Delicate

Becoming Parents

"Your dad is a wanker," I told him, "It's a fact."

"And you're dad's a saint is he? Saint Potter's- Sidekick Ron Weasley?"

"My dad may not be perfect but he's a damn sight more moral than yours! And I never realised you had such issues with my family!"

"Well I never realised you had issues with mine either," Scorpius shot back.

We looked at each other for a moment, neither of us quite knowing what to say.

"I suppose your wanker father was right about one thing," I whispered after a minute, "Malfoys and Weasleys will never be friends."

He glared back. "Too right."

"You know what," I pulled myself up off his bed, where I had been sitting, "Forget the money. Tell your father to stick it where the sun doesn't shine. And you can stick this fatherhood thing too. I can do this on my own."

"Don't be stupid," Scorpius snapped, "You can't possibly do this alone."

"I'd much rather do this alone than raise my child a Malfoy. I'd hate for her or him to become as ignorant and wicked as the rest of you."

"As opposed to being poor and thick like a Weasley," he shot back. I slapped him. And it hurt my hand.

"You are a clone of your father," I fought the lump in my throat, "And I suppose I was thick to think you were any different." It doesn't look as if Dom's mouth is ever going to shut.

"He really said that?" she gasps.

"He's a wanker," I pull the teddy bear back off Dom and chop its head off, "He's a bloody wanker, just like every other Malfoy in the history of time."

"Rose, did Draco Malfoy really try to bribe you to have an abortion?"

I explain everything to her. I should have explained it to her when it happened, but she was still with Scorpius back then and it was harder to talk to her about it. She listens without interrupting for five minutes straight, and when I'm finished she agrees with me that all Malfoys are wankers.

"I just hope this baby is a girl," I say, "The asshole gene seems to be far more prominent in males."

A knock on the door disrupts me from destroying everything I own that reminds me of Scorpius Malfoy, and Dom gets up to answer it. It's a first year girl looking quite nervous to be knocking on the door of the sixth year girls' room, as any normal first year would be.

"Professor Flitwick wants to see Rose Weasley," she says robotically and then turns and runs down the stairs.

"What does he want?" I moan, "I hate people."

"Come on, I'll walk with you," says Dom and helps me up off the floor. I mumble to myself the whole way to the office, silently plotting ways to leave the country and raise my child as a Weasley. If he or she asks who his or her father is, I'll tell them the stork brought them and never explain the biology of human reproduction. Sorted.

When we reach Flitwick's office, Dom hugs me and tells me she'll wait outside. I knock, but don't bother waiting for a response before going inside. And there, sitting across from Flitwick, is the man himself. The antichrist. The father. Draco Malfoy. Excuse me while I throw up.

"Miss Weasley, you have a visitor," says Flitwick.

"Voldemort?" I ask and Mr Malfoy turns around to face me, "Oh, excuse me Mr Malfoy, I thought you were someone else."