'til the water runs clear (harry potter)
'til the water runs clear
harry potter “The letter comes while your mother and father are teaching you to fly.” (scorpius malfoy, draco malfoy/asteria malfoy, lucius malfoy/narcissa malfoy, 2,389 words)
notes: for tabitha666’s FABULOUS prompt When Scorpius gets his Hogwarts letter, his parents and grandparents sit him down to explain about the war. They tell him people will probably not be kind to him and asks him whether he wants to go or not.
your soundtrack (AKA the song that this is kind of based on. I JUST NEED EVERYONE TO LOVE TOM WAITS, YO)
-
i'm gonna wash the sins of my father
i'm gonna wash the sins of my mother
i'm gonna wash the sins of my brother
‘til the water runs clear
(TOM WAITS)
-
The letter comes while your mother and father are teaching you to fly. You spot the owl in the sky, a large tawny thing with long wings and a letter tied to its leg, but you pay no mind. You are used to owls, after all.
(Your father bought you a new broom for your birthday and you’ve spent nearly four hours on it already, swooping around in the air, turning figure eights around the trees, diving and whooping and catching the leather balls your mother throws at you.
“Well done, Scorpius!” she calls, grinning and applauding when you catch the fifth one, her cheeks flushed pink and eyes bright, her dark hair a tangled mess, whipped out of its braid from the wind.)
When your father sees the owl, his brow crinkles and his gray eyes narrow. Your mother says, “Draco?” but he just shakes his head, flies down to the ground and dismounts, running inside the Manor, his broom abandoned on the grass. Your mother looks at you and smiles, but you can tell that something is… off.
A few minutes later, your father waves you both down, thick parchment in his left hand and a determined look on his face.
-
Here’s the thing: You don’t really know much about the magical world. You know the basics, the ins and outs of things. You know about Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. You have been to Diagon and Knockturn Alley and you know your way around the former (your mother encourages you to avoid the latter). You’ve been to Hogsmeade, but only inside a few shops there.
You know that you are a pureblood (but that doesn’t mean much these days - you know that, too). You know there was a war once, when your father and mother were teenagers, but you’re pretty vague on the details. You know a little bit about Harry Potter and you know that he’s friends (kind of) with your father.
(By “kind of” you gather that they sometimes exchange terse conversations and greetings when they see one another at work. You also know that your mother and Harry Potter are Aurors together but you gather from the way she talks about him that they don't care for each other.)
Actually, you don’t know much about your father at all. You know he was a Slytherin and played Seeker for his House team. You know he was a self-admitted, “little arse” at school and you know that he’s got a mess of scars on his left forearm that he keeps covered. He rarely talks about his school days, preferring to talk about you or your mother. You know he makes potions for a living, for St. Mungo’s, but that’s about it.
Your grandparents are an even bigger mystery to you, but you’ve always found it odd that when you go out with your grandfather, people either hide their faces or sneer at him and call him names, but people nod at your grandmother and treat her with a sort of reverence, calling her Madame Malfoy and bowing their heads at her.
Your parents have done a good job of sheltering you from things, avoiding most topics or changing the subject entirely. Sometimes, you ask your mother about your father and grandparents, but she just smiles at you and says, “Someday,” in this vague yet firm tone that effectively terminates the conversation.
Perhaps, you think, you hope, this is that someday that your mother was talking about. You think that that yellow envelope has all the answers you want.
-
You find yourself seated between your mother and grandmother on the elegant royal blue couch in the parlor. Seated opposite, both upright and almost rigid in matching blue armchairs are your father and grandfather.
There is a heavy silence in the air and next to you, your grandmother twists her wedding ring round and round her finger.
Finally, you say, “Did I do something wrong?” and it’s the first thing anyone has said in about ten minutes.
Father surprises you by laughing, a harsh sound, unexpected and he shows too many teeth when he grins at you in a strained way that does not reach his eyes. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, Scorpius, you didn’t do anything.”
You pause and look at your mother. She’s looking at your father, her green eyes narrowed and her face unreadable. She worries her lower lip between her teeth a little.
She nods at him and your father takes the heavy, yellow parchment out of his pocket and passes it to you. “Read that,” he instructs you softly.
Your fingers tremble as you open it and you aren’t sure why. In emerald green ink, the letter reads, Dear Scorpius Malfoy, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - and you stop reading. You put the letter down on the polished oak table and say, “That’s a good thing, right?”
There’s that silence again, thick and heavy in the air.
Your grandfather wets his lips and coughs. Takes a sip of tea and says, “Scorpius, do you know what happened during the last war?”
