Nip it in the Bud
Title: Nip it in the Bud
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairings: Various Malfoys, references to Rose Weasley
Rating/Warnings: PG
Word Count: 622
Author's Note: Random drabble, which, incidentally, led to my current LJ name, "Accidental Genius".
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The men of the Malfoy family were almost flawless. After centuries of carefully planned unions and alliances, they had purged their line of weakness, stupidity, crudeness and unpleasant faces. They were an elegant sort, superior, perfect; all but for one remaining fault in their taste.
But perfection, as they had noted over time, could not be achieved entirely through good breeding. It took careful nurturing too, and strict discipline, to shape all that they desired in a worthy heir of their line. Over the years it had become easier; boys were born, increasingly willing to please their fathers and grandfathers, prouder and prouder of the name they carried. They needed only careful guiding to make the right choices, and to behave in such a manner that would assure society of their supremacy. The growing lines of portraits in their manor could have been content, had it not been for that one, unfortunate flaw.
A flaw, which with time became more pronounced, more worrying, to the point where framed ancestors would urge their successors to be careful, careful, to watch out for sings of the enchantment that seemed to ensnare every pale Malfoy without fault. They had all felt it, all struggled against it, that compelling fascination with glowing, red hair.
Ginger hair belonged on the heads of farmers, and freckles were blemishes most undesired on pure-blood skin. The aristocrats were pale, fine, smooth; they resembled marble statutes and unspoiled winter landscapes. After having struggled so long to become what they were, it would not do to have their white sheets soiled with red blood.
He considered himself lucky. He knew the temptations that had come before his fathers, and he admired them for their strength of character, their resolve and devotion. Himself, he had gotten off easily. She, the woman who had whipped her red mane in his direction, who had gazed at him with unbelievably green eyes, had been a mere Mudblood, relatively easy to ignore. He had torn his gaze from her without much effort, and found himself a suitable match. Everything else was irrelevant; he had done his part.
His son had been less fortunate, yet not the worst case in their history. The object of his affection had been pure-blooded to be sure, and for a while his son had been precariously close to falling into her trap despite the fact that she reeked with poverty. But she had proved just how unsuitable she was, not because she lacked gold, but by betraying the purity of her blood. His son had been safely married to a better woman, and fulfilled his duties.
What worried him was his grandson. The boy was entirely well-behaved, and in spite of his youth he already displayed a fine sense of power, and could be suitably condescending when needed. He was elegant, with watchful grey eyes under a perfectly smooth pure-blood forehead, and had a fine posture to match. To anyone else, he might seem like the final perfection of their line, but his grandfather did not share the enthusiasm of the portraits. While guiding his grandson through society, he had carefully observed that he seemed not to care about alluring red curls. His disinterest, surely a cause of celebration to his father, did not entirely convince his grandfather.
Lucius was worried indeed. Without arrogance, he was still convinced that he knew this temptation better than any Malfoy before him. He knew how hard it could be to resist, when it appeared without evident imperfections, from a family that seemed respectable. And he knew what it could do to a man, did he succumb to it.
He would see to that it didn’t happen to Scorpius. He would nip it in the bud.
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