FIC: The Door Opens [PG]
Author: xantophyllippa
Title: The Door Opens
Pairing(s): Albus Severus/Scorpius
Rating: PG
Warnings:Coarse language and disapproving parents.
Word Count: 1,867
Summary:Malfoys can be surprisingly open-minded.
Prompt: Al and Scorpius coming out as a couple to their families. Both families are shocked but surprisingly the Potter/Weasleys handle it worse than the Malfoys. Confident!Al and shy!Scorpius. No character bashing please but supportive!Malfoys and disapproving!Potters&Weasleys. [submitted by tabitha666]
Notes: For tabitha666
“Ready?”
Albus Severus Potter, bearer of the names of two Hogwarts headmasters - one of whom was the bravest man The Boy Who Lived had ever known, an epithet Al had heretofore been certain would never apply to him - squared his shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.”
Beside him, his boyfriend of three years gulped nervously. Taking a deep breath, Scorpius Malfoy stepped into the “breakfast nook,” a room in Malfoy Manor that required ironic quotation marks for the very simple reason that it was approximately the size of Lithuania. Al slipped into the seat next to him and immediately fixated on his place setting, as if bone china with a green snake circling the rims were the most fascinating thing ever. He took a deep breath and tore his gaze away, fixating instead on a point somewhere above his boyfriend’s father’s left shoulder.
At the far end of the table, said boyfriend’s father raised his head slightly from behind the morning’s Daily Prophet. “Good morning, Scorpius,” Draco greeted. Then he added, “Did you sleep well, Albus Severus?” His voice was polite, though his interest was clearly formal rather than sincere.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” Albus managed to keep his voice steady, and impressed himself by meeting Draco’s eyes. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, and felt his spine relax slightly.
Beside him, Scorpius was clearly thinking something different. He cleared his throat, gripped Al’s fingers tightly under the table, and feebly floated a squeak in Draco’s general direction.
“Dad?” He tried again. Nothing. Al loosed his hand from Scorpius’s death grip and gestured encouragingly - he hoped - at Draco.
“Dad?” Finally, Scorpius found his voice.
Draco, oblivious to his son’s increasing discomfort, hummed noncommittally in response.
“Dad, I’m gay and Albus is my boyfriend,” Scorpius blurted, loudly enough that Al winced and rubbed at his ear.
“That’s wonderful, Scorpius. Please pass the butter.” Draco turned the page of the Prophet without looking up.
“Did you hear me? I said we’re gay and we’re together.” Now that he’d finally found his voice, Scorpius could feel his temper beginning to rise.
“Yes, you’re gay and you’re together. I heard you, The butter, please.”
Scorpius, irritated, sent the butter spinning down the length of the table. Draco caught it just as it made to drop off the edge and gave a little huff of annoyance.
“Father-”
“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” Draco put his paper down. “I assure you I heard you and that I understand fully what you mean by both ‘gay’ and ‘together.’ I also assure you that you are perfectly normal and that you are still my son and I love you and I am not worried that you will in any way bring shame upon the family. We Malfoys know quality when we see it, and you have chosen well for yourself, his rather unfortunate parentage notwithstanding.” He tilted his head slightly in Al’s direction, but kept his gaze fixed on his son.
Al blushed, even though he wasn’t entirely sure that was a compliment.
“Besides,” Draco added, glancing sidelong at the portrait of Lucius hanging above the buffet, whence Malfoy père had been pointedly ignoring the proceedings, “if you were trying to shock me, you’ll have to do better than that. Perhaps you have heard the stories,” he said, darkly, shifting his gaze to Al, who blushed even more.
Lucius glowered. “I’ll have you know that - ”
“AS I WAS SAYING,” Draco said, loudly, as Lucius snapped his mouth shut and resumed glowering, “I am happy for you.”
“But Mother - ”
“- will be just as happy you’ve found someone as I am,” interrupted Draco. “And if she protests, you might drop mention of her sixth year and Demelza Robins.” Draco arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow meaningfully, then raised his paper again.
“Well,” said Al, brightly, as they left the dining room twenty minutes later, somewhat the heavier after a large quantity of bacon and croissants. “That went well.”