“No,” you say, your tone hotter than you wanted it to be. “No one tells me anything. I tried picking out a book about it at the store once and father took it away.” You are glad to see your father wince at this and you think, serves him right viciously.
“Scorpius,” your grandmother begins, her voice soft and she lays a small, soft hand on your wrist, long fingers laying gently across the underside. “Scorpius, during the war… We all made poor choices.”
“Except your mother,” Father interrupts. “Your mother didn’t do anything, which is why no one should treat him badly at school -”
Mother snorts and waves a hand at this comment, her silver rings and bangles glittering in the light. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, tossing back her curtain of heavy black hair. “People only remember the bad and his last name isn’t Greengrass, it’s Malfoy and all that’s what they’ll think of when they see him. Durmstrang is the best option for him, I feel. Or Beauxbatons - his French is passable and they’ve got better Charms and Transfiguration courses than Hogwarts, anyway.”
“Norway is too far away,” Grandmother says, tightening her grip on your wrist, nails biting into your skin. “I agree with Asteria. I think that Beauxbatons would be best.”
Grandfather scoffs. “If anyone holds what Draco and I did against Scorpius, then they’re not worth anything, anyway. Anyone petty enough to hold a grudge against an eleven-year-old - ”
“What are you all talking about?” you finally demand and they all look at you, blinking like they’re surprised to see you’re still in the room.
Again, the silence falls and Grandmother clears her throat. “Scorpius, darling, there’s a reason why we try to avoid… certain topics.” She pauses and closes her mouth. You can see her run her tongue along her upper teeth and she says, “Your father, grandfather and I made some poor decisions during the war. Do you know who You-Know-Who was?”
“Kind of,” you answer dubiously, lacing your fingers together. Again, that’s another taboo topic. You say, “I know he killed a lot of people.”
Your grandmother nods and out of the corner of your eye, you see your father wince again slightly, his hand going to his left forearm where you know he has scars, scars he refuses to explain. “Your grandfather supported him,” your grandmother says in a quiet voice. “He and I both did. We were foolish. We bought into his ideals of pureblood supremacy and we thought… we thought he would make the world a better place for people like us, for purebloods.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes, takes a breath and continues. “We were so foolish. And then when your father was sixteen, he was recruited to work for You-Know-Who as well. Your grandfather was in prison and this was like the punishment for him failing one of the missions.” She takes a deep breath. You can see the tears beginning to form in her large eyes. “He was ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore.”
For a moment, you forget how to breathe. You look at your father and his white, impassive face and his pale hand on his forearm, clutching it as though it burns him. You say, “Did you?”
He just shakes his head and Grandfather reaches over and pats your father’s arm. Grandfather says, “It was just easier to ally ourselves with him than to risk being his enemy.”
You don’t know what to do or what to think so you just sit there, feeling numb. Your mother puts an arm around your shoulders. “It’s in the past now,” she whispers in your ear, kissing your temple. You push her away a little and there is a ringing in your ears. “You supported a murderer?” you whisper and you can hear your grandmother sob a little next to you. Your grandfather can’t meet your eyes as he repeats, “It was the easy choice, Scorpius, you don’t understand…”
You ignore him and you shake your head. The ringing in your ears won’t quit and you feel ready to throw up.
Father says in a thick voice, “Scorpius, I understand if your opinion of me is lowered” and you don’t know what to think or say or do so you just shrug.
You ask to be excused.
You have a lot to think about.
-
A few hours of sitting in your room alone later and thinking about what you’ve just learned, turning it over and over in your mind and you go downstairs. Your mother and father are in the parlor, holding hands with their heads bent together. You like the way his white-blonde hair contrasts with her black hair and your mother looks up. She smiles at you and you force yourself to smile back.
“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly, the same way she asks when you’ve been ill.
Honestly, you are tired and overwhelmed and there’s too much in your head so you just say, “’m okay.”
There’s a clacking sound behind you and you recognize your grandfather’s cane against the floor and you feel your grandmother’s hand alight on your shoulder. You look down and her hands are still small, still delicate and you wonder how either of your grandparents or your father could possibly do terrible things.
It hurts a little bit to think about so you go back upstairs.
-
The next few days are a blur of tension, of awkward dinners, cleared throats and sentences that start and are followed by a pause and a shake of the head, a look down at a lap, a table, the floor.
A week after you get your letter, your father says, “So, Scorpius, would you like to attend Hogwarts?”
“Isn’t it expected of me?” you ask softly. “I need to get an education, after all.” Besides, you can’t imagine staying in this house for the rest of your life with its heavy silences and the memories it holds.
