Malfoys had always been gifted with an elusive sort of beauty. Typically, it was shadowed and marred by the marks of sharp dislike in their faces, but when one caught them unawares, faces relaxed, expressions distant, it was hard to remember quite how human they could be.

Scorpius Antares Malfoy had managed to break the chain. It wasn't that he wasn't beautiful. The boy had his father's white-blond hair, pianist's hands and pointed chin, his mother's sharp cheekbones, long neck and perfect porcelain skin. His eyes, though, were all his own, a strange painfully-pale gray that made it hard to tell where he was looking; half the school had thought him blind when he had first appeared. No, it wasn't his beauty that set him apart from his family, but rather his disposition. Where the others had been too human, hateful and terrified and feeling too much, he was mist and light.

He was far more popular than his father had been at Hogwarts; he had his lack of prejudice to thank for that. Draco would've had far more friends if he hadn't been so vocally- well- antiquated Slytherin. However, that wasn't to say Scorpius had friends. Many were interested in his friendship, for there was no one quite as compellingly curious in the castle (aside from the Potter family, because of their father, but those children ran about with the Weasley's, who were many, and were loud and boisterous and no puzzle at all.)

But Albus Severus Potter shared a common room with the boy, and the frequency with which he was starting to wonder about him had grown to a frustrating level, tight in his throat. So, unlike the dozens that followed the ethereal Malfoy from class to class, whispering amongst themselves as they had been for 3 years now, he decided to finally speak to the boy beyond 'might you pass me some crushed armadillo spine' and 'I hear they have albino peacocks at your manor, is it true?.'

It was awkward for him from the beginning. As far as he could remember, no one really had spoken to the boy, or seemed to know anything about him. He had chosen Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy. Originally he had signed up for Divination, a subject Albus took along with Ancient Runes, but at the end of their first lesson, Professor Firenze had given a long look to the boy before quietly telling him that the class would be a waste of his time. Albus had decried the severe statement, and both teacher and student had given him a look that made it clear he had missed something. But other than his choice in extra classes...

Scorpius was standing by a tall window, watching the drift of hazy clouds across a grey-white sky, and Albus moved beside him, loosening the green knot in his tie. "I think it's going to snow, soon." The taller boy did not answer, nor did he move. Time passed in stuttering intervals; they were interrupted only as the Grey Lady drifted past, the Bloody Baron following a minute or so behind. The Potter watched them go before nervously clearing his throat, tightening his hands together. "What're you watching, Scor?"

The was a moment of stillness; pale eyebrows lifted, and he spoke. His voice was not particularly melodious, but it had an odd sort of distance Albus did not know could exist. It was not his inflection, nor the softness of his speech, but a imbued with a peculiar sensation as though here were speaking from a different place. "Scorpius," the boy said. "Or else, Malfoy."

It took the smaller Slytherin a moment before he understood, despite the clarity of the words. "I'm nicknames? We haven't really spoken before, I didn't know. ...look, let me do this right.- Hello, I'm Albus Potter. I work a table over, in potions. I was wondering if you might be interested in being... well friends, Scorpius. I usually see you alone." He wasn't used to trying so hard to speak. Albus was typically the quiet one. James did enough talking for everyone, most days.

"Yes."

The answer perplexed the young Potter. Did he mean that, yes, it was true he didn't like nicknames? Or that they hadn't spoken, or... that indeed, his name was Albus, or that he worked nearby in potions. Perhaps he was interested in friendship, but since he had not stopped watching the sky it seemed unlikely. Maybe that he was always alone?

"...Sorry?"

The boy, finally, turned to face him. Albus was started- he'd seen the Malfoy up close before, of course, they shared a dorm room after all. (Not that Scorpius ever seemed to have noticed that there were other people in the room with him.) But the feeling of seeing Scorpius changed when he was actually looking at you. He no longer had the feeling that they were separated by mountain and valley. No, he was in the same room, the same vacuum-sealed inch, even. Ever-pale eyes stared into him- through him. Scorpius inspected every inch of him; from the curl of his fingers to the sixth freckle across his brow to the crooked tip of his leftmost toe. He felt as though naked, as though Scorpius was not only seeing through his robes but through his skin, through hair and muscle and bones, to the very fragile impossibility of his soul, inspecting every flaw and dream and possibility. Scorpius looked ancient- like a marble statue, smooth and cool under clumsy fingers; like a crystal ball, reflecting everything and knowing all but telling only the precious few; like Poseidon, distant and ever-changing, unfathomable. It took him a moment to realize that Scorpius had stopped unveiling his secrets, and was now staring into his eyes. He gave a start, the memory of everyone whispered 'is he blind?'s sharp in his mind. Even when their eyes were connected, he could barely tell the other boy was looking at me.

When Scorpius opened his mouth to speak again (and Albus thought numbly about how his tongue was distinctively pinker than he would've expected) his voice was now tinged with a heavy and unyielding certainty. "You are not your father."

"What?" He answered quickly, the word slipping out before his brain had caught up.

"Your skills rest in potions."

"...Uh. Yes." It wasn't exactly a secret. He'd returned with that news after his first year and Harry had laughed and told him how he just seemed to have gotten all sorts of things from his second namesake.

"Welcome back," Scorpius Malfoy told him in that voice that sounded once again distant, through a fog- his eyes looking at something else, and Albus felt sick and cold and curious all at once. "You would make Father happy. He regrets."

Albus swallows something slimy, shrinks a little, and doesn't understand anything, except why Firenze asked Scorpius to leave his class. For the first time he can tell when the pale Malfoy is looking at (and not into) him, and stares back defiantly (and feels young), surprised at the crease beneath pale eyes that might almost be a smile in a carved face. "You see," he adds, finally, and Albus bites back the 'a lot less than you, apparently' that is boiling against his gums. He can't figure out how exactly Scorpius is a Slytherin, but it seems that the other houses would hardly be a better fit. (He remembers, quite suddenly, that the Great Hall had been silent for several minutes when Malfoy, Scorpius had donned the aging Hat.)

"We will talk again," Scorpius tells him, and he expects the boy to walk away, because that's what you do when a conversation ends, but he merely turns to look out the window again. Albus hopes, as he leaves, that next time 'talk' might be synonymous with 'communicate,' because the only thing he knows now is that he doesn't know anything at all.


A/N: May or may not continue. I certainly find this Malfoy interesting, but whether I can continue doing him justice is uncertain. If anyone is confused, Firenze 'kicked him out' because he basically believes that Scorpius would not learn anything from the class, because as much as Trelaney and Firenze have the ability to teach, he already knows. Anyway, he's gifted with the Sight. Sort of.