***
Scorpius ducked as a large piece of ugly crockery shattered against the kitchen wall inches from where his head had just been. In front of him, he felt more than heard Al whisper a Shield Charm; James’s bellowing drowned out all other noise in the room.
“POOFTER! SHIRT-LIFTER! WANKER!” James’s voice could have raised the dead and turned them into Inferi in one go.
“Yell a little louder, James; there might be some people in Cornwall who didn’t hear you.” There was no reason, Albus thought angrily, that he should take this shite from his man-slag of an older brother; after all, he at least had the decency not to be caught snogging a different bird every week -
James’s face, already unnaturally flushed, turned an even uglier shade of puce. “What did you say to me?!” Lily, who had been hiding under the table, whimpered softly at the fury in his voice.
“Bad form, mate; you said that out loud,” Scorpius whispered, beginning to quiver. Al bit back a hysterical giggle and deflected another piece of horrid dishware with a hasty Banishing Charm.
“I can’t believe my own brother -“ James broke off mid-rant as Harry, who had heretofore sat motionless at the kitchen table, his pudding forgotten on the plate ahead of him, rose from his seat. Everyone stared at him expectantly.
His voice, when it finally came, was quiet with despair. “I just don’t know who you are anymore, Albus Severus,” Harry said. Then he abruptly turned and left the kitchen, leaving three startled Potters and a despondent Weasley-Potter staring after him, and an open-mouthed, pale, teary-eyed Malfoy staring at Al.
***
Draco flung open the door to the Hog’s Head, pulled off his cloak in one swift motion, and stalked across the room to loom over Harry Potter, who lifted his head half an inch off the (rather sticky, from the sound of it) table and opened one bleary eye.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry’s voice was flat. He lowered his head back down to the table with an audible thunk.
“Your son told me you’d likely be here.” Draco didn’t wait for an invitation, but slid into the booth across from Harry and, with a moue of disgust, pushed aside the five glasses that gave off a strong odor of Old Ogden’s Even Better Than Old Ogden’s Best Firewhiskey.
Harry’s voice lacked vitriol, but his despair was audible. “Which son would that be? Oh, wait, I only have the one. I expect you mean my older daughter, Alberta Severina.”
Draco reached across the table and hauled Harry upright by the hair. The napkin on which Harry had been resting his cheek came with him, much to Draco’s disgust. “Get hold of yourself, Potter,” he hissed, “unless you’d like to be tomorrow’s headline? ‘Potter Patriarch Spurns Spawn in Sexual Scandal’ has a rather nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Stuff it, Malfoy.” This time, Harry managed to muster some loathing and even a feeble attempt at a snarl. “My son’s sexuality is none of your business.”
“Your son’s sexuality became my business when you tossed him aside for loving my son, thank you very much.” Draco’s voice was low and dangerous. “You made it my business when you left my son believing his life was in some way unnatural. Do you know how Scorpius spent the weekend, Potter? In his room, sobbing uncontrollably because his boyfriend’s family hates him so much they threw pottery at his head. Do you know where your son spent the weekend? Pacing back and forth outside my son’s room, pleading with him to open the door. He was working up the muster for a Reducto when I happened by and offered to Levitate him through the window.” Draco’s voice had risen to close to a yell. Across the bar, heads began to turn in their direction; he waved a hand and a Muffliato and a few other charms Harry didn’t recognize fell heavily over their table.
“I wanted grandchildren! I wanted them to have the family I never had!” Harry was sobbing now.
“They can still have children, Potter. Or didn’t McGonagall give the Gryffindors that lecture in fourth year?” Draco felt himself deflate suddenly.
“No son of mine will ever be pregnant,” Harry retorted through his tears. “Especially not with the likes of - ”
“Potter.” Draco was beginning to feel like he’d been doing an awful lot of interrupting lately, but he sighed inwardly and carried on, putting one hand on Harry’s shoulder. “If they love each other, who are you to judge?”
Harry’s rude comment was ready on the tip of his tongue, but then he had a sudden vision of Ron telling a sobbing Draco that Crabbe was dead and his voice died in his throat. He felt the warmth of Draco’s hand through his robes and something else prickling behind his eyes and thought fiercely about liquorice allsorts to keep the image of Remus and Tonks, motionless and pale on their sheets in the Great Hall with their fingers nearly touching, from swimming up into his mind.
