Written during a week of boring, endless homework. ^.^ They just seemed like the oddest two people to write into the same story, so then I absolutely had to. Reviews would be awesome, flames or comments, because I spent a week on this.
Disclaimer: I disclaim. ~winky face~
Draco Malfoy was a Slytherin. He was a Pureblood: pointy, aristocratic, and full of a better-than-thou confidence that drove others mad. Well, it either drove them mad or made them worship-slash-fear him. Regardless, he was by no stretch of the imagination nice or remotely similar to a teddy bear.
Yet, alas, Draco Malfoy was a boy. Thus, he was completely caught off guard when he was strolling the castle grounds (admittedly hoping for a run-in with Potter, as his nemesis was easy to rile up these days and he was itching for a fight) and he heard a girl crying. He was fourteen and male, and therefore completely at a loss as to what he should do.
His first instinct was to approach her; he had no idea what girls did to boys that ran off after they caught them crying, but he was sure that he didn't want to find out. He rounded the edge of one of the greenhouses and saw that she was a blond-haired Hufflepuff. He further identified her as a girl from his year, Hannah Abbott. Now that he knew this, though, he found his uncertainty rising once more. "Er…"
Her head snapped up at the small noise and her eyes fixed on him like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. She looked as fierce as any Gryffindor and Draco's Slytherin survival instinct urged him to turn tail and run. "Sod off, Malfoy," she said, obviously in agreement with his more Slytherin side.
There must have been a chivalrous male somewhere in his family line, though, as he still hesitated. "Are you alright?" he asked, uncomfortable. Crying girls apparently reduced him to an average, idiotic teenage boy; he didn't really like the change. He was obviously going to have to comfort her so this ridiculous feeling of unease would go away.
"I'm fine." Her glare was so stubborn that his own contradictory side just had to argue.
"If you are fine, then why were you crying?"
"Because you're a Malfoy, why do you care?" she shot back, a small, smug smirk now adorning her face. Hannah's puffy eyes even sparkled a bit.
Unnerved, Malfoy frowned. Weren't Hufflepuffs supposed to be all agreeable and mindless? Why was this one sharp enough to hit a nerve? "I don't care," he protested. "I was merely curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
Yes, he had heard that ridiculous Muggle aphorism before. "I suppose for a Gryffindor that may pose a problem."
Hannah outright grinned at him. Draco's mind froze over with shock at this unexpected turn of events. "You're alright," she decided aloud, "so if you must know, I was crying because I've had a crush on Neville for ages and ever since the Yule Ball he's been off making eyes at Ginny Weasley." The little Hufflepuff girl blushed a bit self-consciously. "It's stupid, I know."
Draco processed all of that sluggishly. "you were crying over Longbottom?" The thought was simply absurd; he tried to cram it into his frazzled mind and ended up so dizzy that he was forced to sit down rather hard across from Hannah. He studied her for a moment before voicing his confusion. "But you're pretty enough. You could find a much better wizard than Longbottom." He frowned for a moment as another thought occurred to him. "Or Muggle, for that matter." Though he blanched at the idea of a Muggle surpassing a wizard, surpassing Neville Longbottom would be a ridiculously simple task. If no Muggle man could manage that, then all Muggle men were simply hopeless.
"Why Draco Malfoy, was that compliment?" Hannah asked, her tone heavy with implication.
"What?" Draco sicked up a little in his mouth at the thought of fancying a Hufflepuff. "Merlin and Mordred, no!"
She laughed. "Good. If you did, I might've had nightmares for weeks."
Draco dropped his head into his hands. "I might yet." The moment of mockery passed. "Why Longbottom?"
Hannah picked absently at the grass in front of her. "He's nice."
Draco waited, but she failed to come forth with more. "That's all?" he demanded, incredulous. And here he'd begun to think she was intelligent, or witty at the very least!
She shrugged. "There's more, but I didn't want your brains to melt and dribble out of your nostrils because they self-destructed after prolonged exposure to Hufflepuff sappiness," she informed him matter-of-factly.
