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China Roses	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3049 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
Thank you again for all the reviews! This is the end of “China Roses.” Thanks for reading along. Next week will begin a new one-shot.
Chapter Five—A Curtain of Silk and Silver
            “I want to show my father what I can do.” Draco thought the appeal would have been more affecting if Scorpius hadn’t immediately wrapped his hand around his wand, as though he was about to whip it out and cast a spell on the curtain of silk and spangles in front of them, regardless of Harry’s opinion on the matter.
            Harry smiled. Draco shook his head a little. And he had thought Scorpius was in danger of reacting inappropriately. Draco remembered that smile, and he knew it hadn’t meant that much to him during their last year at Hogwarts together.
            This was something new, and fascinating, and it made Draco’s heart beat far, far too fast.
            “Then do it,” Harry said, and folded his arms and raked Scorpius with a critical glance. “Those cuts don’t seem like they’ll scar, at least. The next ones might, if you do something else stupid.”
            Draco held back a snicker at the way Scorpius’s hand immediately flew to his face. He could have told Scorpius the cuts wouldn’t scar days ago. But it had been pleasant to linger in Harry’s flat, and listen to stories, and watch him cast enchantments, and know his son was in the best of good hands as he got better.
            “It won’t scar,” Scorpius said, perhaps a little uncertainly, as he lowered his hand again and turned to face the curtain. “I know you wanted to enchant this one to counter the effects of the Diffused Pain Curse, Harry.”
            Draco winced a little. He knew that spell. A lesser cousin of the Cruciatus, it started a slow, steady ache that built up in your bones and didn’t stop. It had been one of Bellatrix’s favorites to use on Draco when he disobeyed her, and in some ways, Draco had hated it more than the Unforgivable. At least Bellatrix hadn’t been able to hold him under the Cruciatus that long without a risk of killing him or driving him mad, which would have lessened her fun.
            “Yes,” Harry said calmly. “I thought the curtain could wrap around someone who was suffering from long-term pain and soothe them into regular sleep.”
            Scorpius nodded, with a faint smirk on his mouth. Draco considered telling him that it made him look unattractive, but he doubted Scorpius would believe him. Admonitions and warnings he took from Harry, he seemed to believe were nothing but wind and air coming from his father.
            “Well, I had an idea about how to make it more powerful,” Scorpius said. “A true counter for the Cruciatus.”
            “Even though you can’t cast the Cruciatus well enough for us to test yet?” Harry straightened up from the slight slump he’d had in his chair.
            Scorpius flushed. “I would only need to know how to cast the Diffused Pain Curse for this,” he said. Draco shook his head a little. Scorpius was lucky Harry found him endearing, because Draco could catch the glimpses of an arrogance in his words that a lot of people wouldn’t have tolerated. “But the effect will be strong enough to take care of the Cruciatus as well as all those spells that are lesser than it is!”
            Harry sat forwards and shook his head a little. “Think about the theory, Scorpius.”
            Scorpius leaped and spun around to face Harry. Draco thought of what would happen to his knees if he’d done that, and sighed a little. To be young again…
            On the other hand, when he was Scorpius’s age, he had probably been a bigger prat than Scorpius could ever be. Scorpius could endanger his own life, but Draco had endangered other people’s.
            “I know all about the bloody theory!” Scorpius snapped. “The fact is, I know exactly what I can do with this spell, and I’ve spent all that time you confined me to bed studying! I know that you’re not supposed to be able to use something to block both the Cruciatus and the Diffused Pain Curse, but I can! It’s all about the power that you put behind the spell,” he added, seeming to calm down as Draco watched. “I know you won’t put your full power behind the spell for some reason—”
            “I think my shop and flat have enough windows.”
            Scorpius hesitated, but went on a second later. “But I have power on a different level from you. You said so yourself.”
            Draco wanted to slap a hand over his face, but he refrained. This was his too-talented, too-clever son. He might be right. Draco didn’t know enough about defensive magical theory to contradict him and say he wasn’t.