“Fine. Harry sighed. “But I’d still rather he hadn’t picked a Malfoy,” he added, unable to resist the insult.
“Acceptable.” Draco withdrew his hand and wiped it surreptitiously on his trousers. “You’ll get over that soon enough once you’ve seen them together.”
***
Harry ran his left hand through his already rumpled hair. Then he ran his right hand through his even-more-rumpled hair. Then he ran both hands through his now-irrecoverably rumpled hair, accidentally dropping both his wand (right hand) and the bottle of cognac he’d picked out as a peace offering (left hand). The wand clattered down the stairs behind him; the bottle shattered, sending glass skittering across the landing outside Albus’s flat and a boozy cloud - a high-quality boozy cloud, but a boozy cloud nonetheless - wafting up to the ceiling.
Harry Summoned his wand back, but was interrupted in his mad scrabble to clean up the landing by a voice and an opening door. “ - just see what that noise was,” Al said, cheerfully, looking over his shoulder as he started into the hallway. He stopped suddenly as he spotted Harry, crouched on the ground with one knee in a puddle of alcohol and a guilty look on his face, and his smile fell.
“Dad.” His voice was eerily devoid of all inflection.
“Al.” Harry stood and nearly fumbled his wand again. He took a deep breath. “How are you?”
Al blinked, but his expression gave nothing away. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Who is it?” Harry heard a warm voice from inside the flat.
“It’s...no one, Scorp. Go ahead and drain the pasta; I’ll be there in a minute.” Al turned back to his father and ever-so-slightly edged the door a bit closer to shut. “What do you want?”
Harry’s voice, when it came, was thick with emotion. “I came...I thought....” He took a deep breath and tried again. “I’d like to meet your boyfriend...son.”
Al blinked again. His smile, when it came, was slow, but it was also bright; Harry felt something cold in his chest begin to warm. Before him, Al opened the door wide and stepped to let his father in.
The reference to liquorice allsorts is a tribute to mundungus42’s most excellent The Fine Art of Fine Print, one of the most magically intriguing and comically engaging SSHG fics ever. If you haven’t read it, you should.
Title: The Door Opens
Pairing(s): Albus Severus/Scorpius
Rating: PG
Warnings:Coarse language and disapproving parents.
Word Count: 1,867
Summary:Malfoys can be surprisingly open-minded.
Prompt: Al and Scorpius coming out as a couple to their families. Both families are shocked but surprisingly the Potter/Weasleys handle it worse than the Malfoys. Confident!Al and shy!Scorpius. No character bashing please but supportive!Malfoys and disapproving!Potters&Weasleys. [submitted by tabitha666]
Notes: For tabitha666
“Ready?”
Albus Severus Potter, bearer of the names of two Hogwarts headmasters - one of whom was the bravest man The Boy Who Lived had ever known, an epithet Al had heretofore been certain would never apply to him - squared his shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.”
Beside him, his boyfriend of three years gulped nervously. Taking a deep breath, Scorpius Malfoy stepped into the “breakfast nook,” a room in Malfoy Manor that required ironic quotation marks for the very simple reason that it was approximately the size of Lithuania. Al slipped into the seat next to him and immediately fixated on his place setting, as if bone china with a green snake circling the rims were the most fascinating thing ever. He took a deep breath and tore his gaze away, fixating instead on a point somewhere above his boyfriend’s father’s left shoulder.
At the far end of the table, said boyfriend’s father raised his head slightly from behind the morning’s Daily Prophet. “Good morning, Scorpius,” Draco greeted. Then he added, “Did you sleep well, Albus Severus?” His voice was polite, though his interest was clearly formal rather than sincere.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Malfoy.” Albus managed to keep his voice steady, and impressed himself by meeting Draco’s eyes. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, and felt his spine relax slightly.
Beside him, Scorpius was clearly thinking something different. He cleared his throat, gripped Al’s fingers tightly under the table, and feebly floated a squeak in Draco’s general direction.
“Dad?” He tried again. Nothing. Al loosed his hand from Scorpius’s death grip and gestured encouragingly - he hoped - at Draco.
“Dad?” Finally, Scorpius found his voice.
Draco, oblivious to his son’s increasing discomfort, hummed noncommittally in response.
