The Turns of Houses by WeasleyMom
Bedroom
–I told you. You’re way off.†Kenley stands at the mirror with wand in hand, charming her brown curls to stay in place. –It's not my first date because it’s not a date. It’s just a party.â€
Libby Allen sits on her daughter’s bed with her legs stretched straight. –You’ve got a wild spot in the back, behind your left ear.†She watches Kenley find and repair the rogue curl, then drops her head back against the headboard. –He didn’t send an invitation,†she says pointedly. –He sent a personal note, asking you to attend with him. That’s a date, love.â€
Kenley sighs and pushes the idea aside. As usual, her mother is over-analyzing the situation and painting it romantic. Scorpius is her friend and housemate, nothing more. He needed someone to attend his family’s annual holiday party with him and he’s not got a girlfriend. That’s all this is.
–I’m not complaining --- it’s lovely. I just can’t believe you’re so grown up.â€
The words sound strange to Kenley. She doesn’t feel grown up. Most of the time, fifteen feels like nothing more than a big fat question mark between being a kid and being an adult. The rest of the world must agree on some level, since it had to come up with new names like –teenagers†and –adolescents†in an attempt to make sense of it.
–Mum, please. It’s not a date.â€
–Whatever you say.â€
But Libby’s expression doesn’t change and Kenley notices. Her mum's face is stuck somewhere between pride and a sad, unidentifiable, motherly emotion.
Kenly turns back to the mirror, fiddling with her hair one last time. She’s never been invited to anything. Things at Hogwarts were for whoever they were for --- everyone usually, or a particular house, or the Quidditch team, or the Prefects. There was very little inviting, as such, and that makes tonight even more appealing.
She faces the bed and stands as tall as her small frame will allow. –Am I presentable?â€
–Much more than presentable, I think.â€
Libby’s smile is warm and enthusiastic, and Kenley is glad she’s managed to shake loose from her earlier nostalgia. After all, Kenley is usually the one sitting on the bed helping her mother choose clothes and get ready for a night out --- the only difference being that those occasions actually are dates. Tonight makes for a pleasant change, and she feels light as she kisses her Mum and grabs her things.
Garden
Kenley pulls herself straight, recovering, breathing deeply and wishing the jolt of side-along Apparition could be entirely blamed for the shudder in her chest. But as her eyes climb the walls of the house in front of her --- tall and white and imposing --- she sees it from different angles. Twenty-year-old black-and-white photographs from her school books litter her memory, exposing the sins of the mansion in stark contrast to the festive mood set there tonight by lights and laughter. Scorpius hadn’t told her where the party was, but somehow it hadn’t occurred to Kenley that it might be at Malfoy Manor.
His parents leave them and glide along the stone path, up to the enormous entrance of the house, and disappear inside, apparently unaware that the younger set had not followed.
Scorpius steps close to her. –You’re uncomfortable.â€
Kenley’s never been accused of transparency, but even she knows she isn’t hiding her feelings well. –What? No!†She blults it out because it’s the right answer and because she’s ashamed of the real one. It’s a house, she tells herself. It’s only a building and I shouldn’t be bothered. She further reminds herself that whatever atrocities happened here happened a long time ago and certainly had nothing to do with Scorpius.
She watches him watching her and realizes for the first time how similar they are to one another. The thought shakes her. Scorpius comes from scandal and wealth and tradition and pure bloodlines. Kenley is the half-blood child of a single mother who works herself mad every single day to give the two of them a comfortable home and a life. Other than being Sorted into the same house, what could she and Scorpius Malfoy possibly have in common? But in his current discomfort, she sees the place where they’re the same, because if anyone knows what it’s like to maneuver around in the rubble of a parent’s mistakes, Kenley certainly does. Her dad’s crimes barely register compared to those of Death Eaters, but she’s still got to live with them, doesn’t she? And unless she misses her guess, Scorpius is familiar with that scenario as well.
–You are,†he says, glancing at his shoes. –It’s okay. I should have mentioned it.â€
His disappointment is obvious, and she tries to make sense of it. Is it her reaction, his own regret for not warning her, or the well-documented crimes of the house that cloud his features?
–I’m fine.†She smiles into it, wanting it to be true. Forcing to to be true. –Seriously. If you’re good, I’m good.â€
At Hogwarts, she never notices the burden carries, just in his name. But here, with the sprawling grounds and the fountain and the elegantly dressed witches and wizards making their way to the entrance, it’s impossible to ignore the legacy of wealth and Slytherin pride flowing down to him. And darkness. Plenty of darkness, too.
–Can’t say that,†he admits, catching Kenley off guard.
She tilts her head in a question.
–I’m not good with it. I think they should have sold the place.†He glances up at the windows of the house in a familiar way, like he can see through to the inside and rest his eyes on each piece of furniture in every room. –But who would have bought it? No one, and that’s for certain. My dad got out of here as soon as he could, but now,†he trails off, seeming lost in his thoughts.
–Now?†she prompts.
He turns to her and smiles, looking more like the boy she knows. –Whatever this place is or was, it’s also my grandparents’ house.†He shrugs easily. –I have good memories here.â€
Of course, he does, she realizes, and the thought sets things right. Together, they begin to walk slowly up the path.