            And if he wasn’t, better that he learn from his mistakes and get some of the energy out of his system now, before it could have consequences in the real world.
            “You do.” Harry’s face was unreadable. “Let me just set up a few protections in case the spells have backlash.” He raised his wand.
            “I know what I can handle!” Scorpius braced his feet and puffed his chest out.
            “Protections for your father and me, is what I meant,” Harry said dryly, and flicked a spell into being that Draco had never seen before. Silvery, transparent replicas of the curtain Scorpius wanted to cast on rose from the floor around them. They wavered and twisted like smoke.

            Draco reached out a hand. As he had already suspected, even though he’d wanted to see it for himself, the curtain grew brighter and brighter as his hand neared it, and then glowed. Draco could feel the magic hanging around it stinging his palm.
            He knew the tenor and tone of Scorpius’s magic, even if he didn’t know all the things Scorpius could do with it, or whether he was right or wrong about this particular application. And Harry’s magic was…more than that.
Not necessarily more powerful. Scorpius might have more raw strength. But Harry’s strength was no longer raw. It was hot and gleaming and powerful, a tempered sword against the piece of hot iron Scorpius had on the forge.
Draco settled his hand beside him again, and saw Harry studying him. Draco bowed his head and flipped his other hand up in acknowledgment. He knew Harry wouldn’t do something that might allow anyone to get hurt, and so Scorpius had Draco’s permission—as if he needed it—to conduct his little test.
Harry nodded and turned to Scorpius. “Remember that you also have to leave the curtain intact if the spell’s going to work.”
            “Of course I know that,” Scorpius said, and then he faced the curtain with an expression of determination on his face. Draco watched him with love and pride and not a little apprehension, and saw the way his lips tightened, his muscles coiled as if he was drawing in strength around himself.
            It reminded him of a time when Scorpius had been even younger, before he had chosen this apprenticeship with Harry and picked something that would focus his energies, and that was on his mind as the first rings of the spell spread out from Scorpius’s wand.
*
            Scorpius slumps low in his chair and stares at his boots. It’s preferable to looking at the Headmistress’s face, anyway.
            “Would you like to know how long it took me to re-Transfigure Miss Windowweir’s books?” McGonagall asks, her focus on the china teacup in front of her that was a squirming Howler until a moment ago.
            Scorpius winces and keeps silent. He wants to say that his father will pay for the books, but then again, he doesn’t need to if McGonagall has already transformed them back from the squirming snakes that Scorpius turned them into. So he stays quiet, and McGonagall suddenly turns her head and focuses on her Floo, which she wouldn’t have done if Scorpius was talking, so he feels right in his decision.
            “Ah,” McGonagall says, and nods. “I think this is your father arriving.”
            Of course it is, she would have been stupid to think otherwise, and Scorpius really does almost say that, until the flames part around his father’s robes and he strides out of the Floo into the Headmistress’s office.
            His voice is calm when he greets her. His eyes, considering Scorpius, are like frosty stars drifting in space. They have no amusement about them at all.
            Scorpius locks his hands between his knees. He is not going to shake. He might have done something wrong, but it was just a too-powerful application of magical theory, and it’s not like it really had bad consequences! The snakes he created didn’t bite anyone. They’re already books again. McGonagall said so.
            Now that he thinks about it, Scorpius isn’t sure why his father even sent him a Howler, or came at all. The Howler was sort of incoherent, shouting about how he should have proper respect for the Malfoy name. But Windowweir is from a minor family that has no alliances with his people, as far as Scorpius knows, and there’s no one among them who’s an Auror or in a powerful position in the Ministry, either. The name is unusual enough—and Cindy Windowweir is annoying enough—that Scorpius knows he would have remembered.
            Father strides around the desk and sits in the chair beside Scorpius. He’s doing that thing where one side of the room doesn’t exist for him, and that side is the one including Scorpius. He nods to McGonagall. “Yes, Headmistress?”
            “I know you’ve already heard about what your son has done,” McGonagall says, and considers the teacup that was the Howler again. “But you may not have heard that I repaired the damage.”