"Er…thanks?" he asked, a bit shocked at what went on in the minds of these seemingly innocent 'Puffs.
She gave him a dazzlingly mischievous grin. "Besides, I've liked him for ages. I keep dropping hints, but he's hopeless." She sighed, frustrated once more.
"He is thick," Draco agreed. "He'll notice eventually, I suppose. He'll have to like you back then, because you're way out of his league."
Hannah tilted her head and started oddly at him. "You make a surprisingly good friend, Draco Malfoy," she told him, climbing to her feet. "Thanks."
"We are not friends," he told her, climbing to his feet as she started to walk off, wiping her eys on her sleeves as she went.
"Whatever you say," she called back in a tone of gentle disbelief. It said quite plainly that she thought he was dead wrong.
He refused to chase her, so he left it there. Even he knew he was being generous to himself by calling it a draw.
He didn't see her again until well after the second task. She fell into step beside him as he left the Great Hall after dinner one evening, and no one was around, so he didn't automatically hex her for daring to come near him.
"Do you think it's true?" she asked him without preamble. This meant, sadly, that he was completely oblivious as to what the "it" she was referring to was. He told her so and she rolled her eyes. "The article about Hermione, of course!"
"Oh." Draco didn't really know what to tell her. Of course he knew it wasn't true, but he didn't mind Granger's reputation getting soiled, either. "Well, Granger is a Mudblood."
Hannah reached out and smacked him upside the head with so natural a motion that one would think she'd been doing it her entire life. "Language," she admonished. "She's always been a nice girl to me."
Draco scoffed. "You take her fist to your face and see how you like it, then," he muttered a tad sulkily. His head smarted a bit where she'd cuffed him and he couldn't hit her back. It rankled his nerves a little.
"Oh, you probably deserved it," she told him dismissively, and Draco felt oddly appreciative for her honesty. Most people were prejudiced around him one way or the other, but this girl seemed to have formed her own opinions about him. "But really, do you know anything about the article?"
"No," he said with a sigh, "but Skeeter's a notorious gossip and she's not above lying. Her columns are good entertainment but not much more." He frowned down at the blond-haired, good-natured girl next to him. "We're almost to the dungeons, Abbott. You shouldn't be caught here this late. We aren't kind to Hufflepuffs."
He could see the "you are" retort in her eyes, but she kindly held her tongue and nodded. "Okay. Bye, Draco Malfoy," she called, heading off in the opposite direction.
That was such an odd habit of hers, calling him by his full name. It was almost as if she was mocking him with it, but it wasn't the kind of bait that he rose to. It was almost friendly in a way.
It was painful to realize that he liked being friends with the strange Abbott girl. So she'd been right after all. Somehow, that didn't surprise him in the least.
Draco returned to Hogwarts for his fifth year somewhere between proud and terrified. The Dark Lord had risen again; it was a horrifying prospect for the world but could help Draco so much. It could also hurt him just as equally if his family got caught doing anything incriminating.
Unfortunately, that included consorting with Hufflepuffs. Draco avoided Hannah Abbott the few times that she tried to approach him, and eventually she gave up. It wasn't until Umbridge took over for old Dumbles that he once again began to worry for his friend. She had a crush on Longbottom, and Longbottom was in with Potter's gang, and that meant she was in a prime position to get herself maimed or killed, at the very least seriously harmed. That he was so protective of a girl he hardly knew worried Draco a little, but it was one of the short straws in life he seemed to have drawn.
He managed to track her down outside the library one night an hour before curfew. "Abbott," he called out quietly, trying to snag her attention without catching anyone else's. One never knew who was hovering around, hiding in the various strategically placed nooks and crannies of the ancient castle they called home. She heard him; he could tell by the way she stiffened. Still, she ignored him and continued walking. "Hannah?" He didn't mean to make it a plea; he'd meant to be completely Slytherin in using her first name to disarm her guard. Like most of his plans, it backfired.
But it worked as well, and she cautiously approached him. "What, Malfoy?" Ouch.
"Are you doing anything dangerous with Potter's merry little band of Gryffindors?" he asked, trying to not making it sound like the panicked demand it was.
