(no subject)
It was, he decided, the best idea ever. That sounded a bit immodest, even in his own head. Maybe it was better to say that it was his best idea ever, but that didn’t do the idea justice. It was absolutely brilliant. His father would love it. His mother…well, he could tell Dad that it was Mum’s idea too, and then she couldn’t really punish him. When he tacked that bit on, he couldn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t go through with it.
“No,” said his mother firmly.
“No?” Cepheus looked up at his mum in confusion. “But Mum! I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Not yet,” said Hermione Malfoy. She crossed her arms and sent a stern look at her son. “But I recognize that look on your face. It tells me that you’ve come up with the perfect way to get into mischief.”
“Muuummm,” he whined. “I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort.”
Her raised eyebrow told him that she didn’t believe him.
“Honest,” he mumbled. “I was just thinking of what to get Dad for his birthday.”
“Oh?” His mother’s voice dripped with skepticism. “Pray tell, what were you going to do?”
He hung his head in defeat. “IwasgonnableachCrookshankswhite,” he said very quickly and very softly.
“I didn’t quite catch that. Try again, Cepheus.”
He sighed. Sometimes, it really wasn’t fair how clever his mum was. He was always caught before he could do anything that resembled trouble. That never happened to his friend, James Potter, who seemed to get grounded at least every other week.
“I said I was going to bleach Crookshanks white,” Cepheus repeated. His mother gasped, her hands going up to cover her mouth. “Think about it, Mum. Dad hates the color orange. Says that it reminds him of everything wrong with Uncle Ron. And you know, Dad’s never been fond of Crookshanks. So I figured if I bleached him white to match Dad’s hair, they’d get along better.”
“I don’t suppose you thought of how you were going to bleach my cat without harming him?”
“Umm….no, I hadn’t got to that part yet. Don’t worry, I would’ve figured something out.” He knew he was pressing his luck, but he couldn’t help himself. “So can I, Mum? We can tell Dad it’s from both of us. You can even take credit for the idea if you like.”
That was the wrong thing to say as the temperature in the room dropped. Fortunately, he was saved by the telltale pop of his father Apparating home. His mother’s full attention transferred to his father, and Cepheus decided the better part of valor was discretion. He fled to his room before his mum started in on him again.
“Hello love,” said Draco to his wife. The look she sent back to him was anything but welcoming. Obviously Cepheus had done something to upset her. “Okay. What did the boy do now?”
“Your son,” said Hermione, poking him the chest with her index finger, “thought it would be a brilliant idea to bleach Crookshanks for your birthday!”
“Really? Why would he think that?” asked Draco. He was sincerely puzzled. Cepheus was a bright boy, and he had to know that there were things that you did not mess with. Hermione’s damn cat was one of them.
“Somehow, he got the idea that you hate the color orange. Something about reminding you about Ron and how much you dislike him. So he thought you’d get along better with Crookshanks if he bleached my cat’s fur white.”
“Oh.” He chuckled, then stopped. His wife evidently didn’t think this was a laughing matter if her death glare was anything to go by. “I assume he didn’t get too far. Seeing how he wasn’t covered in scratches.”
“No. He had just thought of it.”
“Well, you can’t punish the boy for thinking of a bad idea,” he told her reasonably. “He’s a boy, Hermione. We all have stupid ideas. Most boys don’t have an absolutely brilliant witch for a mother who can stop them before they actually implement those ideas.” Draco didn’t add that sometimes he felt sorry for his son.
“I’m not going to punish him for thinking of a stupid idea. What’s going to happen is that you’re going to correct his misconception that you hate the color orange because it reminds you of Ron.”
“But it’s not a misconception.”
“That’s not the point.” His wife stamped her foot. “And I thought you two had put the past behind you!”
“We have,” he said succinctly. “But that doesn’t mean we like one another. Hermione, it cuts against the grain for a Malfoy and a Weasley to be friends. Mutual disdain is about as close as we can get.”
“You are not going to tell your son that. Honestly, Malfoy! This family feud that you have going on is not getting passed on to our children!”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Go to Cepheus’ room and explain to him how you and Ron are good friends.
He snorted. “But that would be a lie.”
“Don’t tell me that as a Slytherin you haven’t lied before.”
“But I thought as a Gryffindor, you wouldn’t want me to lie to our son. I thought you’d prefer for me to tell him the unvarnished truth.”
“You mean the fact that you were a huge prat throughout our years at Hogwarts and you’re lucky that I gave you another chance?”
“Umm…no.” He paused to look at his wife. She was positively fuming. It was a lovely sight. He decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and besides, it’d get him back into his wife’s good graces faster. “If it’s okay with you though, I’ll be happy to lie to him about the matter.”
“Good. You do that then.” She jerked her head towards their son’s room, indicating that he was to get on with it.
A smirk crossed his face once his wife couldn’t see him any more. No, he had no qualms about lying to his son, especially not in this matter. His son was a clever lad. He’d figure out that the real lesson to be learned that it was all right to lie in order to make things easier for you. And that sort of thinking would clearly steer his son well.
Hermione was going to have kittens when their son was sorted into Slytherin.