It was Christmastime, and as usual Diagon Alley was packed full with busy shoppers – all purchasing the last minute Christmas gifts for loved ones. The Second Wizarding War was just a hazy memory – a bad memory, a memory which was best forgotten. The shops were back to their usual state, the Death Eaters rounded up, and the fears many experienced were pushed to the back of their minds. Wizards and witches pushed past each other – each in their own little world, looking straight ahead – not glancing at anyone else. No one noticed the little pale boy with the white blonde hair, who stood gazing in awe through a shop window – face plastered to the glass. He was about 6 years old, and completely oblivious to the hustle and bustle behind him – or the glares being sent to him by the shopkeeper.

Some distance behind him, elbowing his way through the tightly packed crowd – was the adult version of the small boy. Taller, with longer white blonde hair, and colder grey eyes – but they were undoubtedly father and son.

Draco Malfoy was frantically pushing his way past the shoppers, looking this way and that, anxiously turning his head in every direction. He was shouting, but the noise surrounding him drowned out his attempts at bellowing a name – Scorpius. So fixed was he, on his search – he seemingly didn't notice the way the crowd parted for him, the way some people stared, glared and drew wands as he passed.

And then, relief lit up his tired face, and he lunged forwards – grabbing a hand. The hand of the boy standing by the shop window. The boy span around in alarm, snatching back his hand, but when he saw the man's face he grinned.

"Scorpius! Don't you ever go wandering off like that again, understand?"

The boy's grin disappeared, and shame replaced it. He hung his head, so that the signature white blonde hair fell over the solemn grey eyes which were so much like his fathers.

Draco's stern look dropped, and he gave the boy in front of him a hug.

He whispered something, the sound of his whisper almost being drowned out by noise of the shoppers.

"I thought I'd lost you -"

As the hug broke apart, a cry sounded out – a cry so clear, everyone within a certain radius could hear it. A cry which struck fear into the hearts of many – and a cry which dug painfully deep into Draco Malfoy's heart – bringing back the memories he'd much rather forget.

"Death Eaters!"

Scorpius looked up, confused. Where had he heard those words before? Hadn't he heard those words, once before, spoken by a man – who was talking to his Dad? Or shouting at his Dad? And hadn't his Dad been very angry?

"Filthy Death Eaters!"

Scorpius turned around to see if his father's reaction was any different this time.

Draco had picked himself up from the stooping position, placed a hand firmly on his son's shoulder, drawn his wand, and was searching for the speaker. His face was livid as he scanned the onlookers, muttering curses under his breath.

Scorpius felt only confusion, at why two simple words could provoke his father in such a way. Two words which, when separate – meant no harm – but when they were together, they ignited a spark of fury which was difficult to put out.

Maybe he'd never understand.

The speaker had fled the scene, but had provoked something else. The crowd – which had before, been so focussed on their shopping – now had focused on the father and son. The crowd – which had before, been so content and happy – now was angry, their eyes were narrowed and to Scorpius, they seemed very threatening indeed.

Draco picked up his son, who was staring at the crowd in confused amazement. He then walked away from the spot, through the crowd. No one said anything, but the stares and the glares were worse than any screams and shouts. Draco stared straight ahead, face set in an expressionless mask, but Scorpius noticed that he kept clutching his left wrist – as if there was there was something underneath the black sleeve which was irritating him. But what that could be, Scorpius had no idea.