I know that this is supposed to take place in the forest in the book, but I didn't want the onlooker to be Hagrid. I also know that McGonagall must be like… eighty, but I don't really care about that. I've just always been intrigued by how, even in Albus/Scorpius fics, there's no real explanation of how they became friends. And I just finished reading the Epilogue again… and this made sense.

Albus Severus, you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts.

One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew.

But just say –

Then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it?

It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account.

Minerva McGonagall straightened her sleeves and marched briskly down the hallway to where Hagrid would be bringing the new first years. Another Potter, another Weasley, and another Malfoy this year. As if a second James Potter hadn't been enough! At least Argus would have his hands full. Maybe then, he would stop setting his damned cat on her every time she shifted into her Animagus form.

"Is it true?" A voice wafted through the archway, so familiar that Minerva froze, shivering. "They're all saying Harry Potter's son was sitting with the Weasel kid's daughter. So it's you, isn't it?"

"Yes." The voice was so like Harry's that she didn't think she could move if she wanted to. The overwhelming déjà-vu horrified her. It was here that it all went wrong the first time.

"Oh, this is Zabini and McClaggen." The first voice spoke of his companions dismissively.

"I know you!" a girl spoke up suddenly. "Albus, Zabini's dad works with my mum."

"Rose. Shh."

Minerva forced herself forward, intrigued by Albus Potter.

"And my name's Malfoy. Scorpius Malfoy."

Rose Weasley looked at Albus meaningfully, and Minerva McGonagall knew suddenly exactly who Rose's mother was.

"And you," Scorpius continued, his father's sleek hair gleaming in the candlelight. "Weaslette. Rose. I know just who you are. Don't give me that look."

He squared his shoulders and looked Albus in the eye. "I know what you think, Potter, but you're wrong. I don't care what your Dad told you. I'm not like my family."

There was a sudden hush in the hallway.

Albus Potter shrugged dismissively. "Dad told me your father was a great man, and that future generations would be better off being more tolerant." He stuck out a hand. "As for me, I don't give a damn who your parents are. That's all a little ridiculous. Friends?"

It was as if all Hogwarts held its breath, waiting. The two boys stood for a moment, timeless sin the sparkling candlelight, in the exact places where their fathers had stood exactly twenty-six years previously. Only now, the Potter was reaching out to the Malfoy.

And Malfoy took the hand he'd been given.

"Only, you'd better be in Gryffindor," Albus went on, ignoring Rose Weasley's scandalized expression.

Scorpius frowned slightly. "Over Grandfather Malfoy's dead body," he recited.

Albus' face was deadly serious. "Good. We can have a picnic on his grave, too.

And then both boys broke into twin smiles and Minerva hurried forward before another Fred and George Weasley happened.

And that is how Albus and Scorpius became best friends.