Pure-Blood Obligations
“You know the rules,” Kyouya hissed at Mukuro, grabbing zir arm and apparating them to his manor with a loud crack. They landed firmly, and Kyouya immediately continued forward to open the gates, as though the apparition didn’t disturb his speech or disorient him at all. The wards letting him in readily, as though they had been eagerly waiting for his return.
“Not a mudblood,” he reminded, not even stumbling on the insult, “and you’ll have to be discrete.”
As if Mukuro knew how to be discrete.
Kyouya resisted to roll his eyes at zir smirk, tuning out any quip the other might have made—it wasn’t good for his sanity—as he unlocked the front door.
“Fath—” he began to say, calling out in greeting, only to cut himself short and pause at the doorway, speechless.
His father was home, as expected, but Kyouya hadn’t expected him to be pinned against the wall in the foyer, making out enthusiastically with bloody Daemon Spade, of all people—an alleged Death Eater.
Before Alaude could pull away, whether or not he had noticed his son at entrance, doorway half opened, Kyouya drew his wand and flicked his wrist with an angry incantation of Depulso, blasting Daemon aside to hit a nearby wall with a satisfying thump.
Blood boiling, Kyouya took a few brisk steps forward to cross the space between the doorway and his father, growing hotter with more rage with each step, until he felt cold. He stopped a foot short, wand pointed at his father’s neck. It took restraint to make sure he didn’t clutch his wand hard enough to make it snap.
“You,” he hissed, eyes narrowing in anger, hurt, disbelief. “You have the nerve to lecture me about my pure-blood status. My obligation to produce an heir. For possibly being gay.” The temperature around him seemed to drop the more he spoke, eyes glaring daggers made of ice, a stark contrast to the fire in his veins.
Disappointment, betrayal, incredulity. His words came out more quickly. “And I come home for Christmas to find you here, cheating on my mother, having an affair—with a Death Eater, no less.”
He took a breath, then slowly lowered his wand and placed it back in his robes. He couldn’t threaten his father, Head Auror, and expect any good to come out of it. No satisfaction would come out of hexing him, unfortunately.
He wanted to ask him how long he had been cheating, how long he had been intending to keep it from his son, acting as if he had every reason to value antiquated traditions that he held him to, but instead, Kyouya punched him, socked him right in the face. That was far more satisfying.
