ve read about him. You must’ve been a pain in the arse to him in school…”
“Language,” Draco scolded him but smirked and felt a little relief rush through his system when Scorpius chuckled a little. “We were rather obnoxious teenagers in our Hogwarts years, I’m afraid. Don’t you worry about that. Just talk to Albus and try not to take his dad under your wings again,” Scorpius protested reluctantly, but Draco ignored him, “He’s not looking for a spiritual advisor but a friend in you right now. And you are going to have a much easier time advising him when you two are on good terms with each other.”
Scorpius thought for a moment, then nodded. “I know what you mean. I’ll try, I guess.” He paused briefly and something joyful sparked in his eyes that reminded Draco very much of the little boy Scorpius once was. “Are the decorations set up yet?”
With a fond smile Draco nodded and turned the camera to show the parlour and allow Scorpius a glimpse of the hallway. “Yes, I can’t wait to have you home for Christmas, chéri. Your room reflects your taste perfectly. I’m sure you’ll be delighted. Did you receive the package I sent you yet?”
The small smile on Scorpius’ face extended into a full-on grin. “Yeah, I did! What kind of chocolate is in it? The packaging wasn’t really clear about it.”
“Ah, ah. It’s an Advent calendar for a reason. You’ll have to see for yourself. I only advise you not to tell your Professors and to have no more than one piece a day. Don’t rip the whole thing apart, alright?”
Scorpius just rolled his eyes. “Dad, please … I’m not an impatient child. I’ll call you or Owl you on Tuesday when I open the first window. Or drawer or whatever it is. Looks fancy. Oh, next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend by the way. Can we meet there? And can I send you a list with books? I’m sure most of them are in our library but maybe one or two are not. Would you get them for me, please?” When he saw Scorpius’ eager eyes, Draco couldn’t help but laugh a little. He told his son that they would meet there and that he’d bring all the books he wanted.
Scorpius has always been indifferent about his schoolmates seeing his show of affection for his dad or his friends. So he simply didn’t care what others would say when he met his father on every other Hogsmeade weekend. Never had Draco agreed, let alone asked his father to meet him in Hogsmeade as a teenager.
“I’ll go up into the library now. The common room is just too crowded on Sundays…” Scorpius rolled his eyes at the mere idea of too many people around him and flicked his hair out of his eyes, locking them directly on the camera briefly. Sometimes Draco felt like he was looking at his 14-year-old self in a mirror when he saw his son. The same high cheekbones, slate grey eyes, almost white hair, pale skin, and slender figure. Yet his character was so utterly different. Kind and understanding, brave in a way Draco never was before he was in his thirties. But Scorpius had his dad’s wits and academic curiosity, Draco must give himself credit for that. “I’ll call you on Tuesday! Thanks for your advice, Papa. And for the Advent calendar. Love you!”
“And I you. Take care, my dear boy. I miss you.” Draco’s fond smile didn’t fade when they hung up and he drank the rest of his now cold tea. Musing about Scorpius and his friend, Draco’s gaze wandered over a set of Yule decorations on the mantelpiece. In between the pine branches stood a crystal figurine; a proud stag with showy antlers, gracefully frozen in his movement, one leg up, chest swollen, and his head turned sideways, away from Draco.
He needed to do something about Potter.