Henrietta Potter And The Slytherin Child - (A 'Henrietta Potter' sequel) || D.M

7 - A Potter And A Malfoy

"Well, there's not a lot we can do about it now," I said stoutly, tearing my eyes away from his in the pretence of shuffling some paperwork. "I guess we just have to accept that our sons want to be friends and deal with it in a mature and adult way."

"Who'd have ever thought it, Potter?"

I looked up, startled to see that familiar glint in his eye as a smirk twitched playfully at his lips. Despite myself, I could not help but smirk back. I knew exactly what he meant. A Potter and a Malfoy; best of friends.

Except it was a lot more complicated than that; Albus was Draco's son too, and the smirks upon our lips quickly fell as we simultaneously remembered the mess we were in.

"Astoria's ill," Draco said, out of the blue. I looked up, startled. I'd never heard him talk about his wife to me, I don't think I'd even ever heard him say her name before.

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say; didn't know what he wanted me to do about this piece of information he was offering me about his wife.

"I mean, she's really ill," he coughed, not quite meeting my eye. "I'm worried what it'll do to her if she found out about..."

Oh.

He trailed off, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"You've already made it quite clear on how you feel about the truth of Albus's parentage getting out," I said a little too haughtily, trying but failing to keep the hurt and bitterness out of my voice.

"I'm thinking of Scorp," he bit a little too sharply. "His mother is dying, and I don't want anything more to upset him."

Our eyes locked and, again, I did not know what to say. I could see how upset he was for his son and I found myself feeling rather unexpectedly sorry for him.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, solemnly. "That can't be easy."

He seemed to regard my apology for a moment, as though weighing up if I had meant it or not. In the end he a gave me a quick, curt nod, accepting.

Not knowing what else to do, I looked back down towards the letter which Draco had dramatically paraded into the office, and sighed.

"So, what exactly do you want us to do about our wayward sons, then? Do you not trust that Minerva can handle it?"

Draco let out a loud derisive snort.

"McGonagall will just shrug it off as typical Slytherin behaviour," he sneered, reminding me so much of twelve-year-old Draco. "She'll probably just get them to polish all the Gryffindor trophies as punishment or something."

"Well, at least that'll keep them busy," I couldn't help but snark back, my eyes glinting mischievously into his, "unlike if they'd had to polish the Slytherin ones. Or would that just be the one?"

"Never could help yourself, could you, Potter?" he drawled, eyes twinkling through his smirk. "Always had to get the last shot in."

"You loved it."

"I'm not going to argue with that."

We fell silent, our eyes locked onto one another; old memories of school feuds stirring between us. I had the sudden urge to reach out and touch his hand. But luckily, I managed to refrain from doing so.

Instead, I shook my head, and forced myself to bring us back to the reason why we were there.

"So," I coughed, suddenly sitting up straight to 'rifle' through some random papers in a business-like manner so as to avoid eye contact with him. "I'll write to Albus and see if I can get to the bottom of why he did it. I suggest you do the same with Scorpius."

"Etta-"

"I've a really busy morning to get through, Draco." I interrupted abruptly, terrified of the silkiness of his voice and the softness in his expression.

But most of all, terrified of how he was making me feel.

Slowly, he stood up, sighing heavily as he did so. I dared allowed myself to glance up at him, noticing the resigned look in his eyes.

"I'll be in touch," he smiled sadly. I caught the faint scent of his cologne as he reached down to remove the letter from my desk. "Good luck with Albus."

Not being able to speak for the lump forming in my throat, I nodded curtly, and was horrified to feel the sting of tears at the back of my eyes.

I waited for the door to close behind him before releasing a long, exasperated sigh.

Out of all the children in his year, why did my son have to pick a Malfoy?

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