–Are your grandparents around?â€
She tenses at the question, but only because she so rarely talks about anything personal with anyone, even those she considers friends. But after everything he’s just told her, she can’t refuse him. So she begins to talk about her mum’s parents in Surrey and their small farm, and in a matter of moments, they’re through the door, being swept into the splendor of the house on a current of party goers.
Drawing Room
Her laughter bubbles over. –I tried to warn you.†Her face is warm and her heart pounds from exertion. –I’m a horrible dancer.†Kenley and her mum sometimes dance at home, but they're always fully aware of their ineptitude, and in fact, that is most of the fun in it. But here, in front of all Scorpius’ family and their fancy friends… she felt sick at the thought of it. But he insisted, and if she made a fool of herself, he didn’t seem to mind.
–Rubbish.†He grins and pulls her by the hand away from the people. –You should dance more. I’ve never seen you laugh so much.â€
The same can be said of him, she thinks. Scorpius is a relatively serious person; it's good to see this side of him, so carefree and comfortable. Like he is when he’s playing Quidditch. Perhaps it was the dancing, but Kenley thinks his ease tonight is more likely because he's in a familiar place. She's no different --- isn’t everyone more comfortable, more themselves, at home?
–What’s this room?†she asks as they move through a corridor into a large space attached to the entry hall. It’s empty now, and Kenley is mesmerized by the paintings on the wall and the architecture of the ceiling. –Beautiful.â€
–This is the drawing room.†He hangs back as she moves into the center of the space and stands under the crystal chandelier.
There are two sitting areas, one in the center where Kenley now stands, and one off to the side in front of a lovely set of French doors that must lead to the back garden. A fireplace stands guard in the middle with a gold mantle supporting a large painting of a lush garden. She realizes the effect must be staggering in the light of day, with glimpses of the Malfoys’ own garden spilling in from the windows and doors.
–Do you play?†she asks when her hungry eyes land on the black grand piano. She moves to examine it, then glances at him as he crosses to meet her at the corner of the magnificent instrument.
–No, much to my grandmother’s disappointment. Do you?â€
–No, but my mum does a bit.â€
He looks back toward the doorway, presumably to make sure they are still alone. –My grandmother --- the one you just met --- felt it was essential that I learn how to play, and Mum was in favor of it as well.â€
–You didn’t want to?â€
–I wanted to play Quidditch.†He grins and shakes his head, as if she should have known that one.
–Your poor grandmother,†she says, though she doesn’t mean it. –How did you get out of it?â€
–Dad,†he tells her. –He won’t do things just because they want him to. Guess it applies to me, too.â€
She nods. The way he talks about his dad meshes well with the impression she got of him tonight. He’s quiet but engaged, though at times he grows distant, even moody. But he was nice enough to Kenley and seems to be a good father.
–I’m disappointed. I thought you might play something.â€
His expression moves from interest to mischief and back again. –Well, I can’t have you disappointed, can I?†And he inches closer to her so he can reach the keys. He spreads his left hand out, lowering every other finger intentionally to rest lightly on a key, and looks back at Kenley soberly.
She clears her throat. –I, uh, I thought you couldn’t play,†she says softly. His nearness and the openness of his gaze conspire to unnerve her.
–I can’t,†he says gravely, pressing his hand down on the keys to make his point. The sound is horrific, a clash of notes that ought never to be played together again. They cringe and laugh, and keep on laughing.
Finally, Kenley gets control of herself. –Why aren’t you this funny at school?†she asks playfully.
–I don’t know,†he says.
But his expression changes and she thinks he does know. Because just like that, his face full of something serious --- eagerness, maybe --- like he has something important to say and is trying to put the words into the right order.
She’s about to ask if he’s all right when she feels his lips press against hers. She is shocked, to say the least, but then she feels the slightest pressure on her arm, his hand settling her.
It’s her first kiss. It should be sloppy and wet and awful, like in the book she read last summer and like one of her housemates experienced last year. But this kiss is none of those things. His lips are cool at first, then warm, and so are hers, and the warmth spreads out inside her. She should stop it. She shouldn’t kiss him when she feels only friendship for him, and yet, she doesn’t want it to end.
But when his hands find her hips, she feels the unfairness of it and pulls back. –Scorpius,†she whispers. –I shouldn’t have --- –
–You didn’t,†he whispers, his breath like feathers against her cheek. –I did.â€
–I know, but it was... it was wrong of me to let you when I…†Her eyes search his, not wanting to say the words. –I’m sorry.â€
His hands disappear from her waist. –Oh.â€
Tears press against the back of her eyes, but she refuses to blink. What is wrong with her? He’s utterly beautiful with dark blond fringe brushing his eyebrows and soft gray eyes piercing hers at this very moment. She cares for him, but at the center of it, she knows it's only friendship.
–Merlin." He runs a hand through his hair. "I shouldn’t have kissed you.â€
–No, I’m glad you did.â€
He looks at her, and she knows he doesn’t believe her.