“Dad, I’m gay and Albus is my boyfriend,” Scorpius blurted, loudly enough that Al winced and rubbed at his ear.
“That’s wonderful, Scorpius. Please pass the butter.” Draco turned the page of the Prophet without looking up.
“Did you hear me? I said we’re gay and we’re together.” Now that he’d finally found his voice, Scorpius could feel his temper beginning to rise.
“Yes, you’re gay and you’re together. I heard you, The butter, please.”
Scorpius, irritated, sent the butter spinning down the length of the table. Draco caught it just as it made to drop off the edge and gave a little huff of annoyance.
“Father-”
“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” Draco put his paper down. “I assure you I heard you and that I understand fully what you mean by both ‘gay’ and ‘together.’ I also assure you that you are perfectly normal and that you are still my son and I love you and I am not worried that you will in any way bring shame upon the family. We Malfoys know quality when we see it, and you have chosen well for yourself, his rather unfortunate parentage notwithstanding.” He tilted his head slightly in Al’s direction, but kept his gaze fixed on his son.
Al blushed, even though he wasn’t entirely sure that was a compliment.
“Besides,” Draco added, glancing sidelong at the portrait of Lucius hanging above the buffet, whence Malfoy père had been pointedly ignoring the proceedings, “if you were trying to shock me, you’ll have to do better than that. Perhaps you have heard the stories,” he said, darkly, shifting his gaze to Al, who blushed even more.
Lucius glowered. “I’ll have you know that - ”
“AS I WAS SAYING,” Draco said, loudly, as Lucius snapped his mouth shut and resumed glowering, “I am happy for you.”
“But Mother - ”
“- will be just as happy you’ve found someone as I am,” interrupted Draco. “And if she protests, you might drop mention of her sixth year and Demelza Robins.” Draco arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow meaningfully, then raised his paper again.
“Well,” said Al, brightly, as they left the dining room twenty minutes later, somewhat the heavier after a large quantity of bacon and croissants. “That went well.”
***
Scorpius ducked as a large piece of ugly crockery shattered against the kitchen wall inches from where his head had just been. In front of him, he felt more than heard Al whisper a Shield Charm; James’s bellowing drowned out all other noise in the room.
“POOFTER! SHIRT-LIFTER! WANKER!” James’s voice could have raised the dead and turned them into Inferi in one go.
“Yell a little louder, James; there might be some people in Cornwall who didn’t hear you.” There was no reason, Albus thought angrily, that he should take this shite from his man-slag of an older brother; after all, he at least had the decency not to be caught snogging a different bird every week -
James’s face, already unnaturally flushed, turned an even uglier shade of puce. “What did you say to me?!” Lily, who had been hiding under the table, whimpered softly at the fury in his voice.
“Bad form, mate; you said that out loud,” Scorpius whispered, beginning to quiver. Al bit back a hysterical giggle and deflected another piece of horrid dishware with a hasty Banishing Charm.
“I can’t believe my own brother -“ James broke off mid-rant as Harry, who had heretofore sat motionless at the kitchen table, his pudding forgotten on the plate ahead of him, rose from his seat. Everyone stared at him expectantly.
His voice, when it finally came, was quiet with despair. “I just don’t know who you are anymore, Albus Severus,” Harry said. Then he abruptly turned and left the kitchen, leaving three startled Potters and a despondent Weasley-Potter staring after him, and an open-mouthed, pale, teary-eyed Malfoy staring at Al.
***
Draco flung open the door to the Hog’s Head, pulled off his cloak in one swift motion, and stalked across the room to loom over Harry Potter, who lifted his head half an inch off the (rather sticky, from the sound of it) table and opened one bleary eye.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry’s voice was flat. He lowered his head back down to the table with an audible thunk.
“Your son told me you’d likely be here.” Draco didn’t wait for an invitation, but slid into the booth across from Harry and, with a moue of disgust, pushed aside the five glasses that gave off a strong odor of Old Ogden’s Even Better Than Old Ogden’s Best Firewhiskey.
Harry’s voice lacked vitriol, but his despair was audible. “Which son would that be? Oh, wait, I only have the one. I expect you mean my older daughter, Alberta Severina.”
