This is a response to the 50 Art of Words Challenge. In case my selection for characters confused you, this story is about Lily Luna Potter and Scorpius Malfoy. This is my first time really writing for the Harry Potter fandom, so I'd love to hear back from you the readers on what you think, that's including constructive critism.

Note-chapters will not always follow each other in contiunity, so I will stay which chapter belongs to which contiunity. (For example, this chapter has at least two other chapter "sequel"s to it, but that doesn't mean the others will too.)

Prompt: "Offering"

"Malfoys," Scorpius's father, Draco, would say, "do not have bad days—we have days in which we are temporarily set back for various reasons. But Malfoys will always come out on top in the end."

"Greengrasses on the other hand," his mother added, greatly amused, "can and will have set backs and bad days. I had a set back AND a bad day when I married your father."

Scorpius supposed that this meant his Greengrass blood was particularly strong today because he certainly didn't feel like he was going to come out on top. Today he had fallen off his broom during Quidditch practice and broke his arm; Madame Pompfrey had fixed it in a snap, but that wasn't the problem—the problem was she said she was going to write to his parents despite his pleas. This meant that all of the coming week his mother would assail him with letters asking after his health and telling to quit his favorite sport to take up something less dangerous. His father would send letters too—asking after him, demanding to know who he should punish for the injury (be it the broom making company or his team's captain and his family), and warning him that if he quit Quidditch, he would disinherit him. His parents were overdramatic like that; honestly, he half expected the first letters by dinner tonight.

This cast a rather dreary look on the rest of his week, but his other problem was that while he had broken his arm, everyone else in his year and above had left for a Hogsmeade trip. Madame Pompfrey had refused to let him go, lest he manage to hurt his arm again before it healed up completely.

So, not only was he left behind with a bunch of first and second years, missing out on what was probably some great fun, he had a week full of his parent's over-the-top correspondence to look forward to, which he would no doubt have to respond to each time. Joy.

He escaped the Hospital Wing as soon as possible; his father had enjoyed hamming up his injuries but this was not one of the traits Scorpius had inherited from his father. He fled out to the snowy grounds and hid under a tree at the Great Lake's shore. He flopped in a matter dignified enough for a Malfoy and proceeded to brood.

There really wasn't much for him to do, he surmised. This had been the last Hogsmeade trip before Christmas holidays and while he had already finished any Christmas shopping, he had planned to at least spend some of his considerable pocket money at Honeyduke's or Zonko's. He had been planning it for the last few days and now it was all for naught.

Sighing, he hunkered down. "I'd kill for a butterbeer," he grumbled. For a long moment, he stared dully at the frigid waters before him, trying to not think of much, or at the very least not of his parents' impending letters or how much fun he was missing or how good an acid pop sounded at the moment or-

He tensed as he heard a twig snap next to him; he whipped his head around to tell off whoever it was that had come up when he saw who it was exactly.

It was the Potter girl. Lili or Lily or something, he couldn't remember. Unlike her (annoying) older brothers, little Lily (was that her name? He really had to ask someone, know your enemy and all that) was not a Gryffindor—she was a Hufflepuff first year. She didn't look much like her brothers either with her red hair smooth and cut like a helmet. She shared James's brown eyes and her cousins', Rose and Hugo, freckles but she didn't really look much like any of them.

"What do you want?" he growled at her. Of all the things he didn't need, a Potter brat topped the list. "What, come to taunt me? 'Big, bad ol' Malfoy went and hurt himself so he had to stay at school like a good boy', eh? 'Serves him right, getting left behind', right? Huh? Answer me!"

She stared bemusedly at him for a moment, not saying anything. It was a bit unnerving.

"What? Don't feel like taunting me when I can talk back? Afraid I'll hex you? …say something, damnit!"

He blinked as she held out a yellow handkerchief with a hand stitched Hufflepuff badger on it.

"What's this? What, feeling bad for me? Expect me to start crying something? I don't need your pity."

Her mouth quirked up. "You have a bogey hanging from your nose."

"…oh?"

She handed it to him. "You can keep it. Grandmum Weasley will just make me another. Merry Christmas," she called to him as she turned and walked away.

He stared after her for a moment before looking down at the handkerchief, his ears burning.