This story is a work of fanfiction, using characters and scenarios from the Harry Potter World, which is trademarked by J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are characters created by the wonderful woman stated above, and I hold no bearings over them. This does not adhere to all of J.K. Rowling's cannon, and is not considered official story cannon; this is written for the entertainment of both you and me, dear reader, and is no way endorsed or affiliated with J.K. Rowling or, by extension, Warner Bros. Films.

Title comes from Shakespeare's quote: "Love sought is good, but given unsought is better."

"Don't take that!" Amber eyes met Lapis Lazuli. "Thief!"

"I didn't — I swear!" Tears clouded the small child's vision. "I bought it! For my daddy. It's special. You can't take it!" He clutched the book closer to his chest. Tears ran down smooth, pale cheeks. "D-Daddy! I n-need you!"

"No! I saw you take it." Pointing an accusatory finger, the flame-haired woman stuck her chin in the air. "Death-Eater scum." She spat on the ground where he was standing. A speck of spittle landed on the child's once-smooth, worn boot. "Just like all your kind. Malfoy." She forced the name out through her teeth, lips barred, as though she was uttering a profanity rather than a family name.

Suddenly, with surprising ferocity, the child glared up at her, eyes flashing. "My daddy's not a Death Eater," he said, his voice even. "Daddy's not a Dark Wizard."

"Ha!" A sharp, bark-like laugh exited from the woman, and the crowd that had gathered chuckled appreciatively. "Not a Dark Wizard! Malfoy!" She looked to the crowd and smiled (It wasn't a very nice smile), before turning back onto the young boy.

"Let me tell you something, Little Baby Death Eater," she crooned with false sweetness, and laughed as the boy flinched at the nickname. "Your father is terrible. He killed millions. He is a stupid, self-oriented, vain, nasty, mean, Dark bastard that has never amounted to anything, and never will be anything." She paused, and the child's tears ran more freely than before. She smirked. "So go run and to your precious Daddy and know that you come from a line of failures. You're a failure."

The child scrunched up his facial features before starting to cry even harder. "Daddy!" he screamed, and the crowd jeered at him. "Papa! Daddy!"

At the loud screeching, the door to a small bakery slammed open, and a harassed-looking, thin man, wearing a very wrinkled suit, ran out of it, panting. Upon seeing the child in hysterics, he ran faster over to him, dropping his possessions on the cobblestone as he attempted to get to the child, only to be held back by the crowd. Kicking and fighting and completely lost of all dignity, Draco Malfoy yelled at his son in rapid-fire French.

"Scorpius! Are you okay? Es-tu blessé? Ont-ils vous blessent?" The man lunged for the child, who cried even harder as he saw his father being held back. Worry flashed in Draco's eyes at his young son's tears. "Calmez-vous! Je suis ici. Je ne vais nulle part, mon cher. I shall never part with you, Scorpius."

The child's tears still flowed, and he tugged on his shirt sleeves in anxiety, attempting to determine if he could run up to his dad. The rapid-fire exchange that blurred the lines between French and English was baffling the woman who accused them, and she looked at the crowd for support. "Je suis peur, papa. I want them to go away. Scared," he murmured, and hugged the book closer to his chest. Nervously, he started to edge toward Draco, scuffing the toes of his well-worn shoes on the pavement. Looking around with big eyes, he stole a glance at his father, who opened his eyes wide, looked toward the guards around him, and, after a few seconds, gave the tiniest of nods. Gathering courage, Scorpius ran all the way into his father's arms, and jumped up as Draco pulled him closer to his chest, whispering soothing words. That was when the shop keeper lost it.

"He stole it!" she shouted.

"Excuse me?" Draco asked, baffled. "I'm afraid I don't know what your referring to." His eyes narrowed, and looked at the guards around him, who, sensing danger, stepped back, allowing Draco to move freely, forming a wide semi-circle around the father and son. "But for harassing my son, I'm sorry to say that I can't speak to you right now for fear of loosing my temper." Cold fire flickered in his icy blue orbs. "Please," he said, his lips thin, "If you would let us on our way, we won't be any trouble to you."

"No," the woman said, putting her hands on her hips, "I'm afraid to tell you that your son is a thief."

The crowd murmured their consent. "Thief."

"My son," Draco said, his voice tight, "is worth ten of you, and it would do you good to remember that."