It’s suppertime, the five of you at the table and you are opposite your father. At his side is your mother, your grandmother is opposite her and your grandfather is at the head of the table. Your father says, “Yes, but after what your grandfather and I did… I’ve heard that the children whose parents were on the wrong side of the war haven’t had an easy time at school. Pansy says her daughter had a… rough, to say the least, first few years. Same with Blaise’s daughter, and Goyle’s son.”
“What your father means, Scorpius, is that if you’d rather go to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang to avoid any possible issues in the future, we would be open to the idea,” your grandmother murmurs.
At the head of the table, your grandfather supplies, “In fact, we would support it” and everyone else nods.
You nod too because this is still too much and you don’t know what else to do or say.
-
One day, you wake up to find a book on your bedside table. The cover is black and embossed on the cover in green ink is The Second War: The Rise and Fall of Lord Voldemort.
You read it in two days and you read and re-read the parts about your family, about your father and the way your grandmother betrayed the Dark Lord to save her son and husband.
It helps you understand a little more and maybe you stop being so angry.
-
Days later, during tea, you say, “I want to go to Hogwarts.”
Your father looks up sharply from his biscuit. Your mother asks, “Are you sure?”
You put your cup down on your saucer and put it on the table. You take a deep breath and say, “I don’t care that people might not treat me well. I want to go. I want to be close to home and if people… if people give me grief, I don’t care.” You pause and bite your lip and say quietly, so quietly, “I don’t want to run away from problems. I want to help clear the family name. I want them to know we're good.”
Your grandmother gives a half-choked little sob and pulls you into her arms. The tea sloshes over the rim of your cup and splashes into your lap.
-
You hate the lump in your throat when you see your parents and grandparents off at King’s Cross. Your mother draws you into a tight hug and kisses your cheek, her green eyes shining with tears. Your grandmother and grandfather follow suit (although Grandfather’s eyes stay dry, your grandmother’s are damp as she draws away).
Your father hugs you too and you whisper in his ear, “I won’t let you down, Father” and he pulls away with an odd look on his face.
He says, “You could never let me down,” and gives you the widest smile you’ve ever seen, patting you on the arm and smoothing down your shirt sleeve.
You wait as long as you can to board the train and watch their smiling, teary-eyed faces as the train pulls away, around the corner and they vanish.
-
end.
harry potter “The letter comes while your mother and father are teaching you to fly.” (scorpius malfoy, draco malfoy/asteria malfoy, lucius malfoy/narcissa malfoy, 2,389 words)
notes: for tabitha666’s FABULOUS prompt When Scorpius gets his Hogwarts letter, his parents and grandparents sit him down to explain about the war. They tell him people will probably not be kind to him and asks him whether he wants to go or not.
your soundtrack (AKA the song that this is kind of based on. I JUST NEED EVERYONE TO LOVE TOM WAITS, YO)
-
i'm gonna wash the sins of my father
i'm gonna wash the sins of my mother
i'm gonna wash the sins of my brother
‘til the water runs clear
(TOM WAITS)
-
The letter comes while your mother and father are teaching you to fly. You spot the owl in the sky, a large tawny thing with long wings and a letter tied to its leg, but you pay no mind. You are used to owls, after all.
(Your father bought you a new broom for your birthday and you’ve spent nearly four hours on it already, swooping around in the air, turning figure eights around the trees, diving and whooping and catching the leather balls your mother throws at you.
“Well done, Scorpius!” she calls, grinning and applauding when you catch the fifth one, her cheeks flushed pink and eyes bright, her dark hair a tangled mess, whipped out of its braid from the wind.)
When your father sees the owl, his brow crinkles and his gray eyes narrow. Your mother says, “Draco?” but he just shakes his head, flies down to the ground and dismounts, running inside the Manor, his broom abandoned on the grass. Your mother looks at you and smiles, but you can tell that something is… off.
A few minutes later, your father waves you both down, thick parchment in his left hand and a determined look on his face.
-
Here’s the thing: You don’t really know much about the magical world. You know the basics, the ins and outs of things. You know about Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. You have been to Diagon and Knockturn Alley and you know your way around the former (your mother encourages you to avoid the latter). You’ve been to Hogsmeade, but only inside a few shops there.
You know that you are a pureblood (but that doesn’t mean much these days - you know that, too). You know there was a war once, when your father and mother were teenagers, but you’re pretty vague on the details. You know a little bit about Harry Potter and you know that he’s friends (kind of) with your father.
(By “kind of” you gather that they sometimes exchange terse conversations and greetings when they see one another at work. You also know that your mother and Harry Potter are Aurors together but you gather from the way she talks about him that they don't care for each other.)
