Work Text:
- Orion, there's something wrong with our son!
The man sets aside a cup of aromatic tea and a fresh newspaper, which, was incredibly boring, but considered the most prestigious publication in the field of economics.
He looks up to see his wife, who had just burst into the living room in a stream of black silk, lace and a trail of niche perfume, something about the graves of saints and royal blood. He smiles at her stiffly, summoning all his patience.
- You've been saying this since you started craving chocolate-covered champignons during pregnancy, - he tries to joke, but Walburga isn't in the mood for jokes. She puts her hands on her hips and looks at him as if he is guilty of all the sins, or rather that their son has messed up again.
If Orion had been a little more courageous, he'd have told Walburga that Sirius was her exact copy. She was just as crazy when she was a kid.
- What did our heir do again? - he sighs wearily.
- Your son is a disgrace to our family!
- God, did he pull the girl's braid? - Orion snorts with feigned horror.
And what else can a four-year-old boy do?
Walburga gives him a displeased look.
- It'd have been better if it had been, - she snorts back. - Our son was playing with the Potters' son with sticks!
Orion frowns. He doesn't see anything wrong with that. The Potters are their equals. There's nothing wrong with their son playing in the sandbox with young James Potter.
Unless...
- Were they fighting with sticks? - he asks carefully.
- It'd be better if it were! - the woman throws up her hands.
By God, she wants to raise their son to be some kind of tyrant.
As his wife strides across the room with wide steps, full of anger at the tips of her heels, he grabs her by the waist and pulls her onto his lap.
- Orion! - she exclaims in frustration.
- Come on, Wally. Tell me what's wrong, dear.
He strokes her back in a soothing manner, and his wife relaxes slightly, but her lips remain firmly pressed together.
She puts her arms around his neck, and the anger gradually fades from her beautiful face. But now it becomes sad.
- Our son wrote "I love you, Jamie. Marry me when we grow up" in the sand with the stick. And that Potters' boy... he drew a huge "yes" in the middle of the yard... and everyone saw it!
Orion freezes, startled by his wife's words.
- Did Sirius write this correctly? - he asks. So, the lessons of that expensive tutor weren't in vain!
- Yes, - Walburga sighs. - But there is little joy from it. How am I going to look into the eyes of my friends now, whose daughters could become wonderful brides for our son in the future? And how should I deal with Euphemia? It's our son who's trying to grab her son!
Orion gently strokes his wife's cheek, which is flushed with embarrassment and indignation.
- Sweetheart, don't worry so much. They're still children. They'll forget about it a hundred times.
- Are you sure? - Walburga asks hopefully, looking at him as she hadn't looked at him for a long time. In search of support.
- Of course, - Orion nods confidently, kissing her on the cheek.
But considering that their son inherited his mother's stubbornness and determination, they should think about having another son if they want to ensure the continuation of their family line.