The Talk

~-*-~

Lowering the paper, Lucius eyed his only son and heir thoughtfully. He was, of course, being the Scourge of the Breakfast Table and had knocked over a bowl of oatmeal already this morning. However, Lucius was not worried about his son’s behavior in concern to being the Scourge of Whatever. Frowning lightly, Lucius took a sip of his tea, and laid down the newly printed edition of The Daily Prophet.

"Son," he began, and his ungrateful whelp of an offspring ignored him. Lucius’ frown deepened. "Draco." He began once again, but still to now avail.

Taking another sip, he caught the questioning glance of Narcissa, but ignored any attention to her.

Minutes later, Draco was still terrorizing the house elves, and ignoring the Y chromosome donor of his parental pair. Lucius silently seethed at the very idea of having spawned such an ingrate.

Slamming his fist down upon the table, and yelling obscenities however, got the "ingrate’s" attention. Looking warily up at his father with the gray eyes he bestowed to the beautiful boy made Lucius cringe inwardly.

Raising one perfectly plucked (he plucked them for chrissake!) eyebrow, Draco looked at his father. Lucius’ lips formed into a snarl of a repressed verbal tirade towards his son.

Taking a sip, he breathed and settled his anger. Beginning slowly, Lucius spoke: "Son, you’re mother and I are a bit worried about you."

The other eyebrow joined the first as it rose on the perfectly formed face of Draco. Narcissa looked impassively on, and motioned in subtlety for Lucius to continued. Lucius would forever resent her for making him do this.

"Your mother and I, are a bit worried in that, well" Lucius paused and clawed a bit agitatedly at the tie around his neck. Draco looked amused at the obvious nervousness of his father. The smug, smarmy git Lucius thought.

"What your father is trying to say darling, sweetie, is that we have been wondered if-"

"Are you gay son?" Lucius interrupted and Narcissa glared at him for his bluntness.

Draco had the audacity to smile. "I am happy father. If that’s what you mean."

Lucius ignored the urge to roll his eyes like a petty adolescent. "That is not what I mean and you know it you little ingrate. Now answer me." A vein had begun to protrude from Lucius’ neck, and he was turning red at the sheer agitation and irritation the conversation was causing.

Draco leaned back in the high-backed, medieval chair. Running his hand through his hair, he smiled. "Not sure exactly father. I mean, after that affair with Potter that left a bad taste in my mouth, I’ve been heartbroken."

Narcissa had the sense to look shocked. Lucius was furious. Not at the revelation (it was obviously a lie- right?), but the sheer smarminess his offspring displayed towards the ultimate authority figure.

"Answer me!"

Narcissa looked pleadingly between her husband and son. "Your father just means, sweetie, darling, if you could please just tell us if you’re straight or gay." She nodded towards her son in an encouragingly manner and made a slight mouthing of words the looked suspiciously like "Don’t fuck with the crazy man," before Lucius caught her and she had to pretend to be scratching her neck and yawning.

Draco smiled and went back to his eggs. "Bendy straight," came the only answer Lucius had conceded he was ever to get out his evil, snarky son.

Sighing dispiritedly at his oatmeal, the thought came: At least it’s still straight.

~-*-~

Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his father. Arthur just smiled congenially across the kitchen table at his youngest son as the last remnants of the Weasley tribe filtered out of the room.

First day of Christmas holidays, and Arthur had ushered his son to the kitchen, leaving Ginny to settle in the visiting Harry. Arthur also commenced to usher the other remaining persons out of the area. He said he had wanted to "talk" with Ron. Ron was wary of this new fangled "talk" his senile father spoke of.

"Now son," his father began after a somewhat ritualistic clearing of the throat.

Ron raised a skeptic eyebrow, while his father took no notice and continued.

"I just wanted to, you know, talk with you. About some things."

Obviously, came the dry thought of Ron’s design.

Leaning forward, Arthur steepled his fingers in a way reminiscent of a therapist (or so Ron had heard).

"What I mean to ask you son, is where you going in life? Any thought to the future? Are you happy? How’s your love life?" Arthur looked nervous Ron noticed distractedly and continued to babble. Of which Ron distractedly ignored but rather examined the formation of stains upon the old wallpaper.

"…We’ll still support you anyway, whatever your choice. However, your mother would be partial to some grandchildren. But if you don’t want children, that’s your choice too."

Ron’s formerly quizzical look was now aghast. "Dad, what are you talking about?"

