Chapter Text
Lucius Malfoy was coldly furious as he viewed his face in the scrap of mirror he had been able to blackmail from the guard that morning. He looked bloody awful. It wasn't just that he had aged. No, in the past ten years in this hellhole, he had become old. His head was shaved once a month, as mandated by prison rules to keep lice and other vermin down in the Azkaban male population. What had once been lustrous blond locks had become grizzled stubble. His face, once described by his lovely, weak-willed wife as angelic, was craggy and care-worn.
He screamed in outrage, “Fuck!” And then again. “Fuck!”
He had always been vain. He knew, and freely admitted, that he was the most handsome man he knew. Who else could compete? Snape, Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, or the abomination that was the Dark Lord? He knew he far outstripped their looks, or at least had done, until he saw himself today. He smashed the bit of mirror against the wall, grinding the glass into his palm, enjoying the pain of the cuts. He screamed again, his outrage wordless this time. His fucking weak, useless, blood-traitor son would be here today with his dirty-blooded offspring, and Lucius Malfoy had just discovered he was hideous.
He smiled as he licked the blood from his hand, the cleanest liquid in his cell by far. At least he could count on Narcissa's devotion to him. There was always that.
&*&*&
Narcissa Malfoy had not changed at all. Azkaban had been kinder to her to her sister all those years ago. She still held court with the other Death Eater wives, she still aspired to the elegance that she could attain in the robes provided for her incarceration, and she still had the serenely supercilious expression she had possessed throughout her life. Yes, life had been good to Narcissa since she no longer had to deal with Lucius' vile temper and evil machinations. She didn't realise, until she had spent months apart from him, how much she hated him. She didn't realise, until years went by, how long that hate had been fostered in her heart. It had lodged there like a malformed, hunched dwarf for so many years. She had seen him, on occasion, as she passed from the women's section to the infirmary, and was thrilled that his self-vaunted looks had decayed. She was happy that his locks were shorn and grey, and that the bags under his eyes were permanent fixtures, not just packed for his trip to Azkaban. It was Lucius' fault she was here, instead of with her much loved, if misguided, son.
She would meet Draco today and her Muggle-spawn grandson. She didn't know how she could bear the shame of her grandson's parentage, but she would for Draco's sake. No matter what he did, or whom he chose to sleep with, he would always be her son. She kept telling herself that Severus Snape and The Dark Lord had both been half-bloods, and they were the most powerful wizards that she had ever known. She just hoped that half-bloodedness didn't mean her grandson would be as unfortunate to look at as either of them had been.
Narcissa dabbed a tear from her eye, not wanting to let the other women know that she had a momentary weakness. Her son would be here soon enough, and free this time, and that was all she cared about.
&*&*&
Draco cautioned his four-year-old son about acting like the good boy that he knew he was while they visited with his grandparents. Draco would brook no argument with his son when it came to his good behaviour, especially under these circumstances. His visit with his father would be first. He knew what to expect there. He had seen Lucius after the death of Tish Cavanaugh, Scorpius' mother. Lucius had been harsh in his judgment of his only son. Draco, with his newfound Catholic faith, had been hard-pressed to practice the forgiveness his religion dictated. He had masterfully masked his anger, and gone to confession after the visit. His penance had been twenty decades of the rosary and two days service in the soup kitchen. Trust Father Ian Cavanaugh to make him return there.
They arrived at the prison by Apparition. Draco wasn't pleased that he had to risk his son's well-being by that mode of travel, but the Floo-network had been shut down due to a security breach at the prison the week before. Scorpius was ecstatic, until they reached the building's grim facade. He grew solemn. “Daddy, is this where Toby is going to go school?”
“No, Little Man, that's in Scotland, at Hogwarts. Not here.” Draco took his son's hand. “Now, the guards, those men there behind the bars, are going to want to run their wands over you and Daddy. Just let them, so we can see the people Daddy is here to see.”
Father and son stood in line, and when it came their turn to be searched, Scorpius manfully bore the tickling blue light of the wand running over his squirmy little body. Draco rewarded him with a pat on the shoulder and a smile. The guards weren't as nice to the father, however. The wand's invasive corona burnt his skin and lingered over the most delicate parts of his body. Draco recognized the brute administering the punishing magic as the one in charge of his release, eleven years earlier. He had hated him then and could find little love for him now. His forbearance with the fool was due to his son's presence.
Once through the area, Draco scooped his son into his arms. “You were such a good boy. I'm going to take you to buy a toy broom tomorrow when we go to Diagon Alley. Would you like that?”
“Yeah!” Scorpius squealed.