            “Transfiguration?”
            Scorpius wants to explode. Of course Transfiguration! What did he use, and what kind of spells was McGonagall famous for before she became Headmistress, anyway?
            “Yes.” McGonagall smiles a little. “One of the books will have a scale pattern on the cover for a day or so. But it will fade.”
            “Good. I’m glad no one was hurt.” Father turns around, and the side of the room with Scorpius in it abruptly exists to him again. Scorpius winces and bows his head. He wanted—he wants Father’s attention, but not like this. “Why did you do it, Scorpius?”
            He has wanted to give an explanation, but no one listened to it. They all screamed and ran away from the books, and then Scorpius failed to control the snakes because the potion that was supposed to give him Parseltongue abilities didn’t work, and then McGonagall came around the corner and froze him with a look.
            Now, the words he wants to use are hard, dry stones that clog up his mouth instead of tumbling out. But Scorpius manages to clear his throat, and bring them out. “Because I wanted to show people that I could create creatures I could control. Professor Julian won’t pay attention to me because he has a prejudice against Malfoys.”
            “That sounds like a case for complaint to the Headmistress,” says his father, without changing expression. “Or possibly your Head of House. Not Transfiguring an innocent student’s books.”
            “Cindy is his favorite student,” Scorpius says sulkily. “She’s in Ravenclaw and he’s the Head of Ravenclaw, of course she is.”
            “As I recall,” the Headmistress says, startling Scorpius because he did almost forget she was there, “there are other Ravenclaws in Professor Julian’s NEWT Transfiguration class. Was it really her House that made you target Miss Windowweir?”
            Scorpius flushes and glances away.
            “There is such a thing as courtesy.”
            Father’s voice is as chilled as the wine he serves sometimes at parties and allowed Scorpius to help make for the first time this past Christmas. Scorpius clenches his hands in his lap. “She—she doesn’t have as much power behind her spells as I do, but she still manages to get better marks! How? Why won’t Professor Julian pay attention to me?”
            McGonagall and Father exchange a look of the kind that Scorpius hates, the kind adults are always exchanging around him. They speak all sorts of words that Scorpius can’t hear but knows refer to him.
            It’s sort of the same glance that Professor Julian uses, actually, except that Professor Julian usually exchanges it with Cindy Windowweir. Scorpius slides further down in his seat.
            “If you felt you were being unfairly treated,” McGonagall says quietly, “then you can come to me. If it is prejudice against your family, as you suggest, that is wrong, and we will try to take care of it. But you made no complaint. And in fact, Professor Julian made several complaints about you in the last three weeks.”
            Scorpius feels his face fire up. It’s not his fault that Professor Julian is Muggleborn, and other people might have treated him unfairly. “Like what?” he demands.
            “That you were late to class.” The Headmistress pulls a piece of parchment in front of her, though from where he’s sitting, Scorpius can’t see what it contains. “That you hadn’t done one of the essays, and didn’t do the essay he assigned you as punishment, either. That you performed spells you were not instructed to perform in class.” She leans forwards as if she expects her eyes alone to intimidate Scorpius. “And all of that was before you Transfigured Miss Windowweir’s books.”
            “Scorpius.”
            Father shouldn’t intimidate him this much. After all, Scorpius is of age, and will be making his way alone in the wizarding world in a few months. Scorpius doesn’t intend to lean on Malfoy money or connections. That would just provide idiots like Professor Julian right about him.
            Scorpius clenches his teeth and turns to Father. “Please listen to me,” he says, keeping his voice low. “That class is worthless and boring. Professor Julian can’t teach me anything I don’t already know. I might as well put my time into learning spells that will be on the NEWT’s and studying magical theory.”
            Father looks at him, and Scorpius feels his defense withering up. Father shakes his head and turns back to McGonagall.
            “It seems this has got much further than it should have,” he says, “and it’s an attitude that I should have nipped in the bud long ago. Do excuse us for a moment if you would, Headmistress. I feel the need to talk to my son alone.”