–Truly, Scorpius. I’m glad. I’m just sorry if I hurt you by… not stopping it.â€
His expression relaxes. She doesn’t know if he believes her or not, but the awkwardness recedes slightly. It is at this moment Kenley realizes her mother was right: he’d intended this to be a date. And she feels like a fool.
–Maybe I should go,†she begins. –When you asked me to come, I didn’t realize…â€
–No, it’s fine. I’m glad you came. We just, uh… we need something to distract us now.â€
Kenley grins, relieved at his attempt at humor. –Well. You could play that song on the piano again.â€
He laughs and the tension dissolves. –Let’s dance some more.â€
A groan escapes her throat but a laugh is right behind it. –You know half the girls in Hufflepuff are crazy about you, right?†she asks as they walk back from where they’d come.
–Are you serious?â€
Kenley nods wildly, as if this should be obvious.
–Well, maybe in a while, when I’m over you, you can introduce me to them. I’d give anything to see my grandfather’s face when I tell him I’m dating a Hufflepuff.â€
She laughs hard in her belly as they are swept back onto the dance floor.
Kitchen
–In here,†Libby calls.
Kenley drops her cloak on a chair and joins her mum at the kitchen table.
–You didn’t have to wait up.â€
–I’m not waiting up,†she says. –This is critical research.†She’s freshly showered, wearing pajamas, and flipping through a pile of old recipes.
–Are we going to attempt any of these meals?†Kenley is skeptical, as neither of them are much use in the kitchen.
–’Course not,†Libby says. –But doesn’t this look delicious?â€
Kenley laughs and flicks her wand, causing the tin of biscuits to open and two glasses to hop from the cupboard. A moment later, mother and daughter munch on biscuits and mild with the recipes spread out in the space between them.
–Not a date then?†Libby asks.
–Well. Not a date to me,†Kenley confesses, adding emphasis to the final word so her mother’s head snaps up at the sound of it. –Turns out it was for him.â€
–Oh, no. Was it terribly awkward?â€
–Some. Not terribly.†She picks at the tablecloth. –He thought I knew, but I had no idea he felt that way about me.†A soft hand covers hers, calming its movement and drawing her eyes up to meet her mother’s concerned gaze.
–You never expect anyone to like you, Ken.â€
The words sting. There’s some truth in it, but it’s not as bad as she’s making it out to be. She hasn’t been sitting around feeling sorry for herself. On the contrary, she was raised to believe she could do or be anything she wanted, and that belief was still strong in her. But things are more complicated with people and relationships, and Kenley can’t deny that she does tend to feel a bit surprised when she receives a compliment or finds someone showing interest in her.
Libby releases her daughter’s hand and rises from the table, clearing up. –I’m not sure how I let that happen in you, but I would love to correct it.â€
–It’s not your fault.â€
Kenley knows they’re both thinking about her father. It’s not right to blame him for every issue in her life, and she refuses to give him the credit for the person she’s become – that would be a cop-out. They divorced when she was only four, after all, and her mother’s been the main influence in her life since then. The fact is, you shouldn’t wallow in the disappointments of life; you have to get on with it. But in quiet moments like this, it’s hard not to turn it all over in her head, trying to understand. And when she does that, it’s impossible not to wonder: if human beings have a natural love and instinctual drive toward their children’s well-being and happiness, why didn’t her dad seem to give a shit about her? Her mum would say it’s got a lot more to do with him than it does with Kenley, and that’s probably true. But once in a while, the question surfaces and messes her around a little.
She rises and puts the glasses in the sink, trying to shake the sudden gloom. Libby gets the lights and they move through the parlor, toward their rooms.
–Brian called tonight.â€
–Which one is Brian?â€
–Which one?†Libby repeats dramatically, pretending offense.
Kenley laughs out loud. –I just mean… is Brian the daft one you already went out with? Or the interesting one you were hoping would call?â€
–The interesting one.â€
The last thing Kenley wants is a man in their lives, but she knows her mum is lonely with her at Hogwarts, and she can’t bear to think of that either. Her mother deserves to be happy. –I’m glad,†she says as she plants a kiss on her cheek and heads for bed.
Later, she slides into her sheets and pulls the blanket to her chin. Scorpius swims into her vision, his eyes closing and his lips finding hers to awaken them. It’s as lovely as it was the first time, and she sinks into the memory. She learned one thing tonight: kissing a handsome boy is a highly enjoyable activity. But she also knows that a boyfriend is not something she wants or needs. In some ways, Kenley isn’t like her mother. In spite of having been epically mowed down by love in the past, Libby still wants to find someone and fall in love. She believes in the goodness of trusting another person with everything and sharing her life. But Kenley isn’t so sure. Libby is an optimist, but Kenley is a realist. And so she never dreams of a boyfriend. Instead, she turns on her side, settles into her pillow, and dreams of stirring, remembered kisses --- a perfect compliment from a friend --- and drifts to sleep, content.
END
Chapter Endnotes: Thanks for taking a chance on an OC fic. If you liked Kenley here, I hope you'll check out my other Kenley story, Seventh Year Slytherin.