Actually, you don’t know much about your father at all. You know he was a Slytherin and played Seeker for his House team. You know he was a self-admitted, “little arse” at school and you know that he’s got a mess of scars on his left forearm that he keeps covered. He rarely talks about his school days, preferring to talk about you or your mother. You know he makes potions for a living, for St. Mungo’s, but that’s about it.
Your grandparents are an even bigger mystery to you, but you’ve always found it odd that when you go out with your grandfather, people either hide their faces or sneer at him and call him names, but people nod at your grandmother and treat her with a sort of reverence, calling her Madame Malfoy and bowing their heads at her.
Your parents have done a good job of sheltering you from things, avoiding most topics or changing the subject entirely. Sometimes, you ask your mother about your father and grandparents, but she just smiles at you and says, “Someday,” in this vague yet firm tone that effectively terminates the conversation.
Perhaps, you think, you hope, this is that someday that your mother was talking about. You think that that yellow envelope has all the answers you want.
-
You find yourself seated between your mother and grandmother on the elegant royal blue couch in the parlor. Seated opposite, both upright and almost rigid in matching blue armchairs are your father and grandfather.
There is a heavy silence in the air and next to you, your grandmother twists her wedding ring round and round her finger.
Finally, you say, “Did I do something wrong?” and it’s the first thing anyone has said in about ten minutes.
Father surprises you by laughing, a harsh sound, unexpected and he shows too many teeth when he grins at you in a strained way that does not reach his eyes. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “No, Scorpius, you didn’t do anything.”
You pause and look at your mother. She’s looking at your father, her green eyes narrowed and her face unreadable. She worries her lower lip between her teeth a little.
She nods at him and your father takes the heavy, yellow parchment out of his pocket and passes it to you. “Read that,” he instructs you softly.
Your fingers tremble as you open it and you aren’t sure why. In emerald green ink, the letter reads, Dear Scorpius Malfoy, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry - and you stop reading. You put the letter down on the polished oak table and say, “That’s a good thing, right?”
There’s that silence again, thick and heavy in the air.
Your grandfather wets his lips and coughs. Takes a sip of tea and says, “Scorpius, do you know what happened during the last war?”
“No,” you say, your tone hotter than you wanted it to be. “No one tells me anything. I tried picking out a book about it at the store once and father took it away.” You are glad to see your father wince at this and you think, serves him right viciously.
“Scorpius,” your grandmother begins, her voice soft and she lays a small, soft hand on your wrist, long fingers laying gently across the underside. “Scorpius, during the war… We all made poor choices.”
“Except your mother,” Father interrupts. “Your mother didn’t do anything, which is why no one should treat him badly at school -”
Mother snorts and waves a hand at this comment, her silver rings and bangles glittering in the light. “It doesn’t matter,” she says, tossing back her curtain of heavy black hair. “People only remember the bad and his last name isn’t Greengrass, it’s Malfoy and all that’s what they’ll think of when they see him. Durmstrang is the best option for him, I feel. Or Beauxbatons - his French is passable and they’ve got better Charms and Transfiguration courses than Hogwarts, anyway.”
“Norway is too far away,” Grandmother says, tightening her grip on your wrist, nails biting into your skin. “I agree with Asteria. I think that Beauxbatons would be best.”
Grandfather scoffs. “If anyone holds what Draco and I did against Scorpius, then they’re not worth anything, anyway. Anyone petty enough to hold a grudge against an eleven-year-old - ”
“What are you all talking about?” you finally demand and they all look at you, blinking like they’re surprised to see you’re still in the room.
Again, the silence falls and Grandmother clears her throat. “Scorpius, darling, there’s a reason why we try to avoid… certain topics.” She pauses and closes her mouth. You can see her run her tongue along her upper teeth and she says, “Your father, grandfather and I made some poor decisions during the war. Do you know who You-Know-Who was?”
“Kind of,” you answer dubiously, lacing your fingers together. Again, that’s another taboo topic. You say, “I know he killed a lot of people.”
Your grandmother nods and out of the corner of your eye, you see your father wince again slightly, his hand going to his left forearm where you know he has scars, scars he refuses to explain. “Your grandfather supported him,” your grandmother says in a quiet voice. “He and I both did. We were foolish. We bought into his ideals of pureblood supremacy and we thought… we thought he would make the world a better place for people like us, for purebloods.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes, takes a breath and continues. “We were so foolish. And then when your father was sixteen, he was recruited to work for You-Know-Who as well. Your grandfather was in prison and this was like the punishment for him failing one of the missions.” She takes a deep breath. You can see the tears beginning to form in her large eyes. “He was ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore.”