The prison hadn't changed substantially since Draco had left its confines. The visiting area was new, but still marked by antiseptic white walls and paint-flecked grey bars of the rest of the rehabbed fortress. The tables were new. Draco was grateful for them. He had never received a visit while in prison, but when he had seen Lucius last, they had been forced to sit knee to knee. That was entirely too much contact for Draco, especially now, with his son in tow. He was directed to sit at a table in the middle of the room. Three chairs had been provided for them. Other guests fanned out at their designated spots, and Draco watched the far doors as the prisoners were lined up, ready for escort into the room. Lucius was first in line, his hands and legs bound to a chain looped about his midsection. Draco could sense wards around his person as well.
His father's pale eyes swept him disdainfully as he entered the area. Yes, Draco knew he was a disappointment to him. Yes, he knew Lucius did not approve of his son. Sod him, if Lucius thought he would be allowed to slight Scorpius in his presence. The younger Malfoy stood, drawing Scorpius with him. Both bowed, ever the dutiful heirs. Lucius made a lazy gesture with his hands, bidding them to sit. Draco suppressed a grimace at his father's laconic, good manners. “Father, I thought it time you met your grandson. This is Scorpius Francis Malfoy.”
The little boy squirmed under the scrutiny of the pater familias, while Draco took the opportunity to give his father the same regard. He was alarmed at the age that Azkaban had placed on his father. He remembered him, from his childhood, as being impeccable, masterful and handsome. He wasn't any of those things now, and Draco stifled the urge to look at him with pity. His father's eyes narrowed, as if in anticipation of the emotion crossing his son's face. They sat in uncomfortable silence for several beats of their hearts. Lucius finally recovered his manners. “My grandson, you say? This handsome young man?'
Scorpius, unused to being around the charm of his grandfather, scowled. “I'm not handsome, I'm smart.”
The statement brought a hoot of laughter from Lucius. He laughed until tears stood in his slate-coloured eyes. “Smart you are, young man.”
Lucius' eyes rested on his son's face, and Draco was surprised to see the prideful love in them. “I didn't want to admit it son, but I am pleased with your choices. I've heard of your job with the Ministry. Even though you're working with half-bloods and Mud... Muggle-borns, I hear you've made quite a name for yourself. And your son is everything I could want to continue the family name.”
Lucius cleared his throat, an old man sound that made Draco suddenly sad to hear it. To cover his momentary weakening, he goaded, “Well, Father, aren't you going to comment on his bloodline?”
Lucius' insincere look of betrayal was almost comical. He brought his hands to his heart; the gesture made clumsy, and a little pitiful, by the drag of the chains at his wrists. “Son, I assure you I no longer hold those sympathies.”
“Oh, you're trying for parole?” Draco asked, a bitter smile flitting around his mouth. “Surely the Ministry can't be that daft?”
Malfoy the Elder's lips tightened almost imperceptibly. He flicked an imaginary piece of fluff off his thin, prison-striped sleeve. “It isn't inconceivable. Especially since my own son, and heir, has made such an amazing reversal. These things do get around the Ministry, as you well know.”
Draco inclined his head, watching his own son as he swung his legs against the chair leg. He thought about telling his father that his change of heart was genuine, but knew that the effort would be wasted. Lucius leaned into his son, his voice low. “Good job, son. I knew forcing you to read The Prince when you were younger would do all of us some good. It was a stroke of genius putting your get in that Muggle.”
Cold fury flooded Draco at the words. He fought the urge to hex the sneering contempt off his father's face. “Is that all you wished to say, Father? Are there no recriminations for my actions?”
Draco placed his hand on his son's leg, arresting its motion.
“No,” Lucius replied. “I'll leave those to your Mother. She affects them so well.” An alarm sounded. “That's the cue for my exit. Please, let's do this again sometime.”
“Certainly, Father.” Draco stood, bowing. Scorpius launched himself at his grandfather, hugging him around the knees. Lucius' face became stony with unexpressed emotion. He patted the boy on the head, raking his fingers through the soft down at his nape. He turned as the guard assigned to him approached. Draco felt strangely bereft as his father's figure retreated through the bars.
The two then waited for Narcissa to enter. Lucius passed his wife on the way out, his face filled with longing for the woman he had chosen so long ago. Narcissa ignored him. She only had eyes for her son. She was not fettered by the shackles that Lucius had been, and as she neared, she opened her arms and embraced her son. “Draco, you are just as I pictured you.”
She ignored Draco's son. Draco gave a little sigh. This day was going as well as he had expected.
&*&*&
Diagon Alley was crowded with the bustling before-school crowds of late August. No matter how many times Liz had been here with Draco, she could never get used to the place. She had always been put off by the magical world, given that her introduction to it had been so traumatic. In a crowd of wizards and witches, she felt like a nobody. She hated that feeling.