"Why would I tell you that?" Damn her, Hannah's tone wasn't even defensive but coolly indifferent.
"Because I'll try to keep you out of trouble if you're honest with me." He was shocked by the fact that he actually meant his promise.
"Swear?" she asked grimly. All traces of the joyful, witty Hufflepuff girl were gone. In her place stood a competent witch that could probably hex his balls off with very little thought. She'd always terrified him a little.
"On my magic," he promised, and she gasped a little. If he broke that promise his magic would be stripped away, leaving him little more than a Muggle—if he even survived.
"I… I can't tell you anything, really," she told him. "But…" she bit her lip. "I can't."
He nodded. "That means there's something not to tell, though, isn't there?" She didn't even dare to nod, and he was ticked that Potter was so thorough in his security.
"What's Umbrigde got your lot doing?" she asked, sounding a lot less wary and more relieved now.
"Searching our your lot," he told her. "Nothing that you didn't already know. For sneaky Slytherins we're being fairly obvious."
She nodded and gave him a small smile. "I missed you, you know," she told him.
He fought back the urge to blush or, worse, hug her. "You don't even know me."
She shrugged, the same simple shrug she'd given him when she'd told him why she liked Longbottom so much. "I don't need to. You're alright, and a good friend. Thanks." She gave him a hug at random and he felt his arms go around her seemingly of their own accord. He was a Slytherin, damn it, and he wasn't supposed to feel!
But he couldn't help that he wanted to keep this girl safe with a sort of fierce brotherly protectiveness. So he'd do what he could do, little as it would turn out to be.
Sixth year dawned with no crazy Headmistress but more pressure focused solely on him. He hadn't seen Hannah since the end of last school year, but already she knew him well enough to know that he needed a break from her. She cared about him enough not to risk putting him in danger in light of the Dark Lord's reappearance on the world stage.
It was nearing winter when he was snatched up one day and dragged into a nearby broom closet. He'd been on one of his long, brooding walks and had been paying little attention to his surroundings at the time. "What's going on?" he demanded, but upon seeing Hannah relaxed. "Oh."
She frowned at him. "Yeah, oh. You look like Hell, Draco Malfoy. What have you gotten yourself into?"
He bit his lip and shook his head, looking away from her earnest and worried eyes. "Nothing."
"It's not nothing," she told him firmly.
"No, it's not," he agreed, and he forced himself to meet her eyes once more. "But it's nothing you need to know about, either. Isn't it enough that it's poisoning my life?"
She frowned at him. "But I want to help. You don't talk to your friends, do you? They all look carefree; they can't tell that you're bothered by whatever this is, can they? Are they that oblivious?"
"Yes," he told her honestly, "and no. A few of them notice, but they don't care. The rest think that I'm infallible."
"You really won't tell me?" she asked, biting her lip anxiously. He shook his head, a bit sadly, but determinedly nonetheless. He wouldn't drag an innocent, if devious, Hufflepuff into this mess. "How frightened are you?"
He wavered and bit his lip again, determined not to cry. He would not cry in front of a Hufflepuff girl, Hannah or no. He'd looked away from her gaze again, but she tentatively touched his shoulder and something inside him broke. She wasn't just a Hufflepuff girl; Hannah had somehow charmed her way into his heart. He cried and she held him, smoothing back his hair. She didn't say a word, didn't try to comfort him, and the honesty in this gesture—the silence—was comforting in itself. He'd always appreciated Hannah's honesty.
"Sorry," he said when he finally pulled away.
Her smile was a bit bittersweet. "We're even now." She patted his head like he was a puppy and turned to leave, but she froze with her hand on the door's knob. "Please be careful?" she asked. "I'd hate to lose you."
"I'll be careful," he promised, but he wondered how much good it would do. In that moment he hated his father, hated the Dark Lord, and hated precious Potter for failing to protect he and the other Slytherins from the Dark Lord when he was so successful at protecting the rest of the world. Hannah was gone now and he faced an empty closet; his voice sounded so tiny and terribly small when he promised, "I'll try."