The unspoken threat lingered in the air.

"Your son," the bookkeeper said, "is nothing but a common failure. Just like all of your kind. You Malfoys. You Pureblood Terrorists."

"Do you recall Shakespeare, perchance? 'What's a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' I believe what he was referring to is your kind; the kind that can't look past names. I'm not arrogant enough to say that I'm good - or even remotely pleasant. Call me what you want. But don't say anything like that about my son. Scorpius is a good - no, great - child, who will never repeat my mistakes." Draco's expression was guarded.

"Shakespeare, Frenchie? Didn't think you were smart enough to see past your nose," she said, and tossed her red locks over her shoulder. "Or, judging by that..ah..product over there, your sex drive." Draco tightened his grip around his son's small body. "And where's little Scorp's Mum? Did she leave you?" In for the kill. "Did she finally realize that you're nothing?"

The shopkeeper roughly ripped the book out of Scorpius's hands, making the small child almost fall over his own feet in surprise.

The tension in the air was palpable.

"Don't. Don't you dare talk like that." Every head turned to the source of the voice, and the shop owner gasped a bit when she saw the voice. Harry Potter raised his head to meet hers.

"M-Mr. Potter! Savior of the Wizarding world!" the shopkeeper smoothed her skirt down and plastered a smile on her face. "I was just telling off this little Malfoy."

"What was the crime?" Harry said, his voice steadily increasing in volume and intensity. "Theft? I saw the kid buy it. The book. He paid for it."

"Sir, you don't realize—" she fumbled for words.

"No. I saw him buy it. He had this little wallet, this cute little wallet made of Duct tape, damnit, and he went up, and pulled out his coins, and paid for the book, all in sickles. He saved for this book, and he bought it." He nodded to Scorpius and Draco, who's face had taken a strange mixture between disgust and admiration. "Malfoy, you have flaws, but your kid isn't a bloody thief." Draco nodded his consent. Harry held out his hand, and took the book from the shopkeeper.

The woman, miffed that the book was removed from her possession, crossed her arms and drew herself to her full height. "Well, he may not have stolen the book, but—" she pointed to Draco, "—the crimes that Malfoy over there has committed is worth a life in Azkaban."

The crowd murmured their consent, and, for a second, everyone thought that Harry was going to agree.

Harry raised his head to meet the shopkeepers. "How dare you," he uttered, each word clear and precise and obviously intentional. "You sick, sick person."

The shopkeeper gasped. For a moment, even time itself seemed to hang on a thread.

Suddenly, her hurt expression was replaced by one of anger. "No, how dare you. There the bad ones, Mr. Potter! Their family has killed thousands, and will continue to kill thousands! How can you be defending them?"

"No, Ma'am," Harry's voice was soft, and, somehow, more scary than his loud and brash one. He looked her straight in the eye. "How can you ridicule people based on their past? The war is over. Over. It's been over for five years. I remember what happened. I suffered more than anyone, and I know what it's like to want revenge - but, if you do take that revenge, you're no better than any Death Eater."

With an air of grace, he walked over and placed the heavy tome in Draco's unoccupied hand, who just gaped at him, stunned.

Her face looked crestfallen for a second, before it scrunched up in determination. "And though the wizarding world may be indebted to you, I can't help but question your judgement." She sighed. "Nevertheless, I can't oppose you. Have a nice day, Mr. Potter." To the Malfoys, she just offered a sneer, and turned on her heel, boots clicking down the cobblestone. The people gathered started to slowly filter away as well, and, soon, everything was quiet, as if it was naught but a passing shower, and the sun came up again.

"Daddy?" Scorpius tugged on his father's shirt sleeve. "What's a Death Eater?"

But Draco didn't answer; he was to busy wondering what the hell had happened with Potter. The clicks of patent-leather shoes on cobble becoming fainter were the only sounds that he heard. "Why did you do it?" he said before he could stop himself. The footsteps started to get louder, and he could soon see his shiny shoes on the pavement.

"Do what, Malfoy?" he asked, his voice strained and tired. Harry looked up at Malfoy. He noticed, for the first time, how much the bone in his wrist stood out, where the cuff of his shirt ended. Had it always done that?

"You're not an imbecile, Potter. You know..that," he muttered, and hoisted Scorpius further up on his hip.

