What happens to a Malfoy with a kind heart, under the Sorting Hat?

What happens to a boy whose future is decided by his blood,

When he needs a friend and there she is,

A smiling, curly-haired girl,

Called Rose.

Rose Weasley.

'Can I sit here?'

Scorpius looks up from his book. There in the rattling carriage doorway is a girl.

He hasn't met many of them before, just his cousin Flavia, and the maids and the scullery girl. Flavia is a Nott, cold and silent and with flicky eyes and plaited black hair. The maids are kind and keen but older than Scorpius and always busy. The scullery girl might be a mute, for all the notice she takes of Scorpius.

This girl has curly brown hair, and a tentative smile, and a spot of dirt by her nose and a scuffed satchel.

Scorpius nods. Her smile spreads over her face. She dumps her satchel on the floor and sits down opposite Scorpius, tucking a curl behind her ear.

'Thanks,' she says breathlessly, 'Are you a first-year, too?'

Scorpius nods again, and realizes he should say something.

'Yes.' He looks back down at his book.

'What are you reading?' The girl wants to know.

'Keats.' He doesn't look up.

'Oh, I'm Rose, by the way,' She sticks her hand out over the table, 'Rose Weasley.'

'Scorpius Malfoy,' Scorpius clasps her hand.

Then their eyes meet as both of them process the name of the other. Rose blinks at him, her smile fading. Scorpius lets go of her hand.

'Oh.' She says, 'I thought you'd have, you know-' She gestures, and Scorpius thinks she is gesturing to the empty seats beside him, to the friends he doesn't have.

'No-one talks to me.' Scorpius says, and looks out of the window.

'No! I meant, um, I thought you'd be blond…'

He looks back at her. Rose is flushing slightly, gaze darting away. The spot of dirt by her nose is a freckle, he sees. The scuffed satchel makes more sense, now he knows she's a Weasley.

'Oh,' He says stiffly, 'Well, my mother is dark, and blond is a recessive gene.'

'Right.' Rose says.

A moment passes. And then, 'I like Keats. What's your favourite poem?'

'I can't choose,' Scorpius answers uncertainly, 'I like La Belle Dame Sans Merci.'

'Me too.' Rose smiles again. 'No-one else I know likes poetry, except my mum.'

'Hermione Granger.' Says Scorpius automatically, then feels stupid.

'Yes.' Rose lifts her chin a little.

'I didn't mean- I'm not…' He struggles, then says, 'I have her Chocolate Frog card.'

Rose rolls her eyes and sighs, but doesn't stare at him coldly like he'd feared.

'Ohhh, don't,' she groans, 'I hate my parents being on Chocolate Frog cards…'

'Why? They're famous!'

'It's embarrassing, having famous parents. Everyone expects-'

'You to be brilliant too.' They finish together. And grin across the table, the half-metre feeling less like miles, and suddenly more like a friendship.