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“Fadda, Tuttel!”
Draco followed his son’s little finger towards one of the most hideous things he’d ever seen in his life. It was concealed by such a large amount of plastic that Draco wondered why there was still an ozone layer protecting earth’s inhabitants from the deadly radiation from the sun. A humanoid turtle with a bandana. Only a Muggle could come up with this nonsense. He had to summon all of his acting abilities to muster a particular ugly faked smile, but Scorpius seemed to buy it as he smiled his most heart-melting smile. He loved the boy so much, that it hurt sometimes. Getting smacked in the face with reality became literally when a slender, handsome saleswoman walked towards them, pound-marks already visible in her dark eyes. Draco bit his lip so hard that he could taste the copper taste of his own blood. It hurt, but not as much as what surely was going to happen next.
“They’re cute, aren’t they?” she said, while crouching down to face his beautiful boy. Draco saw the sincere enthusiasm that only a child could show, growing in his bright eyes. He hated this. Draco, whose knowledge of life exceeded every single person in the mall (and he was only in his late twenties) should have known better. Why didn’t he go to the bakery instead? Why did he allow himself to be manoeuvred in this uncomfortable and painful position by the love of his life? Why did he enter this building, despite the fact that he was familiar with pushy shop-assistants throwing themselves onto their prey: a small boy with watery and compelling eyes and a well-trained pout? The vulture looked at Draco with her dark eyes, knowing all too well that she had him cornered; adeptly bringing forth the huge amount of guilt festering in his stomach.
“Do you want to try one out?” the saleswoman said with her most endearing smile. Draco knew better. She was playing her part very well and effectively went for the kill, breaking a young, single parent’s heart. Vicious little bitch!
“No, Scorpius,” Draco said, interrupting the woman’s attempt to free the monstrosity from its plastic prison. “We still have to buy a loaf of bread, Goldilocks. Auntie Pansy is waiting for us.”
“Leave the boy be,” the sales woman said, her boldness skilfully hidden inside the cheerful tone in her voice. “He just wants to take a look, won’t you, dear?”
Scorpius smiled at her, but his eyes were glaring holes in Draco’s body. He recognised that look all too well. It was that particular look that remembered Draco of his wife, and it still hurt. The way her eyes could pierce a man, discovering the truth, did more damage than her inhumanly sharp tongue. It was the last time she’d laid her eyes upon him, before leaving Malfoy Manor for good.
Draco shook his head as in trying to erase the memory, but his son was still looking at him; blazing fire cooled down by salty water. Anger perfectly mixed with disappointment and grief. A born manipulator. A true heir to the Malfoy dominion. How could Draco ever live with the consequences of letting his boy, whom he loved more than any person on this world, get hurt all the time, because of Draco’s countless failures. Scorpius was and always will be the only good thing in his life. Could Scorpius understand why Draco did what he did? Would he blame Draco for those failures? Would he, when he’s old enough to understand, walk out of his luxurious prison, just like Scorpius’ mother did?
Despite that, Draco had no choice but to add another scar onto his already fragile soul. He straightened his back, while opening his mouth. Draco heard the cold words leaving his mouth as he looked his son into his eyes. He was such a selfish bastard!
“No means no, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,” Draco said sternly. “No more. You’re coming with me. Do you understand me, young man?”
“Sir...”
“Dadda...”
“Enough!” Draco said, his voice loud and breaking slightly; a sign of his festering guilt. Draco knew the saleswoman and his son would interpret it as ruthlessness. “And would you be so kind to mind your own business, miss?”
“Fadda stupid!” Scorpius howled; his pale face red with fury as he tried to free himself from his father’s firm grip. “Fadda stupid!”
“Behave yourself, boy,” Draco hissed; his face flushed with humiliation as the saleswoman shook her head in a disapproving way.
“Fadda neva give me anything!” Scorpius cried out; tears flowing down his cheeks. “Dadda stupid! Hate you! Hate you!”
Draco swallowed audibly as his son’s harsh words nearly reduced him to a pile of misery. He would do everything to give his son what he desired. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
Then a familiar voice reached Draco’s ears, causing a badly needed distraction to wipe away his tears without losing the tiny bit of grace he’d left. Draco raised his head, feeling like he just had been punched in the crown jewels. The man, the source of the voice, standing before him, smiling uncomfortably, didn’t make it better. No...
“Could you please wrap Michelangelo? Or do you prefer Donatello, Scorpius?”
“Definitely not!” Draco hissed, quickly coming back to his senses, as he glared at the man. The last thing he needed right now, was the pity of Harry bloody Potter. “You don’t have to do this, Potter.”
“But I want to,” Potter said, while winking at Draco’s son.
“I don’t give a fuck about what you want, Potter!” Draco hissed, his voice reduced to a faint whisper, so only Potter could hear him. “Scorpius doesn’t need your money!”
“Is this about your son or your own goddamn pride, Malfoy,” Potter said, the icy tone in his voice nearly surpassing Draco’s. “I don’t have a hidden agenda, believe me. Please don’t make a scene. Think about the boy.”
Draco sighed audibly. Nothing was worse than being told off like a child by a sworn arch-nemesis. Apart from disappointing your own child. Potter was right. Not that he would ever admit it. Draco doubted that he would ever forget this humiliation : getting into a row about a fucking doll in a crowded store. Could a Malfoy sink even lower? “Alright then.”
“Yes, dada!” Scorpius yelled, enthusiastically grabbing Draco’s legs, nearly squeezing them to a pulp. Draco’s lips involuntary turned into a smile, desperately wishing that Potter wouldn’t notice. Too late...
“Say thank you to Mr Potter,” Draco said as he lifted up his son. Scorpius shyly bit his lip, nearly crawling into his father. “Where are your manners, boy?”
“Thankoe, Mr Potta,” Scorpius mumbled, blushing furiously.
“You’re welcome, love,” Potter said, while following the saleswoman. He turned around and winked at Scorpius...or was it Draco?
“Dadda?”
Draco turned his head towards his son, who was trying to wrestle himself out of Draco’s grip.
“You sick?” Scorpius said, touching Draco’s cheek. “You burnin’. You red.”
“No, I’m fine,” Draco whispered, absent-mindedly. “It’s the heat.”
“You lookin’ at Mr Potta’s bottom,” Scorpius said, cooing with pleasure. “I saw. I saw.”
“Keep your voice down,” Draco whispered, looking around in a state of panic.
Circe’s rack...