"That?"

"That."

"I didn't do it for you, Malfoy." Harry ran a hand through his wild hair. "I did it because it was the right thing to do."

"Oh, Potter, always so righteous."

Harry made a small disparaging noise in the back of his throat, and turned to the toddler that Malfoy was holding.

"Who's this?" he asked.

Draco looked genuinely surprised that somebody had taken interest in his child for a second, before he schooled his expression. He looked to his sleeping son, a rare warmth in his eyes. "Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."

"Mmm. Trust you to give your son the most ridiculous name in the book."

"Trust you to display your below-average intelligence and not understand the symbolic and literary meaning behind the name."

"Is it even possible to have literary meaning behind a name?"

"Is it even possible to be as stupid as you?"

"I'm not the one who shows their gratitude by snarking the person they should be grateful to."

"Oh, Potter, I would offend you, but it seems as though nature has already done that for me."

"This is childish."

"Agreed."

"I-I should go." The sound of Harry's heels clicking down the street carried to Draco's ears. Draco re-adjusted Scorpius in his arms, who whined a bit, almost asleep, and looked to the sky. He bit his lip and sighed through his teeth. "Wait, Potter."

Harry stopped, again. "What is it this time, Malfoy?"

"I-I…er…commend your efforts to be a noble person," Draco shifted his weight. His arms, full of toddler, were starting to become numb and heavy. "However, the question remains; Why? I mean, why not join in? I've certainly caused you enough headache."

"Because," Harry adjusted his glasses. "I mean…I may hate you and all, but I'm not a monster."

"You're not like me," Draco half-mocked, half-stated.

It was quiet for a long while, or perhaps it was a short while - the passage of time slipped through their hands.

After a bit, Scorpius looked up, and saw Harry. Upon seeing his face, he smiled. "Hi," he murmured, "I'm Scorpius Malfoy. Thanks."

"Your welcome, little guy," Harry said, with a small smile. He had a soft spot for children. Even if this was Malfoy's spawn.

Scorpius, done with his rest, climbed down from his father's arms and stood on his own feet, and consented to walk holding his Draco's hand.

"Little guy?" Scorpius asked. "I've never really been called 'Little guy'. I like it."

At this point, Draco intervened. "That's nice, Scorpius," he told him, his voice strained. "Potter, I..I don't know what to say. One of these days, all these times you've saved my life are going to catch up with me."

"How about…Thanks, Harry? Or, Thank You, Potter, if you prefer. Or, Merci, Harry," Harry smirked, unaware he was mirroring the expression a much younger, much less frail, much prouder Draco Malfoy had worn when confronting a much younger, much frailer, much less proud Harry Potter on the first day they met, at Madam Malkins.

The faintest of smiles slid onto Draco's face before sliding off again, as if Draco's expressions were naught but fluctuating weather. "Parlez-vous français? Je l'espère; ayant la capacité de parler la langue française est un outil utile d'avoir où aller sur la vie."

Harry stared at him blankly. "I have no idea what you just said. Merci is literally one of the only French words I know."

Draco snorted. "You wouldn't know what I said." A pause. "Besides, there's no way that I would thank you. Malfoys do not thank those below them."

"Oh, thank Merlin," Harry said, looking at the heavens.

"What?" Draco snapped, annoyed.

"For a second there, you were being so civil, I thought that someone had possessed you." Draco sneered before softening his expression.

"Potter. I need to repay you, somehow."

"Malfoy. I didn't do it for you."

"However, it benefited me; therefore, I must pay you back."

"Slytherins."

"Gryffindors."

Scorpius, tired of standing on his feet, gestured to Draco to pick him up, which he did. Harry heard his back crack as he stood up, and wondered briefly if his spine was okay. Then, he wondered why he even cared. This was just Malfoy, after all.

Draco looked Harry dead in the eyes. "Potter, I need to pay you back."

"Malfoy. We discussed this." Both had yet to break the stare - perhaps it was because both didn't want to loose.

"Potter. I. Need. To. Pay. You. Back."

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

Harry broke the stare and scuffed his toe on the pavement, running a hand through his already-messy hair in desperation. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Just," Malfoy exhaled through his teeth. "Just—here." He transferred Scorpius's weight to one hand, and, with the other, reached into his coat pocket, drawing out a crinkled, yellowed piece of paper with a bit of difficulty. Balancing his once-again sleeping son on one hip, and somehow still keeping the book afloat, he offered it to Harry, who just stared at it.