Draco walked a little ahead of her, his eyes on the two Muggle-born boys they escorted on their first trip to the Alley. Her Hogwarts-aged son, Toby, walked resolutely beside her. In the last three years, he had become quite a charming boy, and of course, he looked nothing like her. Some days, lately, she could barely stand to look at him because he reminded her of the week she had spent in hell. She still dreamed of the assaults inflicted by the wizard who had impregnated her. She had only been fifteen and a virgin to boot. Early on in Toby's life, she had been able to overlook the differences in her colouring and his, the curling brown hair, the square jaw, the hazel eyes. He was handsome where she was plain. Now, as the ghost of his father's face became more evident, she had to stop herself from shrinking from his outward shows of affection. She loved her boy; she just couldn't stand to look at him.
Draco, her best friend of the last four years, had noticed. She reckoned he couldn't help, but he had taken the place of the boy's (hopefully) dead father, and she was grateful. Now, if she could find an equally willing mother for him, one who wouldn't hate his face as much as she apparently did... Shite. She took his hand in hers, and he grimaced. He was getting to be such a grown-up boy now. Even with her mixed feelings, she hated to see him go. He had been the only relationship she had in the last eleven years.
Draco stopped at the Quidditch shop to get Scorpius the toy broom he had promised. The two children they escorted gabbled excitedly at him, asking questions about which team he preferred and what the best broom was. Liz hung back, letting her son join in the commotion around her boss. She leaned against the outside wall of the shop, suddenly tired from the day's bustling. She closed her eyes, letting the last of the summer sun bathe her face. Someone trod on her toe and she cursed roundly. She opened her eyes to the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He had brown hair that shone with golden highlights in the sun. His face was square, but softened by the bluest eyes she had ever seen. His smile was sweet, almost saintly. “I'm sorry, Madam. I wasn't paying attention...”
Liz's breath caught in her throat, and she had to swallow before she could answer. “I, ah, I'm not married. And I'm sorry for... Well, I'm sorry.”
The man's gaze faltered, then swept up Liz's body, not lasciviously, but definitely interested. She smiled, shyly. “M'name's Longbottom. Neville Longbottom. Let me make my clumsiness up to you, please.”
Draco took that moment to break away from the group of excited boys. He nodded a greeting at Liz's foot-trodder, “Longbottom. Liz, we have to get these young men home soon.”
Liz rolled her eyes, and sank back against the building's hot surface as the man's interested gaze faltered in Draco's presence. The man nodded coolly to Malfoy. “I didn't know you were allowed out alone on Diagon Alley, Malfoy.”
As Liz had seen a hundred times before, her friend gave an odd shift of his shoulders at the insult. His tone was cool as he said, “Liz, are you ready?”
The Longbottom man stared between the two of them for a moment and then nodded at Liz, a polite, non-committal gesture. He strode off, his booted feet ringing on the cobbles. Liz cursed under her breath. It wasn't like Draco had interrupted anything earth-shattering. She just had so few men who were interested in her. Not that Draco would know that she liked men. She still regretted implying she was a lesbian when they first met. It had just seemed easier to stop unwanted attention at the time. She took his offered arm, letting her gaze linger on the retreating back of the only man that had shown any interest in her since she conceived her son.
&*&*&
Draco was back at his modest flat, his son was in bed, and he finally had time to reflect on his week. His Very Eventful Week. The phrase sounded like one of the incredibly silly movies that Liz had taken him to see over the course of their friendship. His life was no stuff of movie plots, however. He sighed, and wished for the thousandth time that he hadn't given up drinking when he gave up heroin. Sober is as Sober does.
Lucius had been the scheming bastard he had expected on his visit. Some things never changed. Of course, his father would try to work Draco's situation to his advantage. He had expected that. His mother's response, on the other hand, had been truly enlightening. He had always known the depths of her shallowness. He just hadn't realised how complicit she had actually been in the Malfoy family's downfall. Not that his mother would ever admit it, but he had witnessed her absence of interest in Scorpius. With something akin to crawling disgust, he realised he would never be her son again. Narcissa, herself, had ensured that fact when she had mildly rebuffed Scorpius' advances with her look of distaste. Lucius had at least acknowledged the boy, and had even allowed his grandson to hug him.
&*&*&
Liz prepared her son's trunk for his trip to Hogwarts the next day. She hated herself as she cried over the pants she folded. She hated the hiccoughing sob that tore from her as she laid his freshly pressed shirts atop the pile. Her son was leaving her, and she hated him for that.