Unspoken Bonds

Draco Malfoy's POV

The walls of Hogwarts have become a kind of refuge for me over the past year. They don't ask questions, don't judge. They just stand tall, holding up all the memories of things I could never forget. It's a strange feeling, being here every day, stepping into my role as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. For years, I could barely stand the idea of setting foot in this place. Now, it's where I'm supposed to feel most at home.

But I don't.

The students don't give me trouble. I've earned their respect through years of being a Malfoy, through my status as a former Slytherin, and through my competence. The work is easy enough; after all, I've trained for this my entire life. What I can't seem to grasp is the part of me that doesn't fit this role: the father part.

Scorpius—my son—still keeps me at arm's length. No matter how much I try to be there for him, to offer advice, he withdraws further. I know he's hurting. I can see it in the way he keeps his eyes low, avoids making eye contact. It's the same pain I've lived with since Astoria's passing. But I can't fix it. I want to help, but nothing seems to work.

The distance between us feels like it's growing with every passing day. I've tried everything. I've given him what he wants. I've been the father who provides, the one who's always around, but I don't know how to be the father who truly understands.

The truth is, I don't know how to be a good father.

At least, not yet.

I stand by my desk, staring at the pile of papers, letting my thoughts swirl. This is supposed to be a break, but the pressure never really lifts. Between being a professor and trying to fix things with Scorpius, it feels like I'm playing a part in someone else's story. I'm not sure how to step out of the role of just being "Malfoy"—the professor, the former Death Eater, the father. But it's the emotional part of me, the part that wants to reach out and say something, that keeps me up at night.

But I can't say it. I can't say what I really need to.

"Professor Malfoy," a voice calls out, and I turn to see Thorne Callahan standing in the doorway, looking too eager for my liking.

"Callahan," I nod, acknowledging him with a curt nod. He's been hanging around Vivienne's classes more and more lately. He's always there, isn't he? Helping her, laughing with her, exchanging notes like they're old friends. It rubs me the wrong way.

I find myself scowling before I can stop it. The man's presence gets under my skin. He's too eager, too eager to be around her. It's clear that he thinks the world of Vivienne, and it pisses me off.

But I don't know why.

Thorne's smile falters when he sees my expression. I'm sure I've made it clear that I'm not exactly thrilled with the way he's taken to "assisting" her. His gaze drops briefly, and I see a flash of uncertainty before he schools it into something more confident.

"Class is in session, Professor. Should I go grab some coffee, or do you need something before I head in?" he asks. I almost roll my eyes. "Just get to the point, Callahan. I'll see you in the classroom."

He doesn't hesitate, giving me a short nod before heading off.

I watch him walk away, hands twitching at my sides. I can't quite figure it out, but there's a growing unease I can't shake. Thorne's always near Vivienne, always there, like some kind of shadow. It makes me wonder if he's trying to impress her or something else.

I turn away from the door, the unease in my gut spreading like a dark cloud. I can't focus. I need a break from all of it.

Scorpius's footsteps echo in the hallway outside, and I feel my chest tighten.

He's here. He always comes back to me after class, but there's something in the way he holds himself today that's different. He's quieter, more withdrawn than usual.

He enters, and his eyes avoid mine, as always. His posture is stiff, like he's made a conscious effort not to be relaxed. "Scorpius," I say softly, trying to keep my voice even, "Is everything alright?"

He hesitates, his eyes flicking briefly to me before he looks away. "I'm fine, Dad."

But I know he's not. I can see it. His voice cracks slightly when he says it, and the walls he's built up are thicker than ever. "Scorpius, if there's something—"

"I'm fine!" His voice rises, more forceful this time, cutting me off.

A flash of frustration stirs in me. "Don't say that if it's not true."

"Stop," he snaps, his face contorting into a mix of anger and hurt. "I'm fine, okay? Just leave me alone!"

I stand frozen, unable to move or speak. He's never said anything like this to me before, not this openly. There's something deeper behind his anger, but I can't get him to say it. And now, we're stuck.

The door swings open, and Vivienne stands there, her face uncertain. She's seen enough of our exchange to know there's tension in the air.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," she says quietly, but there's a kindness in her eyes that makes me pause. "Stay," I tell her before I can think it through. "I'm sure you've seen worse."

Scorpius doesn't wait for her to speak. He storms past both of us, his footsteps heavy as he leaves the room without a word.

Vivienne doesn't follow him, but I see the soft concern in her eyes.

"It'll be fine," she says, her voice gentle but sure. "Kids like Scorpius... they come around when they're ready. He'll find his way."

I don't know why, but her words hit me harder than I expect. There's something in the way she says it, something calm and reassuring. It feels like a balm on a wound I didn't even know was still open.

But I don't say anything. I can't.

Instead, I just nod, and she gives me a small, understanding smile.

"I'm sorry," she adds softly. "I didn't mean to intrude on your private moment."

"It's alright," I say, though I'm not sure I believe it. I'm still haunted by Scorpius's words, still aching from the distance between us.

Vivienne steps out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

And in the quiet that follows, I realize something. I'm not just struggling with my son. I'm struggling with myself.