"Take it. It's not jinxed," He said, impatient. Nobody moved. Draco sneered. "Look, Potter, I can't hold this forever. Scorp's getting heavy in my hands - not to mention the book. Do you want it?"

Hesitantly, Harry reached out, and took it, making sure not to touch any part of Draco's skin.

"What is this?" Harry fingered at the seemingly innocent parchment, which was neatly folded in half and smelled very faintly of smoke. (Not that he smelled it. Not at all).

"My address. If need be, you may call upon me as for me to repay my favor to you."

"Merlin, Malfoy, you manage to talk like a pompous git even when you're thanking me."

"Potter."

"Do you just keep this lying around? I mean, carry your address everywhere, for a time like this? Do you have a special pocket in that suit of yours for them? And why the hell are you even wearing a suit? I mean, why aren't you wearing robes? Pureblood much? You look like—" Harry stopped his rant when Draco raised a thin, blond eyebrow, managing to look elegant and refined, despite wearing wrinkled clothes, carrying a toddler and a book, and being the one at a disadvantage in the situation.

Draco resisted the urge to break his stare from Potter's Avada-Kedavra green eyes. "Take it. Just take it."

With a hint of what might have been a smile, Harry slipped the paper into his robes. "Well," he said, "what would I use this address for?"

"If you are in a state of distress, you may - ah, - visit me at my establishment."

Harry snorted. "I'd like to see how distressed I would be if I had to go and visit you."

"Look, Potter, you don't have to use it. I'm not doing this for you - I'm doing this so that I don't have a life debt hanging over my shoulders."

Scorpius stirred in his sleep, and Draco held him a little closer, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words. The little boy slid his thumb into his mouth, and curled up closer.

"Wow," Harry murmured, mostly to himself, "he really loves you."

Draco turned a faint shade of red. "Well, I am his father. It is only right for him to have some degree of respect for me."

"No, Malfoy," Harry muttered, "He doesn't have respect for you." At Draco's outraged look, Harry continued. "He…has a different kind of attachment to you. You've…raised him well." Harry choked out the words. "And, by the way that he stood up to that lady, it looks that you've gotten a Gryffindor on your hands."

Draco's face turned even more red, before he schooled his expression, and said the words that Harry would have never expected to come out of his old-school enemy's mouth. "Well, Scorpius can be whatever he wants to be. I'm — The — well, let's just say the Malfoy name isn't as popular nowadays, as demonstrated by that lovely bookkeeper."

"How old?" Harry smiled slightly

"What?" Draco jerked his head up.

"How old's Scorpius?"

"He'll be five in December, and I've already enrolled him in school."

"Four? And going to school? What the hell have you done to that kid?"

"It's not my fault that Scorpius is a genius."

"Genius? That's an exaggeration. He's smart, but not, like, Hermione smart."

"Really?" Draco smirked. "Have you really talked to him?"

"No, but—" Harry looked back, and watched as Draco gently tapped on his son's shoulder.

"Scorp? Réveiller, mon cher." Scorpius yawned and, through sleepy eyes, looked at his father.

"Daddy? Why aren't we at home?" He glanced at Harry, and leaned his head on Draco's chest. "Oh, hi, Harry."

"Scorp, we're almost home. Just answer me one question — what is ten times five? Remember what I taught you."

"Too easy, Daddy. 'S fifty. Yep. Fifty fifty fifty fifty." Scorpius nodded matter of factly, ignorant to the impressed and surprised look on Harry's face, and closed his eyes. "Can we go home now?"

"Almost, Scorpius. Juste attendre un peu plus longtemps. Just wait a little longer," Draco answered, a slight smile playing on his lips. He turned to Harry.

"See, Potter? Smart."

Harry offered a somewhat surprised, somewhat suppressed grin. "Yeah..well, I'll stop by if I need a favor, Malfoy."

"Ever heard of an empty offer, Potter?"

"I have your address."

Draco smoothed his son's hair down and began to walk away. "Well, if anything, this was fun, Potter." His boney form became smaller and smaller as he walked down the alleyway.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, to nobody in particular. "If anything, you're amusing to talk to, Malfoy."