"The Mudblood" One-Shots

Chapter 121, Draco's POV of Lainey's Vision

Year: Summer of 2018

Canonicity: Canon to "The Mudblood"

Point of View: first person, Draco Malfoy

Light streamed in though the window, illuminating the copy of the Daily Prophet that I read as I lounged at the head of the table in my dining room. It was midafternoon, and I was waiting to hear from Astoria if her beloved best friend had returned from her tour with the Holyhead Harpies. Ashley Pucey's annoyingness hadn't dimmed in the past twenty years, but I was interested in seeing Goyle, if only to get out of this Manor. We'd redecorated since inheriting the estate from my parents but...the memories still lingered.

The door opened, and I expected my wife to enter, but instead it was my son Scorpius, a young boy of twelve whose appearance greatly resembled my own. He'd inherited Astoria's quirkiness instead of the stoic Malfoy demeanor, but perhaps it was best that way.

"Father," Scorpius prompted, even though I was already looking at him.

"Is your mother out?" I asked as I placed the newspaper on the table.

"She went to visit Mrs. Pucey, since she's back from her tour."

"Right, of course..." I muttered, feeling mildly slighted by the fact that Astoria hadn't invited me. I wasn't too offended, though; the two old friends would likely just gush about beauty products, a topic which I heard enough of at home. Instead of dwelling on it, I pulled out a chair for Scorpius. "Sit?" My son took it with a nervous smile. "Are you here to complain about your mother? If you are, I'd be glad to join you—"

"No," he said with a laugh as he leaned back slightly in his chair. "Mum hasn't been so crazy lately... She seemed happy that Mrs. Pucey is back."

"I should have gone with her, I reckon, but your mother does love her independence. Wouldn't want to leave you alone, anyway—"

"I'm twelve now, Dad," he griped lightheartedly. "I didn't come to talk about that, though. I did come to talk about Mum. I... Did you always love Mum?"

I snorted immediately, shaking his head as I stared absently at the Prophet. "No, certainly not." Astoria had spent years pining over me when I'd barely even known of her existence. My eyes had been for someone else for so long, but...now Astoria was the only one, and I didn't regret a moment of it. Still, Scorpius's inquiry seemed suspicious, so I asked, "Why?"

"I...er...have a crush on someone...from school."

My eyebrows arched with intrigue. "Do you? Does it happen to be the Pucey girl? We could go visit the Puceys, if you're so infatuated—"

"No, Dad, it's not the Pucey girl," he mumbled as he stared down at the table.

"One of the Vaisey girls, then? Or is it a boy? The Palmer boy—"

"It's a girl, Father, but it doesn't matter which girl," he interrupted rather exasperatedly. "I just...I like her, but she doesn't like me."

"Well, I have no idea what that must be like," I drawled as I stretched my arms behind my head. Though I assumed arrogance, I was acutely aware of the sensation. There had been so many years of uncertainty with the Mudblood... "Your mother always had a bit of a crush on me, I reckon," I chose to say, opening up a door to the memories of Astoria's unreciprocated affections.

"Always?"

My face darkened as I recalled the years in between her childhood crush and the rekindling of our relationship, when she had been utterly infatuated with Muggle Fitzroy. I'd never been bitter about it, not in the way that the ferret lover had been, but it did remind me that I was my wife's second choice, just like she was mine. "Perhaps not always. There's hope for you and your girl. Unless she's one of those blasted Weasleys. God, they are everywhere, aren't they?"

Scorpius coughed an awkward "Yeah" as he scratched the back of his head. He knew about my antagonism toward the Weasleys, though he didn't necessarily know the extent of it. "You didn't always love Mum, but...you love her now, right?"

"Of course I do," I practically scoffed, and it was the truth. Astoria had been there for me when others hadn't, when...Fitzroy hadn't. She was here for me now every day, and without her I'd be wallowing in this empty Manor alone, bound to nightmares and miserable memories. "She irks me to no end," I added, mostly as a reference to her constant talk of makeup, "but I do."

"Do you love her more than you've ever loved anyone else?"

I cocked his head to the side to mask the surprise that came with his question. The answer was obvious to me, but I couldn't voice it. Not to him, not to anyone. "This is a trick question, isn't it? If I say I love your mother most, you'll be offended—"

"That I will."

My smirk was crooked as I studied my son, my best creation. I wondered if he would be any different if he had a different mother. Would I love him more if he were Lainey's? Those were the types of questions I banished from my mind, the ones that I didn't wand to consider the answer to. "I love you both," I assured him, "but you most. Don't tell your mother."

His smile was timid, but it faded quickly with his next question. "Does Mum love you more than she's ever loved anyone else?"

All good humor vanished as I stared beyond Scorpius, ruminating over the past. My wife had loved another man, but I'd loved another woman, and as great of a life as we'd built together, there would be no forgetting our first loves. "I dunno," I responded finally and truthfully. "I dunno if she loves me more than she's ever loved anyone else. But I hope so."