Dance Lessons - Scorose

Artistry

"I know what you did - thank you," Rose said, having just been let through the front door of Malfoy Manor.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco lied, making his way into his study. Rose followed. It was messier than the last time she had been in there. There was parchment piled up everywhere, some on the desk, some on the floor; books were stacked up precariously and there were multiple empty mugs shoved on the windowsill.

"Draco," Rose said, before reaching up onto her tiptoes and hugging him, "thank you."

He nodded as a reply once she had let go of him. It was difficult for him to admit exactly what he had done - he had always ensured that he was a law-abiding citizen. This - this act was perverting the course of justice, something that made him uncomfortable and inexplicably angry. The word 'justice' meant a lot to Draco. He respected it. It had sent him to Azkaban, it had washed away his sins - it had (at least on paper) cleared his name. If it hadn't have been his son who was in trouble, Draco would never had dreamed of committing such an offence. Helping a Muggle - his father would have disowned him, left him to rot in a cell rather than help him. Lucius was not the kind of father Draco wanted to be and so the crime had to be committed.

"Family is important, Rose. If there's one thing I know from being a Malfoy it's that blood - however pure," he winced, he really hated that word, "is thicker than water. Perhaps not my father, but my mother - she would do anything for me, that she's certainly proven over the years. Scorpius is my only son and, likewise, should he need anything - anything  - I'll do my best to give it to him."

Rose smiled. However much Ron might like to deny it, he and Draco were alarmingly similar.

"Anyway, I had better go - I have an article to write," Rose announced, turning to leave and accidentally knocking a picture frame off of the small side table which, in turn, dislodged a small stack of parchment onto the floor. "Oh, sorry! I'm such a klutz,"

She knelt down and picked up the frame, turning it over and tapping the broken glass with her wand, fixing it instantly.

"Hang on, what's this?" she asked, still on the floor.

"It's a photograph of my father - I keep it because, well, because -" he said but Rose interrupted him.

"No, not that," she said, placing the frame back on the table and standing up with a piece of paper in her hand, "this. The Fundamentals of Medical Diagnoses by Draco Malfoy."

She looked up from the paper and at him. She could have sworn she detected a slight change of colour in his cheeks.

"Oh that. That is - um -" he said, clearing his throat and taking the parchment from her, "that is a manuscript."

He placed it down on his desk and said no more.

"Your manuscript?" she prompted.

He sighed. "Scorpius is right about you, you are persistent," he said, laughing somewhat humourlessly, "yes. My manuscript."

"A medical textbook." Rose stated, looking closer at the books and parchment scattered around the room.

"Hm-mm," he agreed, attempting to tidy up his desk a little.

"You've been rejected, Merlin's beard, by at least twenty different publishers," she said, having pushed a small notebook aside and noticing multiple letters of rejection.

"Oh yeah, there's that," he said, sighing wearily and collapsing into the desk chair, "no one wants to publish a Malfoy."

"You know, I have a friend who is an editor of a publisher - I could give her a copy of your manuscript, she what she thinks."

"You don't have to do that. The book was just a silly idea, an experiment, really."

"Draco, you stopped my husband, the father of my children, from going to prison. I owe you. Let me do this. Please."

He thought for a moment before nodding, shrugging his shoulders in the process.

*          *          *

"He never said anything. A medical textbook?" Scorpius asked that evening.

"Yeah - I read a little bit of it. It has muggle medicine in it too," Rose replied, "it could really take off. I mean, it's really clever. Combining magic and, well, science - I don't think it's ever been done before. The writing is brilliant. They're not just words - it's like art. You're right, your father is a smart man."

"Of course I'm right - I'm always right," he said, a smug look on his face.

"Yes, you are dear," Rose replied, a little too sarcastically for his liking, before reaching into her bag and pulling out two mobiles, "and my dad made us these,"

"Snitches," Scorpius stated, smiling at the golden snitches and roughly cut stars that hung from thin fishing wire, "he's already training them up for Quidditch and they aren't even born yet,"

Rose laughed. "And we haven't even got anything from Ginny yet - what are the odds they'll each get their own Ginevra Weasley figurine?"

"Almost a hundred per cent," he replied with a chuckle, "I'll go and put them in the room,"

Scorpius made his way up the stairs and pushed open the door to the nursery. He stopped in the doorway and almost staggered backwards. The room wasn't green anymore - it was a light blue. On the far wall there was painted a glorious castle, one of the turrets partially masked by a puffy white cloud. He walked into the centre of the room, turned around, and on the opposite wall there was painted a village in the distance, to his left a red steam train, to his right a lake with small boats scattered on the surface.

"Rose!" Scorpius called, placing the mobiles down on the floor and moving to the doorframe again, "Rose!"

"What in Merlin's name is the matter?" she asked, making her way up the stairs.

"What happened?" he asked, moving aside to reveal the contents of the room.

"Oh that," she said, following him into the room, "well, what was I supposed to do when you were in prison?"

"Come on, Rose. I've seen you try to draw before. You made Al look like a troll,"

"You don't know - maybe that's how I see him," she said and then sighed when he didn't look convinced, "okay, I may have had some help."

"From who?"

"Liza felt really bad that you got arrested for saving her. Turns out, she knows how to paint - all done by hand. I just showed her pictures, described things for her, told a few stories and fetched cups of tea. I don't think she felt chocolates were enough,"

He sighed, smiling.

"I'll go round tomorrow morning and thank her. But now - dinner?" He suggested, "I made spag bol,"

"Mm, sounds good," she said, kissing him lightly before turning to make her way downstairs.