Storm in a Teacup

Draco's mother stirred a lump of sugar into her teacup with a tiny silver spoon. "Draco, dear. We need to talk."

Fantastic, thought Draco. Absolutely fantastic. What the hell am I supposed to say? Yes, mother, I'm fucking Harry Potter. Yes, I like girls too. No, I don't think this will affect my eventual production of a Malfoy heir . . .

"Now that you're of age . . ." his mother continued.

Is that going to fucking change something? Draco wondered. Does she think this is a phase I'm going to grow out of? No, Mother. This was inevitable. It started during a Quidditch match. A manly pastime, right? You wish. Harry saw the Snitch first, as always, and I was following him, matching every movement he made. When his knee nudged the broom, so did mine. When his hand twisted the stick upward, so did mine. Our hands closed on the golden ball as one . . . Then I wanted to mirror him even more closely, without the stadium, the mindless onlookers, the props. I knew that our whole bodies could move as one.

Draco always got what he wanted.

All this time his mother had been talking. Finally she finished her little speech. "Draco, dearest, I know this will be hard for you, but try to understand. Lucius is not your father."

Yeah, yeah, Draco thought. So Harry and I have been-- wait. Wait. That's not what she said.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Draco's mother sniffed dramatically. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, darling, please. Lucius isn't--"

"But we look exactly alike!"

"Dear, take a deep breath. Think. Haven't you ever wondered why you and I and Lucius are nearly identical?"

Of course he hadn't. Kids thought of questions like that right after they started asking, "Does Mummy like it better on top or from behind?"

It was with that cold image pushing into his mind that Draco heard the words, "Lucius is my brother."

"What?"

"My half-brother, to be precise. Your half-uncle, sweetling."

"But . . . but you're married."

"A mere formality. Lucius wanted a wife who wouldn't interfere with his real interests. I wanted to escape that school in Germany. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement."

"What about me, then?"

"Well, Lucius needed an heir, of course. One of Lucius' lovers was only too happy to provide the necessary matériel. We were all so much younger then." Draco's mother laughed flirtatiously.

Draco didn't want to hear any more of this. He wanted to pull his pillow over his head forever. Or maybe Harry-- just pull him down and down, soft cream skin . . .

But first he had to ask one question. "Mother, tell me. Who is my father?"

"Well, dear, you see, things were very different in those days . . ."

"Tell me. Now."

Even Narcissa Malfoy could see when the truth was unavoidable. She set her cup down carefully. It clinked as it hit the saucer.

"Your father is Lord Voldemort."

Draco didn't answer. He thought he might not answer anyone, ever again.

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