            Scorpius doesn’t think McGonagall will let that happen, because she’s a stern disciplinarian, but she nods with a faint smile. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy. As it happens, Madam Fairflax needs to see me about a rash of pranks in the hospital wing.” She stands and walks out the door of her office.
            Scorpius turns to his father. Father only looks back at him and says, “Why don’t you stop making excuses? You turned that girl’s books into snakes because you were bored. And you thought you could control them, didn’t you?”
            Scorpius jumps guiltily. “How did you—”
            “There was a book on Parseltongue potions missing from your library.” Father stares at him, then shakes his head. “The problem with you, Scorpius, is that you would rather sneak around than simply ask. If you had complained about Professor Julian’s treatment of you, or asked for extra lessons if you didn’t think you were learning enough in his class, or asked for help with brewing the potion and conjuring the snakes, then I would have helped you. Instead, you chose to act disrespectfully towards the professor and your fellow students—I’m informed that the student whose books you Transfigured is the poorest in the class, and if there had been no one who could change them back, she would have been deprived of books for the rest of the year—and then make excuses when you got caught. What do you have to say for yourself?”
            Scorpius stands up. Father doesn’t look intimidated, but then, he never does. He told Scorpius once that he got enough intimidation while the Dark Lord lived with him that he hasn’t often found anything else frightening.
            At the moment, Scorpius wishes he did.
            “No one pays attention to what I know I can do,” Scorpius says. “I know that I’m stronger than Cindy Windowweir, but Professor Julian keeps praising her as the strongest student in the class!” Now that he’s finally speaking, it feels as if a tide of poison is pouring out, and he struggles to keep ahead of it. “I know—he makes these comments that—he praises me, but not enough—no one really knows what I can do, not even Al—complaining would only have made it worse—”
            Even after all the words are out, nothing seems to be enough, until Scorpius feels a few more struggling through. “You didn’t need to send a Howler!”
            Father waits through it all. Then he stands up and considers Scorpius for a long time. Scorpius thinks that he’s going to be cursed with a Stinging Hex, something Father did a few times when Scorpius almost tore up a rare book or broke a potions vial, and braces himself.
            But Father only says, “If you want people to know what you can do, then you need to show them in a valuable way. Of course people will reject you if you only seem to be jealous of more talented students, if you show them disrespect, if you don’t make any attempt to display your gifts because you think everyone ought to notice them on their own and offer you the appropriate praise. Do you understand?”
            Scorpius grinds his teeth together. It seems to him Father could be a little fairer, especially when Professor Julian did look at him like he was disgusted when Scorpius was the fastest to finish a spell one day.
            But what Father says makes sense. And Scorpius knows that only one revenge will really make sense: to go out into the world and do something that will make everyone sit up and take notice.
            What are Professor Julian and Cindy Windowweir, anyway? Only self-obsessed no-talents in one small corner of the wizarding world. Scorpius knew he shouldn’t let their attitude bother him so much. He’ll go out and be better.
            Scorpius nods, determined. Father smiles slightly. “Good. And you will apologize to Miss Windowweir and Professor Julian, and serve whatever detention the professor deems appropriate.”
            Scorpius blinks, and blinks again. His visions of the future didn’t include that particular consequence.
            But the way Father looks at him, as mild and inflexible as McGonagall herself, Scorpius knows he won’t have any luck in changing his mind. He scowls at the floor. “All right.”
            Father touches his shoulder, lightly, quickly. “You have tremendous power and potential,” he whispers. “But you need to learn how to show it. And Transfiguring things that other people own for your purposes isn’t one of those ways. Why didn’t you Transfigure your own books if you wanted snakes to practice on?”
            “Because I didn’t know if I would be able to change them back!”
            “Really.” Father gives him a smile that Scorpius has learned to be wary of. “Then it sounds like you do have some more practice to put in at Transfiguration after all.”
            Scorpius supposes he’s lucky to be getting off with apologies, a detention, and a scolding from Father, given the anger expressed in that smile. “All right.”
