Scorpius Malfoy didn't intend to be eavesdropping. He'd come downstairs to use the loo because Rose was in the one upstairs and he was on his way back to Albus' room when he overheard the sound of his own name.

"You've got to admit that it's weird having Scorpius here, Harry," Ron Weasley's voice carried from the living room.

"He's a good kid, Ron," Harry replied. "He's been very respectful since he's been here and all the kids get along with him. There's nothing to suggest that he's anything like Draco."

"Except that every time I look at the kid, I see that miserable git hurling insults at all of us and hanging around with those stupid trolls he called friends. He's a spitting image."

"You need to look past his appearance, Ron, and actually talk to him," Harry replied reasonably. "Honestly, he doesn't remind me of Draco in the slightest. He actually reminds me a lot of Sirius."

Scorpius took Ron's silence as his cue to return to his friends. Dropping down onto the floor where Rose and Al were playing exploding snap, he was quiet for a moment before his curiosity got the better of him.

"Who's Sirius?" he asked his friends. Rose pushed her bushy red hair out of her face and looked at him strangely.

"Dad's godfather," Al answered without looking up. "James is named after him. He was friends with my grandpa and Teddy's dad when they were all at school together. Why?"

"No reason," Scorpius said evasively. "Just curious, I guess. What was he like?"

"Ask my Dad," Al suggested. "I don't know much more than that. He doesn't talk about him a lot."

Scorpius nodded and let the subject drop.

That evening, after dinner was finished and the Weasleys had gone home, Scorpius wandered into the kitchen to find Harry Potter washing dishes like a muggle.

"Why do you do it that way?' Scorpius asked on impulse. Harry jumped slightly and turned around, chuckling when he saw who had spoken.

"I don't always," Harry explained. "I did more than my fair share of household chores growing up and most days I'm happy to cast a cleaning charm and be done with it. Sometimes, though, I find it relaxing to do things without magic. It gives me time to think."

Scorpius nodded. It was several minutes before he had the courage to voice the question that he actually wanted to ask.

"Mr. Potter, what was Sirius like?"

Harry stopped, put the dish he was holding in the sink and turned around, eyeing Scorpius shrewdly. He dried his hands on a dishtowel and beckoned the boy over to the table, where he sat down.

"I assume you heard me talking to Ron?" he asked. Scorpius nodded.

"I didn't mean to listen, Sir. I was just on my way back upstairs and…" he trailed off, not sure how to explain.

"It's alright," Harry shrugged. "So you want to know why said that you're more like my godfather than your own father?" Scorpius nodded again.

Harry Potter sighed, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt before putting them back and facing Scorpius across the table.

"Honestly, Scorpius, I'm not sure how to explain without sounding as if I'm criticizing your family, which I make a point not to do in general, but especially in front of you. So forgive me if, in order to be truthful, I fail to be completely neutral. My godfather, Sirius, was a member of the Black family, a cousin of your grandmother, Narcissa, actually. The Blacks were an old pureblood family, and the kind of purebloods that believed that muggles and muggleborns were beneath them. Sirius grew up in that family and yet somehow managed to be absolutely nothing like them. When he went to Hogwarts, he was sorted into Gryffindor despite his entire family having been in Slytherin for generations. He made friends with Teddy's father, who was a werewolf, and my parents. He later joined the Order of the Phoenix and worked against Voldemort during both wars. He carved his own path, refusing to allow his family or their history to dictate how he lived his life."

"You, Scorpius, are also a Gryffindor from a Slytherin family and you have proven yourself loyal, respectful, chivalrous, and kind. If you'll excuse me, none of these are words that I would've used to describe your father when we were at school. You're your own man, in the best possible way. That is why, when I see you, it reminds me of the man for whom I named my oldest son."

Scorpius was at a loss for words and didn't really trust himself to speak anyway. He managed a somewhat strangled, "Thank you, Sir" before he got up from the table, blinking rapidly, and hurried out of the kitchen.

It was two weeks later, while shopping for his second-year school supplies in Diagon Alley with his mother, that Scorpius saw the owl. It was a relatively small one, with shiny, coal-black foliage and gold eyes. "Gryffindor gold," Scorpius thought. It was easy enough to convince his mother that he ought to have an owl of his own to write home with while he was at school. He grinned from ear to ear as he carried the cage out of the shop and down the street.

"Unusual color for an owl," his father commented when Scorpius showed off his new pet that evening. "What are you going to call him?"

"His name is Sirius," Scorpius said, stroking the owl gently. "Sirius Black."