An exasperated noise came from behind him. When he turned, he found the members of the red-haired tribe, plus the honorary member of Harry in the entryway of the kitchen.

One of the twins rolled his eyes. "It’s The Talk Ron. What do you think he’s talking about?"

Ron was still drawing a blank. So the other half of the helpful pair interjected.

"Dad means to ask, in, of course, a supportive loving way, you dense git you, is ‘Son’ ." Here the twin lowered his voice in an approximation of his father’s own tone. " ‘Are you gay?’ "

Now Ron was both aghast and disgusted. "What?" He asked shrilly.

"Yeah, with an answer like that, he is. Just listen to that girly voice." His twin nodded in affirmation of the assessment.

"Shut up George." His father chastised.

"Fred."

"What?"

"I’m Fred."

"Sorry Fred. But still shut up."

Fred rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

Ron was about to have an epileptic fit. Or go into shock. He was torn in his choices.

The Weasleys had gone into a quiet buzz. Harry had to stifle some unmanly giggles. It wasn’t hard after Fred told him he was next for The Talk.

"Ron?" His father prodded the shocked and pale youth.

Jarred back to reality, Ron made an abrupt answer. "No! No, no, no, no…." Which followed to form a mantra of sorts to the disrupted boy.

"Yeah, that settles it. He’s just in denial." Fred affirmed once more.

"We need to find ickle Ronnie an ickle boyfriend." George made the statement, and the two turned to look at the unsuspecting Harry, who immediately blanched and went to stand by Ginny.

"Fred, George, shut up!" Came the stern chastisement from Arthur that sent the twins mumbling of the injustice of it all up to their room.

~-*-~

It wasn’t till months later after the incident with Ron that Harry’s turn came. Settling in blissfully for a whole summer at the Weasleys, Harry expected a carefree, untroubled summer. Harry was a disillusioned boy in denial.

Finding himself alone in the kitchen one afternoon, nursing a plate of crisps and a half-eaten sandwich, he listened to the pleasant humming of Mrs. Weasley as she finished off the last of the dished in the sink.

Coming the sit next to the sixteen year old boy, Mrs. Weasley put herself into the full parental mode. Grasping the hand, she came to the inquiring green, be-speckled gaze of her unofficially adopted son.

"Harry, dear. I thought it was time we had a talk."

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and the scene of the previous Christmas holidays played over in his mind, which had become reduced to that of scared, furry animal cornered by the red-haired predator. The, cheery, bubbly red-haired predator, that made the best sandwiches he stated incongruously in the depths of his mind. All sinister, snarky remarks washed away as he reminded himself with that thought.

"I know it’s been a hard life for you. And I just wanted you to know that Mr. Weasley and I will always love you, and accept you, no matter what you do, where you go, who you date." She paused and Harry had to quell the urge to roll his eyes.

Then her eyes started watering and her lower lip quivered. "I mean, though, it would be rather lovely to have some children of your own right? You could bring them here for the holidays, and they could be part of a loving family environment…." Mrs. Weasley trailed off into the palpable platitudes.

The familiar exasperated sound emerged as one of the twins (Fred he thought, or was it George?) walked into the room. "Mum, if he wants kids, he’ll have to adopt. We all know he’s in love with Ron." Leaning forward, he held up at hand to his mouth, and mock-whispered to his mother. "George and I on a campaign to get the two lovebirds together. Cute really, this whole denial thing."

Behind him came a disgusted noise, and the three turned to find Ron, Ginny and George standing in the entryway, reminiscent of Ron’s Talk months ago.

Ginny had her eyes closed, and was muttering under her breath something that sounded suspiciously like "Please don’t be true, please don’t be true, please don’t be true…." Her face was red and flushed in a worrying manner.

Harry had blanched immediately, and looked ready to pass out.

Ron looked stricken at the very idea of dating Harry. George looked smarmy (the bastard).

Looking between the current persons of the Weasley clan, Harry narrowed his eyes at Mrs. Weasley.

"I’m not gay Mrs. Weasley."

Who immediately breathed a sigh of relief, and enveloped Harry into a crushing hug. Ginny made a squeal of delight. Ron almost fainted from satisfaction in the answer.

Fred and George made simultaneous noises of frustration and muttered about the injustice of it all before stomping up to their room.

~-*-~

Hermione stared blankly at her parents. They both stared at her from across the kitchen table with supportive and inquiring looks upon their faces. Looking down at the half-eaten sandwich her mother had prepared for her on that particular day, Hermione sighed, and looked once again to the eyes of her parents.