            “I know you can do this, Scorpius.” Father touches his shoulder again. “You just need a goal for that power. Something that does not involve terrorizing your classmates.”
*
            Harry shielded his eyes as he watched Scorpius’s magic crackle towards the curtain. He looked at the small flashes that ornamented the outside of the magic flow, which were more important to determining its overall power and purpose than the flow itself.
            Yes. Scorpius had the weaves that signaled Transfiguration, the small ornamental waves necessary to pain curses, the—
            Shit!
            Harry flung himself on top of Draco and pulled him to the floor. Draco gave a single harsh grunting noise, but didn’t make any other protest. Harry felt his curtains flare, absorbing the explosion of magic, and only hoped they would hold.
            Yes, Scorpius might be more powerful than I am, Harry thought grimly as he finally felt the vibrations of the power stop and sat up. But that means nothing if he doesn’t learn how to use it!
            When the disturbed dust swirled away, however, he was able to see what had happened to the curtain Scorpius had been trying to turn into a countercurse. Harry gaped for a second. He felt Draco doing the same thing.
            Then he began to laugh.
            There was no longer a curtain, and some of the silver lay melted on the floor; Harry thought all the silk had probably burned. But in place of the curtain hung a transparent replica of it, like the walls that Harry had raised around Draco and himself. It occupied the exact same amount of space as the curtain itself had, and shimmered in the same way. Harry knew without touching it that it would feel the same, too, if perhaps softer and more elusive.
            Harry waved his wand to disperse his defenses and stepped out into the shop, still grinning. Draco followed. He was shaking his head as though to dislodge something stuck in his ear. Harry, meanwhile, folded his arms and studied Scorpius for a long minute.
            “That was successful in a strange way,” he commented.
            Scorpius’s face was scarlet. “Do you think—do you think anyone else can use it?” he asked weakly, and reached out to touch the curtain. He could move it, but when Harry tried to touch it, it was like mist.
            “No.” Harry smiled at Scorpius’s downcast face. “It’s still a remarkable achievement. It probably does just what you thought it would, which I didn’t think was possible. But you couldn’t sell it.”
            “I can use it, though.” Scorpius draped the shining stuff around his shoulders.
            “Is that what you set out to do?”
            Scorpius lowered his head a little. “No.”
            Harry shook his head in fond exasperation and glanced sideways at Draco. Draco was watching his son, mostly, but when he switched his gaze to Harry, Harry found it hard to catch his breath.
            And the pride blazing like a sun in Draco’s eyes seemed to be as much for Harry as for Scorpius. That was something Harry honestly hadn’t expected.
            Harry stepped back and took Draco’s hand for a second, then nodded to Scorpius, ignoring, for now, the tremor of reaction racing up Draco’s arm. “Then you’ll work on the spell, and perfect it until you can enchant a curtain like that and use it for someone else.”
            “Then you’re not saying it’s impossible?”
            Harry grinned at his apprentice, and wondered whether he would ever have thought he’d be surrounded by Malfoys and come to enjoy it. “I’m not. Let’s see whether you can duplicate it, though. I’m not convinced of that.”
            He barely listened to Scorpius’s argument about why he should be able to do it, most of which was mangled theory and theory Harry already knew, anyway. Instead, he leaned back and enjoyed the pressure of Draco’s shoulders and chest against him.
            When he sneaked a look at Draco, he found that Draco had dropped his chin on Harry’s shoulder and was contentedly watching Scorpius. However, a second later Draco turned his head, without appearing to look away from Scorpius’s striding back and forth and waving his hands, and let his cheek rest against Harry’s.
            Harry shut his eyes. At the moment, with warmth embracing him from behind and the side and inspiration breathing fiery gusts in front of him, he couldn’t ask for more.
            The End.
*
SP777: Do you mean of their eighth year? Well, a lot of the focus of this story was on Scorpius, but it’s possible that I might do another one more focused on Harry and Draco later.
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China Roses