For a moment, you forget how to breathe. You look at your father and his white, impassive face and his pale hand on his forearm, clutching it as though it burns him. You say, “Did you?”
He just shakes his head and Grandfather reaches over and pats your father’s arm. Grandfather says, “It was just easier to ally ourselves with him than to risk being his enemy.”
You don’t know what to do or what to think so you just sit there, feeling numb. Your mother puts an arm around your shoulders. “It’s in the past now,” she whispers in your ear, kissing your temple. You push her away a little and there is a ringing in your ears. “You supported a murderer?” you whisper and you can hear your grandmother sob a little next to you. Your grandfather can’t meet your eyes as he repeats, “It was the easy choice, Scorpius, you don’t understand…”
You ignore him and you shake your head. The ringing in your ears won’t quit and you feel ready to throw up.
Father says in a thick voice, “Scorpius, I understand if your opinion of me is lowered” and you don’t know what to think or say or do so you just shrug.
You ask to be excused.
You have a lot to think about.
-
A few hours of sitting in your room alone later and thinking about what you’ve just learned, turning it over and over in your mind and you go downstairs. Your mother and father are in the parlor, holding hands with their heads bent together. You like the way his white-blonde hair contrasts with her black hair and your mother looks up. She smiles at you and you force yourself to smile back.
“How are you feeling?” she asks quietly, the same way she asks when you’ve been ill.
Honestly, you are tired and overwhelmed and there’s too much in your head so you just say, “’m okay.”
There’s a clacking sound behind you and you recognize your grandfather’s cane against the floor and you feel your grandmother’s hand alight on your shoulder. You look down and her hands are still small, still delicate and you wonder how either of your grandparents or your father could possibly do terrible things.
It hurts a little bit to think about so you go back upstairs.
-
The next few days are a blur of tension, of awkward dinners, cleared throats and sentences that start and are followed by a pause and a shake of the head, a look down at a lap, a table, the floor.
A week after you get your letter, your father says, “So, Scorpius, would you like to attend Hogwarts?”
“Isn’t it expected of me?” you ask softly. “I need to get an education, after all.” Besides, you can’t imagine staying in this house for the rest of your life with its heavy silences and the memories it holds.
It’s suppertime, the five of you at the table and you are opposite your father. At his side is your mother, your grandmother is opposite her and your grandfather is at the head of the table. Your father says, “Yes, but after what your grandfather and I did… I’ve heard that the children whose parents were on the wrong side of the war haven’t had an easy time at school. Pansy says her daughter had a… rough, to say the least, first few years. Same with Blaise’s daughter, and Goyle’s son.”
“What your father means, Scorpius, is that if you’d rather go to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang to avoid any possible issues in the future, we would be open to the idea,” your grandmother murmurs.
At the head of the table, your grandfather supplies, “In fact, we would support it” and everyone else nods.
You nod too because this is still too much and you don’t know what else to do or say.
-
One day, you wake up to find a book on your bedside table. The cover is black and embossed on the cover in green ink is The Second War: The Rise and Fall of Lord Voldemort.
You read it in two days and you read and re-read the parts about your family, about your father and the way your grandmother betrayed the Dark Lord to save her son and husband.
It helps you understand a little more and maybe you stop being so angry.
-
Days later, during tea, you say, “I want to go to Hogwarts.”
Your father looks up sharply from his biscuit. Your mother asks, “Are you sure?”
You put your cup down on your saucer and put it on the table. You take a deep breath and say, “I don’t care that people might not treat me well. I want to go. I want to be close to home and if people… if people give me grief, I don’t care.” You pause and bite your lip and say quietly, so quietly, “I don’t want to run away from problems. I want to help clear the family name. I want them to know we're good.”
Your grandmother gives a half-choked little sob and pulls you into her arms. The tea sloshes over the rim of your cup and splashes into your lap.
-
You hate the lump in your throat when you see your parents and grandparents off at King’s Cross. Your mother draws you into a tight hug and kisses your cheek, her green eyes shining with tears. Your grandmother and grandfather follow suit (although Grandfather’s eyes stay dry, your grandmother’s are damp as she draws away).
Your father hugs you too and you whisper in his ear, “I won’t let you down, Father” and he pulls away with an odd look on his face.
He says, “You could never let me down,” and gives you the widest smile you’ve ever seen, patting you on the arm and smoothing down your shirt sleeve.
You wait as long as you can to board the train and watch their smiling, teary-eyed faces as the train pulls away, around the corner and they vanish.
-
end.