The Father is Not the Son
Implied Albus Severus/Scorpius with H/D, if you squint | G | 389 words | 28 May, 2009
Beta: daisiesdaily
Warnings: None.
Summary: You've never truly been like me, have you? You look almost exactly like me, everyone says, but you're not me.
Notes:
I asked for drabble prompts, and weasleywench gave me, "Albus/Scorpius or Harry/Draco, the father is not the son." I kinda just started writing, so it's kinda of interesting, I think, and pretty ambiguous. I did have a certain character in mind, for the most part, as the narrator, but I think it could be either/or.
***
You’ve never truly been like me, have you? You look almost exactly like me, everyone says, but you’re not me.
It’s for the best, really. I never wanted you to make the mistakes I have. I know you’ll make mistakes, but mine seem so much…bigger somehow. Perhaps it’s because I don’t know how to live a small life.
I suppose I never had a choice. And that’s the crux, isn’t it? I just want you to have a choice, to have choices, to not have to worry that the world will end if you make the wrong one – that everything you do in life, everyone you meet, everyone you love – won’t be torn apart because of that one thing, that one, little thing, that might end it all. Not just for you…for everyone. I’ve sacrificed my life for you to not have to do that.
Not that I’m trying to win awards for that. I don’t want acknowledgement for that. Because I’ve made just as many mistakes as I’ve made willing sacrifices, and I’ve fucked up more than most can possibly imagine, costing lives getting to the right choices, and that’s okay with me. Because you don’t have to live in a world that forces you to make those kinds of mistakes, those kinds of choices, and that’s all I want. For you to be happy.
And I know you’re scared; I can see it in your eyes, as you sit there, across from me and your mother, holding his hand. But don’t be. Because, and you won’t believe this, but I understand. I understand more than I can say right now, or probably ever, but it’s okay to love him. I’m not mad. If I could have let myself, I probably would have looked a bit like you and he, sitting across from my bewildered loved ones, who wouldn’t know whether to curse him or find out if I’d been cursed. But if that would have happened...if I had let my curious desires develop fully, you wouldn’t be here, right now, telling me you love your best friend, my “enemy’s” son.
I can tell you’re wondering if you’ve made a mistake, telling us, and while I know your mother is tensing beside me, unsure what to think, all I can do is smile and say,
“Good choice, son.”
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