This was what it came down to. His plan had finally slotted in to place, somehow supported by his fervent desperation and unyielding determination; failure literally was not an option. It was succeed or die, and the Slytherin survival instinct was healthily developed, thank you very much.
His plan had come together, his family's safety under the Dark Lord was almost reassured, yet his stomach still knotted in unease. It wasn't anxiety about tonight; with Greyback on his side and, loathe though he was to admit it, Snape here in the school, it wouldn't be hard to overcome anything that may go wrong. No, he was worried about the small part he had to play in all of this.
He'd never killed. That would shock Theodore Nott, who had done the dirty deed upon initiation into the Dark Lord's ranks. Lucius Malfoy, despite his numerous failures, had kept Draco remarkably sheltered. Draco wasn't sure that he had it in him to kill Dumbledore.
Actually, in full honesty, he didn't think he could.
But by not killing Dumbledore, he effectively murdered both of his parents. Not killing the Headmaster was suicidal; killing the Headmaster turned him into a murderer. Which was better? Which could he live with, no matter how short the remainder of that life may be?
The plate of food before him was making him feel like vomiting, but he couldn't afford to display weakness in front of the other Slytheins right now. He forced down a few bites of food and shoved his plate away, passing off his lack of appetite on "excitement". The others accepted that and turned back to their own complicated lives that were still so easy in comparison to his own. He cast his eyes around the Hall at the people whose lives really were simple, the people who glared and condemned him for their fears and didn't realize that his own demons came in a remarkably similar form to their own.
Hannah had been covertly watching him—she'd been doing that a lot lately—and she caught his eye. A new panic welled up in him then and he had a new mission, one more thing to do before his plan was in place.
He scrawled a note quickly and hid it in his pocket, slipping it into her bag during the next class they shared. He watched her pick it up and read the words scrawled elegantly there:
Say in your room tonight; make sure everyone you care about does the same.
~DM
She cast a confused glance at him, but he shook his head only slightly. Informing someone with access to those placed prominently on Dumbledore's inner circle was a huge risk, one that could kill nearly everyone important to him, but he trusted her.
She gave him a small nod and he realized, in this one moment full of fear and panic, why this devious girl he'd come to love like a sister had been sorted into Hufflepuff. She was absurdly loyal, even to someone like him, and he was starting to think that maybe Hufflepuff wasn't such a bad label after all.
If surviving sixth year had seemed impossible, surviving his seventeenth year of life was insane. He couldn't go to school. The Dark Lord was living in his house. He had to be constantly on guard, had to constantly protect his mother, and he became a bitterly quiet boy who hated the world and almost anything in it.
He worried about Hannah at school. He hoped Longbottom had gotten smart (though he doubted it) and realized that he loved her so he would protect her with his life. Of course, Longbottom protecting Hannah with his life probably wouldn't do much good, so Draco went even further and hoped that Longbottom had discovered his previously absent Gryffindor bravery and talent as well. Again, it was insane, but he hoped.
Facing the Battle of Hogwarts was impossible, mostly because he didn't want to kill any of these people and they were all trying to kill him. He remembered vaguely being unbothered by the idea of the Dark Lord's return unleashing horrors on the world. He couldn't comprehend now how he'd been so stupid then; if he survived this Hell he might never recover from the trauma.
Halfway through the battle he was fighting somewhere on the third floor of Hogwarts. He saw her, standing with her back to a wall. She was fiercely dueling a Death Eater twice her size and a spell slipped through her defenses. She went down with a cry and blood began to pool beneath her still form. As the Death Eater closed in Draco was hit by somewhat of an epiphany: he did want to kill. He fired off a green shot at the Death Eater that hit accurately and watched in morbid satisfaction as the body crumpled to the ground.
The morbid moment passed and he quickly rushed to Hannah's side. She was breathing, so the curse hadn't been instantaneously deadly, but that told him very little. Death Eaters had thousands of ways to kill their enemies as slowly and painfully as possible; he could only hope that the one he'd killed had been one of the less creative ones.