Draco reached across the table and hauled Harry upright by the hair. The napkin on which Harry had been resting his cheek came with him, much to Draco’s disgust. “Get hold of yourself, Potter,” he hissed, “unless you’d like to be tomorrow’s headline? ‘Potter Patriarch Spurns Spawn in Sexual Scandal’ has a rather nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
“Stuff it, Malfoy.” This time, Harry managed to muster some loathing and even a feeble attempt at a snarl. “My son’s sexuality is none of your business.”
“Your son’s sexuality became my business when you tossed him aside for loving my son, thank you very much.” Draco’s voice was low and dangerous. “You made it my business when you left my son believing his life was in some way unnatural. Do you know how Scorpius spent the weekend, Potter? In his room, sobbing uncontrollably because his boyfriend’s family hates him so much they threw pottery at his head. Do you know where your son spent the weekend? Pacing back and forth outside my son’s room, pleading with him to open the door. He was working up the muster for a Reducto when I happened by and offered to Levitate him through the window.” Draco’s voice had risen to close to a yell. Across the bar, heads began to turn in their direction; he waved a hand and a Muffliato and a few other charms Harry didn’t recognize fell heavily over their table.
“I wanted grandchildren! I wanted them to have the family I never had!” Harry was sobbing now.
“They can still have children, Potter. Or didn’t McGonagall give the Gryffindors that lecture in fourth year?” Draco felt himself deflate suddenly.
“No son of mine will ever be pregnant,” Harry retorted through his tears. “Especially not with the likes of - ”
“Potter.” Draco was beginning to feel like he’d been doing an awful lot of interrupting lately, but he sighed inwardly and carried on, putting one hand on Harry’s shoulder. “If they love each other, who are you to judge?”
Harry’s rude comment was ready on the tip of his tongue, but then he had a sudden vision of Ron telling a sobbing Draco that Crabbe was dead and his voice died in his throat. He felt the warmth of Draco’s hand through his robes and something else prickling behind his eyes and thought fiercely about liquorice allsorts to keep the image of Remus and Tonks, motionless and pale on their sheets in the Great Hall with their fingers nearly touching, from swimming up into his mind.
“Fine. Harry sighed. “But I’d still rather he hadn’t picked a Malfoy,” he added, unable to resist the insult.
“Acceptable.” Draco withdrew his hand and wiped it surreptitiously on his trousers. “You’ll get over that soon enough once you’ve seen them together.”
***
Harry ran his left hand through his already rumpled hair. Then he ran his right hand through his even-more-rumpled hair. Then he ran both hands through his now-irrecoverably rumpled hair, accidentally dropping both his wand (right hand) and the bottle of cognac he’d picked out as a peace offering (left hand). The wand clattered down the stairs behind him; the bottle shattered, sending glass skittering across the landing outside Albus’s flat and a boozy cloud - a high-quality boozy cloud, but a boozy cloud nonetheless - wafting up to the ceiling.
Harry Summoned his wand back, but was interrupted in his mad scrabble to clean up the landing by a voice and an opening door. “ - just see what that noise was,” Al said, cheerfully, looking over his shoulder as he started into the hallway. He stopped suddenly as he spotted Harry, crouched on the ground with one knee in a puddle of alcohol and a guilty look on his face, and his smile fell.
“Dad.” His voice was eerily devoid of all inflection.
“Al.” Harry stood and nearly fumbled his wand again. He took a deep breath. “How are you?”
Al blinked, but his expression gave nothing away. “I’m fine, thank you.”
“Who is it?” Harry heard a warm voice from inside the flat.
“It’s...no one, Scorp. Go ahead and drain the pasta; I’ll be there in a minute.” Al turned back to his father and ever-so-slightly edged the door a bit closer to shut. “What do you want?”
Harry’s voice, when it came, was thick with emotion. “I came...I thought....” He took a deep breath and tried again. “I’d like to meet your boyfriend...son.”
Al blinked again. His smile, when it came, was slow, but it was also bright; Harry felt something cold in his chest begin to warm. Before him, Al opened the door wide and stepped to let his father in.
The reference to liquorice allsorts is a tribute to mundungus42’s most excellent The Fine Art of Fine Print, one of the most magically intriguing and comically engaging SSHG fics ever. If you haven’t read it, you should.