"Uh, no?"

"Is that a question?" Her father asked skeptically, and leaned forward a bit at his only child, and little girl.

Hermione thought once more. "No." Came the definitive answer.

Her mother sighed, but her father was still not appeased. Linking his hands together, and tilting his head to the side slightly. "Are you sure?"

Dr. Granger’s wife slapped his arm and glared. "If she says she isn’t, she isn’t!" Looking once again to her only child, Dr. Granger (no, the other one) smiled and patted her daughter’s hand in a comforting way. "Of course, if you were dear, your father and I would still support and love you." A muffled snort came from the first Dr. Granger and the second Dr. Granger sent a poisonous glare.

Hermione’s brow furrowed and wondered how she had gotten into this situation. Sure, it was a bit odd for both of her busy parents to be home when it wasn’t a holiday. And it was even more odd for Mother to offer to make her lunch when she hardly ever made anything. She just thought they wanted to bond. But this? Hermione highly doubted this could be considered bonding in any way, shape, or form.

Looking once again between her worried parents, Hermione sighed (something she had found herself doing most often within the sort conversation). However, luckily enough, Hermione had been sure this day would come. When Ron came back from Christmas holidays one year with the story of his traumatic experience, Hermione realized it could happen at any time. So, looking towards the ceiling,s he recited in perfect order and tone what she had prepared in response to this event. "Mum, Dad, I am not gay. I like boys, and I promise I shall start dating soon, I’m just terribly concentrated on my schoolwork."

Dr. Granger (both of them) smiled happily. "There dear, I told you she wasn’t one of those free-love, hippie types."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

~-*-~

Blaise Zabini yawned distractedly at the breakfast table. Rubbing his eyes, and staring dispiritedly at his oatmeal, he had not chance to notice the look conveyed between his mother and father and they both positioned themselves on either side of their offspring.

"Darling," came the breathy endearment from his mother, and he raised his head and looked to her with bleary, sleepy eyes.

He caught the look this time, and his brow furrowed as he looked between his parents.

"Your father and I want to talk with you." His mother finished the earlier initiated statement.

Picking up a spoon and stirring his insipid mush of a breakfast, he answered in a sleep-ridden voice of an adolescent woken before noon during summer holidays. "Okay," he croaked and cringed inwardly at the foreboding sense of the atmosphere.

His father spoke next. "I’ll be frank with you son. Your mother and I have been wondering, if you were, you know, if you’re gay."

He looked skeptically at his father and turned to find the pleading and hopeful look on his mother’s face. Blaise lowered his eyebrows in irritation, and ignored them in what he hoped they would assume to be sleep-ridden lack of comprehension. They weren’t buying it.

"Really sweetie. We just want to know if you like girls."

"Considering you look like one yourself-ow!" His father was rewarded with a smack and glare from his mother, and a murderous look of his own design toward his male parent.

Blaise dropped the spoon and rubbed his temples, closing his eyes tightly, and mumbling things to himself.

His parents looked worriedly between each other and were now considering counseling for their only son.

Looking up suddenly with narrowed eyes, he forced back a sneer of agitation. "I can’t believe we’re having this talk." Pause. "I mean, do you really think I’m gay?" he asked incredulously.

His parents looked once again to each other. "No," his mother aimed to soothe.

"Yes." His father interjected. "What? The boy looks like a girl for chrissake! He's a poof I tell you!"" And was rewarded with yet another smack from Mrs. Zabini.

"I can’t believe you think I look like a girl," Blaise said in an exasperated way.

His father mumbled something, and his mother looked pleadingly to him. "Well, honey, you are a bit effeminate."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "And if I do like boys?"

His father looked stricken and his mother worried. "We’ll still love you."

"And cut you out of the inheritance you ungrateful child!" His father yelled in an outburst. Mrs. Zabini looked horrified at her husband’s declaration.

"Don’t listen to him sweetie. You know how it is. Ever since your older sisters told us they were lesbians, he hasn’t been very secure in his abilities."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Don’t worry, you seemed to have raised all of us to like the female species." With that he abruptly left his oatmeal, stomping up to his room, muttering about the injustices of it all, not left to see the relived look on both of his parent’s faces.

~-*-~

"Ginny?"

"Yeah Mum?"

"Still like Harry?"

Exasperated noise. "Am in love with him Mum."

"Just making sure dear, just making sure."

~-*-~