He cast a Renervate on her and she coughed, spluttered, and moaned. "Hannah?" he asked her quietly, putting a hand on her arm as she cringed. "It's me; it's Draco," he told her, hoping his quiet tone would keep her calm. "Do you know what you were hit with?" She shook her head and coughed more, her breath coming in short little pants. He bit his lip. "Where does it hurt?"
"Everywhere," she said, and this time she coughed up blood. She dropped out of consciousness shortly after that and he didn't try to wake her back up. She might have escaped her pain for the moment; he really, really hoped so.
"Get away from her!" he heard someone shout, and he was blasted back before he could think of shielding himself. His head smashed against the unforgiving stone and he had to blink a few times before the swimming darkness and flashing lights faded again. He looked up to see a formidable looking Neville Longbottom standing over him; this sight was such a paradox that his mind wasn't sure that he hadn't smacked his head a bit too hard.
Draco pulled off his mask, remaining slumped down. "I won't hurt Abbott," he told Neville calmly. "I might even be able to save her life if you let me."
Neville glared disdainfully down at him. "Why would you do that?"
He shrugged. "You'll believe it more readily from her, but she'll only be able to tell you if you let me fix her."
Neville glanced over at Hannah, who had turned disturbingly pale and wasn't breathing very well. That sight had Draco stumbling to his feet, only to be blasted once again by Longbottom's wand. He slowly regained his head once more and glared at the idiotic Gryffindor. "Damn it, Longbottom!" he shouted, losing his temper. Months of angsty and helplessness pooled into his words as he shouted, "Do you want me to save your girlfriend or not?"
Neville slowly nodded. "Fine. If you kill her, I'll kill you." It was still paradoxical that Longbottom's voice could hold that calm certainty, that he could exude enough power that it was believable: Longbottom had turned deadly. Somehow, at some point, something had finally gone right for the hopeless pureblood boy.
Draco ignored that Longbottom's wand was trained on him as he stumbled over to Hannah's side. He had to cast back through his memory wildly (not easy, considering it hadn't stopped spinning from his head's two intimate introductions to the wall), but he finally remembered a counter-spell that might work. Maybe. He really wished Longbottom had been of the "ask questions first, brutally attack late" mentality. He supposed that was too much to hope from a Gryffindor.
Preforming the complex spell drained his energy and he slumped over for a minute before reluctantly forcing himself up to check on Hannah. She was breathing easier and some color was returning to her cheeks. Longbottom caressed her cheek, a look of complete adoration and possibly even love filling his features. Just as Draco had predicted, Longbottom was so thick that it had taken him three years to realize that Hannah was perfect for him, but he'd gotten there in the end. "Give her my regards," he told Longbottom before stiffly climbing to his feet.
He was almost back into the fray when he heard his name—just his given name, surname absent—called out. He turned to see Hannah half sitting up, supported by her protective boyfriend. "Thanks."
He smiled at her and gave a small nod before sweeping back off into the fray. He'd trust Longbottom to keep her properly protected this time.
His seventh year at Hogwarts was a little overstuffed, but the castle had needed to be rebuilt anyways, and McGonagall decided to just build the eighteen year olds their own wing and be done with it. A dozen or so boys had been stuffed in one huge room, and a dozen or so girls had been stuffed in their own likewise. Their dorms were linked by a common room, equipped with a fire, and McGonagall had left off the charms to keep boys out of girls rooms. She told them that they were eighteen and in tightly crammed quarters; if that didn't keep them celibate, she had no hope. Even Draco had reluctantly cracked a grin at that.
It felt weird to be openly friends with Hannah, but it was nice as well. Very few Slytherins in his year had returned—most had been locked away for war crimes—and the rest of the school wasn't feeling overly friendly toward anyone wearing silver and green.
There wasn't a place for ex-Death Eaters in the world, but seeing Hannah around him made him appear less scary to people in general. She was, after all, angelically featured, fresh from the ranks of Dumbledore's Army and one of the few to survive the battle. She was dating the boy who'd led the school through a year of pure Hell, a boy that was close friends with the Savior of the Wizarding World. Draco himself was quieter, more withdrawn. He didn't hex first years, didn't pick fights with Potter.
For the first year in too long, he was almost normal. Eventually, everyone else began to realize that, too.
Also, for the first time ever, he—finally, Hannah declared—had a crush. Her name was Astoria; she was a Ravenclaw two years younger than him. Hannah knew her a little—Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were a pretty close bunch, as they were largely ignored by the other two Houses—and worked hard with that Hufflepuff determination to get them together.
No one was more surprised than Draco when Hannah's careful planning—not plotting, of course, she insisted with a sly little smile that, once again, belonged with a more Slytherin personality than she liked to show—actually paid off.
So he left his seventh year with a girlfriend. Two short years later they were married, he had a job, and life moved on.
Exactly ten years after the day they first talked outside the greenhouses, Hannah and Draco sat in the lounge of Malfoy Manor. They drank tea and ate cookies and talked about random things: trivialities, their lives, their spouses, work…. A lot had changed in ten years, one of the most notable things being the ease with which they talked to one another. But the most significant change could be seen in the two itty bitties playing on the floor at their feet.
Scorpius was the spitting image of Draco. His blond hair was fine and already long, though he was barely one, and his eyes were Draco's as well. The only difference was his nose—he'd acquired his mother's, giving him a softer look—and he was quite possibly the most beautiful child ever seen.
Hannah's little Alice was possibly Scorpius' only rival in beauty. She was one and a half with long brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. They danced and sang with mischief; she seemed to have inherited her father's Gryffindor personality, bless the darling's little soul. She poked and prodded at Scorpius, smashed crumbs on his clothes and spilled pumpkin juice in his hair, but the quiet little boy just watched her with reverent eyes and followed her every move. When they broke things Hannah fixed them with a simple spell and smiled sweetly at Draco, challenging him to get angry, but how could he? He was in a room full of angels, the woman who'd saved his soul and the children that kept him alive.
"Do you think they'll be sweethearts?" Hannah asked at one point, out of the blue.
"What?" Draco asked, but she only waited. Once he got his head around the idea—they were barely one, after all—Draco studied the two interacting. His son did seem to trail after her daughter like a puppy on a leash, Draco conceded, and little Alice did seem fond of him if the way she helped Scorpius up every time he stumbled was anything to go by. "Anything's possible, I suppose," he told her eventually.
"Yeah," she said with a smile, and the way she was looking at him made him think maybe she wasn't just talking about the children with that statement. "Yeah, it is."
Astoria had, at one point, been jealous of Hannah Abbott-Longbottom. She was always around Draco, after all, and the way he looked at her… well, love shone through their friendship; one would have to be blind not to see it.
One would also have to be blind not to see that attempting to pry Draco away from Hannah would be the surest way to end one's relationship with him. Astoria was a brilliant girl; she hoped that with time maybe the friendship would fade.
It didn't. It grew stronger. On the eve of Hannah's wedding Draco was unusually somber, and when she'd asked her husband (a bit bitterly) why, she'd been stunned by his response. He didn't trust Longbottom to look after her.
"She hardly needs looking after," Astoria had pointed out to her long-term boyfriend. "In fact, I'd wager she's the one looking after him."
"I know," Draco said. "And I know he's good enough for her. I just want her to be happy." He smiled up at Astoria and the understanding in his gaze made her feel ashamed for ever suspecting he and Hannah were less than honest. "She's like a sister to me; I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't worry a little." He kissed her then, and for the rest of the night he didn't worry the slightest bit. She made sure he was much too busy for that.
As rosy fingered dawn began to touch the horizon on the morning of Hannah Abbott and Neville Longbottom's wedding, Astoria realized that she was in love with Draco Malfoy. The boy she'd once just fancied for his looks and mysterious demeanor had grown into a wise, understanding, and somewhat kind man. He was endlessly sly but just as endlessly devoted to his small circle of loved ones, and she knew that she'd lost her whole heart to him. She never regretted it for a single moment.
Scorpius had never been more thankful for his last name than the moment he realized they were sorted alphabetically. He didn't know anyone here except Alice, whereas she seemed to know everyone, including the Potter and Weasley kids that looked at him funny. Alice didn't seem to mind that, though, as she grabbed his hand and dragged him along behind her. She knew the school better than the rest of them—her dad taught here, after all—and he felt safer following her.
Scorpius was pretty sure he'd be sorted into Hufflepuff. He was always following Alice around, and he was happy to do it. Hufflepuffs were loyal and, from what he'd heard, mostly harmless and quiet. That seemed to fit him… or he thought so. He didn't really care what House he ended up in, for the most part. He just wanted it to have Alice.
She was a wild card. She had the ambition and scheming nature of the best Slytherins; Scor's dad had said so himself, so it had to be true. She was brilliant, too; she already knew a handful of spells, and she'd taught them all to Scor. She was a great friend like that: loyal enough to be a Hufflepuff. But Scorpius was pretty sure she'd end up in Gryffindor, because she was brave and wild and always got them into mischief.
Scorpius didn't think he could get into Gryffindor, as he surely wasn't brave, but he wanted to be wherever she was, so he figured he'd plead with the Sorting Hat and hope that it eventually gave in out of annoyance. He wasn't the kind of kid that cared about being properly sorted; he cared that he could keep following his best friend around for the next seven years. This was the first step to that goal. He just hoped he wasn't one of those kids who the Hat decided on the moment it touched their head. He needed time to argue.
He wasn't too surprised when the Hat screamed "Gryffindor!" a few seconds after settling on top of Alice's brown curls. He was a bit sad, though, as he didn't think he could follow her there. Any of the other three were likely enough, except maybe Ravenclaw, but Gryffindor? His dad might just have a heart attack if he heard that his son was the first Malfoy in the history of ever to become a Gryffindor!
"Malfoy, Scorpius!" Professor Longbottom called. He gave Scorpius a small smile as he stumbled up to the chair, and Scorpius realized that Alice had her dad's smile.
Following Alice was definitely more important than anything else. Now how could he make the Hat see it? The Hat was dropped down on his head, partially obscuring his vision, so Scorpius closed his eyes and focused only on the sentient hat probing his mind.
Well, well, you've fallen quite far from your family tree, haven't you? the Hat mused, something in its tone coming across as a bit… vindictive. So different from your father… but not so much, overall. He always had potential, that one, but was so set on Slytherin. You don't seem to have the same problem.
Scorpius' heart almost stopped. Did he have a chance, then?
Yes, the Hat mused at him, you could do so well anywhere. But where to put you?
Er… Gryffindor? Please?
He could feel the Hat's shock at his request, and he would have laughed if it wasn't such a serious matter. He had a feeling that he still smiled rather widely. A Malfoy in Gryffindor? Why?
He didn't mean to, but his mind conjured up Alice. He had to follow her; he needed it so much it hurt—yearning, his mental vocabulary supplied. Please?
The Hat seemed overly amused. Very well, young one. You're brave enough for it. Go on, then—GRYFFINDOR!" The last word was bellowed for the whole hall to hear… and was met with an echoing silence. He pulled off the hat to see Professor Longbottom staring at him with a confused expression before his face broke into a grin. Claps from the Gryffindor started slowly and didn't build up to quite their usual roar, but he heard Alice whistling for him, and that was enough to make him happy in his choice. Anything for Alice.
The first four and a half years of Hogwarts passed quickly and wonderfully. Scorpius made so many friends—most of them through Alice—and he fit in. His father had been a little (lot) shocked when he found out his son was one of the lions, but he'd come 'round when he saw how many friends Scorpius was making. He said something confusing about wanting Scorpius to have what he'd never been able to have during his school life; Scorpius didn't completely understand, but if it meant his father accepted his House, then it was worth it.
The Potter and Weasley kids that had looked at him funny soon became his friends; Rose Weasley was a bit too bookish for Scor, but there weren't many Gryffindor boys in their year, and he and Al became fast friends. Albus Severus Potter became his second best friend, second only to Alice, and his "trouble twin".
He got good marks in all his classes except Potions, much to his father's disbelief. Al was no good at it either, though, so Scorpius figured that was okay. Alice and Rosie were good at it, but they were good at everything, and he wasn't the competitive sort.
He and Al made it on the Quidditch team in their fourth year, both as Chasers. Al's annoying but sometimes cool older brother James was the Captain; he hadn't wanted to take on his little brother and subsequent best friend, but they'd outdone everyone else at tryouts by miles. Their team was better this year than it had been in ages, too; James worked everyone sadistically hard at practice, and they had way more practices than any of the other teams.
Life was good and Scorpius was happy, so he wasn't disappointed when Alice decided to stay at school for break. Not that it really mattered for her—her dad went back and forth between there and her home freely anyways—but for Scorpius it was a huge difference. He was fine staying, though, and Christmas passed in a happy flurry of feasts, snowball fights, Quidditch matches (for fun, not practice!), and presents. It wasn't until New Year's Eve that everyone went their separate ways, groups breaking into smaller pieces as people had their own quiet celebrations and then rejoined the massive one James and his friends threw in the common room.
Scorpius found seated at the top of the Astronomy tower watching the stars as the year changed. It was chilly out and his cloak didn't quite ward off the cold, but Alice was with him, so it was worth the slight chill. It was just the two of them there, just like old times. The silence between them was companionable and warm, refreshing in comparison to the frantic chaos of normal Gryffindor life. "Happy New Year," he whispered over at her.
She turned her head away from the sky to smile at him, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling. "Happy New Year, Scor." She twined her fingers in with his and it felt wonderful where they touched: like little pricks of electricity were shocking from those points, but it didn't hurt, merely tickled in a pleasant way.
He didn't mean to kiss her; something in the moment just told him that he should.
He was so glad that he had. It was like an explosion, but also so intensely right. He felt like he completely belonged in that moment; he never wanted to pull back, but eventually they had to—they needed air. She grinned at him. "Are you asking me out, Scorpius Malfoy?" she teased.
"…yes?"
"Good." She pulled him in for a kiss this time and he really, really had never loved following her more than he did in that moment.
Hannah decided that Alice's wedding was even more beautiful than hers. Hers had been in the wake of the war, when everyone was still in the process of grieving for lost loved ones, and it was all the more bittersweet for it. Alice's was perfectly lovely: a completely happy occasion. Alice looked like an angel in her dress, and Scorpius looked amazingly in love. The best man, Al, was grinning insanely, and Rosie held a smirk that plainly declared she'd always seen this coming. They were all young, and adorable, but the couple was so in love! They always had been, just like Hannah had seen when they were just one year old crawling on the carpet and their parents feet.
They'd never been happier in their lives, and Hannah exchanged a grin with Draco. She knew that they'd never been more proud of their kids.
Scorpius became a healer not so much out of interest as because he didn't know what else to do. Alice wasn't a Healer; she worked for the Department of Magical Creatures. Al and Rosie weren't Healers either; Al was an Auror, and Rosie was a Curse Breaker. It was just the first brochure Scorpius picked up, and therefore the career that stuck in his mind.
He'd been a Healer for five years now (well, two, as the first three years were training) and he'd seen a lot of horrifying, sickening things. None of them came close to watching Alice give birth to their first child.
But now, eleven and a half hours later, she was asleep in her room. When he was sure she wouldn't be waking any time soon he wandered down to the nursery window and there he stood looking in on his newborn baby girl. "She's beautiful," a voice said from next to him. He turned to see his father watching him with a small smile on his face.
"Yeah," he agreed. She was, too, all squirmy and pink and cute. He'd always thought babies were ugly, but this one was Alice's—and his, of course—and she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.
"What are you going to call her?"
"Amelia."
"That's beautiful," a voice from the other side of him agreed. He saw Alice's mum, Hannah, standing at his other side. "It's perfect for her. Alice picked it, hm?"
"Yeah," Scor agreed with a small smile. "How'd you know?"
"Oh, she always liked it," Hannah told him. She patted his head. "You're a good husband. You'll be a good father."
"I hope so," he agreed.
And he was.
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