Malediction: the love and life of Astoria Malfoy

Chapter Twenty Nine

It was disturbingly surprising how fast the days turned to years. Pretty soon, the door frame was marked with loads of notches, inching higher up the jamb, of Scorpius' growing height. On a cool mid June day, when he was already four, I sat him down outside in the backyard. He was in my lap, a book propped in my hands.

I was reading The Willow, The Witch, and The Wand to him, Draco walking outside a little while later. I was about half way finished with the story when Scorpius tapped my arm.

"Hm?" I said, focusing my attention on his little face, looking up at me.

"Can I try?" he whispered, like this was a taxing request, pointing to the book shyly.

A grin played on my lips, and I nodded, waving Draco over with my other hand. He would want to see this.

Handing Scorpius the book, I said, "Here," pointing to the line I'd left off on.

Smiling, he took it in his tiny hands, clearing his throat politely before he began. Draco smirked at me, sitting across from Scorpius on the grass.

I wasn't sure what we expected. I mean, I'd been reading books with Scorpius since he was an infant, trying to teach him how to read in the process. But still, I'd thought he'd maybe get a word or two half correct, asking me for help with the rest.

My jaw dropped, and so did Draco's, when that was not at all what happened. His sweet little voice was reading each word precisely, stumbling only here and there, never asking for help.

"The end," he said, closing the book, sitting with a content smile. Draco and I stared at each other for a good minute.

"THAT WAS AMAZING SCORPIUS!" I gushed, scooping him up in my arms.

"HOW DID HE -- HOW WAS -- THAT WAS FANTASTIC!" Draco said, arms up, staring bewildered at Scorpius.

He giggled as I set him back down on the grass, and said "Thank you," bashfully.

Later that night, after I'd put Scorpius to bed, Draco stood on the threshold between the bathroom and bedroom, his toothbrush in his hand. "How'd he do that earlier?" he said, in the same bewildered tone as he'd had outside.

"I don't know!" I said, crawling beneath the covers.

"He's a genius, an actual genius, I'm calling it now," he said in a garbled voice (he was in the middle of brushing his teeth).

"He is, isn't he?" I said, staring aloofly in front of me. He was right. Scorpius had to be a genius, more than a genius, he was going to change the world, wasn't he? I was filled with pride, curling my lips in a smile.

He flopped into bed as well, and I said, "How'd we get so lucky? Our son is, is --" I was gripping his shoulders excitedly, searching for the word to sum up everything I thought about my son.

"Extraordinary," Draco said, looking at the door to the hallway, across to Scorpius' room. There was a smile on his lips and a gleam in his eyes.

He was absolutely right. Our son was extraordinary.

* * *

Later that summer, an unseasonably chilly, early August morning, Draco and I sat at the table, Scorpius still asleep upstairs. I was reading something -- probably a guide for ridding the house of magical pests or the likes, and Draco was reading over the Daily Prophet.

"WHAT?!" Draco shouted, causing me to choke on the tea I was sipping.

"Wha --" but before I could get the word out, he was reading aloud: