I own very little, least of all Harry Potter or any of the characters. Those belongs to the great JK in the sky.

No. It couldn't be. Absolutely-fuck no.

Definite. Sound. Resolute. Implacable. Insuperable. Indomitable. WILL!

But...it was so pretty.

Albus sighed, a willowy gasp that portented a winter illness, as he looked into the window. There, stacked on top of a draped box, high above the other brooms, vertically positioned...stood a lovely, lovely broom.

It was a slender model, thin and supple, with an air of versatility. It stood at about a length of five or so feet, with bristles carefully twined together to meet in a sharp point. The sheen of it was alone breathtaking...a gnostic luminescence emanated from it. Albus knew that it really wasn't shining like the sun...but in his mind's eye it stood out like a lone star.

His head became dizzy. Albus panicked, feeling his face. Oh. He had forgotten to breathe.

Stepping back from the window, he chastised himself. IDIOT! Whatever the price, it's got to be absurd! Ridiculous! Inconceivable! The opprobrious object had lured him into a trance, where monetary exchange was a fantasy! Now, he looked, more rationally at the price tag.

He sighed again.

He hated pretty much everything. He supposed he was a misanthrope, if he knew the word. People annoyed him. But brooms loved him. Pliant. Trusting. Endowed with an innate ability, he loved to fly.

"Beautiful broom, isn't it, the Nimbus Ultraviolet?"

Albus started, grabbing his hand back from the window. He turned around quickly, trying to compose his face into a cold sangfroid.

Oh.

The boy was only about his age. And Albus was taller.

"You know, after the Firebolt line rose to prominence, Father and I doubted that the Nimbus models would ever resurface." The boy smiled. "Thankfully-" he said "we were wrong." His congenial expression vitiated any inclination of Albus's to upbraid him about his...What? Impertinence? He didn't know why he was getting so flustered. The boy looked nice enough. He was of an alarming palor, however. Maybe he was a Veela? He certainly had the hair.

Albus was thinking of dying his hair. Red was a maudlin annoyance. And he hated his freckles.

Smiling, he held out his hand. It was always expected of a Potter child to be courteous. The boy stretched out his arm as well.

"Albus Potter-"

The boy jerked his hand back. A spasm crossed his previously sanguine physiognomy. Albus looked past the mask, into his character.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

Albus reevaluated the boy. His shoulder-length blond hair was straight, without the slightest hint of wave or curl. His hands were gloved in gray fingered mitts. He had some kind of twisty cloak that seemed to encircle his body, making a circuit at the waist, and finishing in a long crease down the other side. His eyes were grey, and shadowed. He looked, upon closer inspection, like he was wearing makeup. Albus thought that was rather odd. Maybe he really was a Veela.

The boy's face flushed. He looked terrified.

"I'm sorry...ah...Potter, itsalrightificallyouthatright, it's just that I was caught...off guard by your name. I certainly had not one of you-YOU to be here. Or anything...LOOK I'M SORRY. I just..."

Albus frowned. The boy was babbling.

"Why wouldn't I be? It's Diagon Alley, I'm pretty sure everyone's here at one time or another. And what do you mean by 'one of you?'"

The boy looked down at his boots.

"Yes-well..." He moved his hand through his hair.

"What's your name?"

"Ah...Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy."

Albus realized.

"Oh."

"Yes."

The boy-Malfoy-reached his hand out. His expression was pained. He WAS wearing makeup. "Oh, please, I didn't mean anything. It was just an unconscious reaction. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear. It's just...an AWKWARD...circumstance of meeting." The boy took a deep breath. "Now, let's try again. I'm Scorpius Malfoy."

Albus grasped his hand.

"It is. I'm Albus Potter."

Malfoy smiled with far too many teeth. He was shitting bricks, the poor kid.

"Look. I'm very sorry-"

"Stop apologizing. It's only making things worse."

"Oh. Er..."

Albus stuffed his hands in his pockets.

He knew about his dad's history. But he didn't really care. First off, he couldn't imagine his dad, much less mum, doing any of the stuff they were supposed to have done. Dad, defeating Lord Voldemort? The most evil wizard of all time? That was ridiculous. He had little respect or credence for the past, and, as a rule, didn't let it influence what he did. But it WAS Malfoy's son.

The Malfoys were hated.

The judiciary process had declared them voided of all charges, but society had not been so understanding.

His dad would apoplex.

He smiled, trying to look placating. He hated people.

"Never mind what happened between your dad and mine. It's over. My dad isn't impressive, and I doubt either is yours. People still look at pictures of him when he was YOUNG. He's not now."

Malfoy tugged at his hair, mouth open a little.

"Anyway. I'm glad to meet you. It's been nice, really...well, except for you scaring me."

He grinned.

Malfoy smiled weakly.

This was pathetic.

Merlin, it was cold outside.

They stood there for a moment, digesting the fact that The Boy Who Lived was really a man, who had graying hair and dubious dental hygiene. Alongside the fact that a Potter and a Malfoy were within two feet of each other, and wands had not been drawn. The clouds in the sky moved at the same rate-eternity-and there was a gust of frigid air. The Alley had cleared.

Malfoy cleared his throat.

"Well, I suppose I'll be seeing you at Hogwarts, then?"

"Yep. We're getting some of my essentials, basics, you know, today. Before the lists come out."

"I expect you'll be in Gryffindor?"

Albus shifted uncomfortably, sinking lower into his coat.

"I expect."

Scorpius nodded. They were on safe ground.

Albus opened his mouth to ask if he had any qualms about the Sorting-

Of course he wouldn't. He was a Malfoy. Their entire lineage could be summarized in the deadpan intonation of "SLYTHERIN."

Scorpius fiddled with his cloak. He was still smiling bemusedly at Albus, who was wrestling with his naive angst. Scorpius guessed that the situation was still uncomfortable, and his face was frozen into a manic grin. The Potter kid was taller than him; Scorpius disliked this. Scorpius was short for his age, and had feminine features. His hands were tiny, and they disgusted him. He began tugging at his gloves. The Potter kid, while being taller, was not handsome, per se. He had a wild shock of red hair (the rumors of a little Harry Doppelganger were unfounded) and crooked teeth. However his eyes were eerily green...like a Floo Network emission...and Scorpius was rather taken in. He had always hated his own eyes (another family trait-DAMN INBREEDING) and sought to cover them with cosmetics. His father had not approved. There was a mascara stain on his bedroom floor to prove it.

His mother was dead. The real one. He hated Astoria.

Albus spoke, and Scorpius was lashed out of his trance.

"So, you excited?"

This was turning out to be a boring conversation.

"No. I'm dreading it."

Albus opened his mouth...then shut it. That was odd. How could someone DREAD the exalted halls of Hogwats?

There was a hush. A clap rang down the street. The wind blew.

Albus turned to leave.

Malfoy started speaking rapidly, into the open neck of his cloak. His hair obscured most of his face.

"I don't get a lot of genuine courtesy. People have decided that since I'm an scion of the Malfoy line, I'm carrying intrinsic characteristics. They don't like me. I'm not mean. I'm not. I'm most certainly not evil. And...well...I'm..."

Albus nodded. He understood. He wasn't Harry Potter. The last thing he wanted to be was his father.

"I know how you feel."

Malfoy started at the hand on his shoulder. It had long fingers, and freckles down on the wrist. It was cold. But it was there.

Malfoy nodded. There was an exchange of respect, a silent passing of an interpersonal emissiary. They understood each other. The conversation was worth something after all.

Malfoy raised his head quietly, straightened his hair, and righted his eyes. They became contrary once again. He smiled in a suave manner and pulled Albus's hand from his shoulder. Holding it in his glove, he squeezed firmly.

"Thank you Potter. Your house will be proud."

Albus smiled.

They looked at each other for a moment. They were supposed to socially dialectic. All physical characteristics would lend to the assumption. But somewhere in the middle, they had made peace.

They weren't friends. Not that. Albus still hated people. Ever since the Voldemort had fallen, the Potters had risen to become veritable aristocrats. They just didn't have the perks. He didn't like suavity, not sanctimonius insincerity. And that's what people were. However, he appreciated honesty. He opened his mouth to tell the Malfoy this-

There was a POP! and a shadow materialized behind Scorpius, face impassive, and hands grasping at his shoulder. A cursory glance took in Albus. Draco Malfoy didn't recognize him.

"Come Scorpius, we're leaving."

Scorpius nodded, his face clouding. Bending in, whispering, he said without a look to his father-"If you do get that broom, we can have matching Violets for school. It would be fun. The blue, okay?" His oddly shadowed eyes retreated, becoming stony once more. "Goodbye."

POP!

They were gone.

Albus glanced at the broom. Mon Amour. As if.

Well, at least he knew someone. He knew a lot of people, true. But he KNEW Malfoy.

Mutually.

Taking a parting glance at the spectacle that was the Nimbus Ultraviolet, he walked. Finding his father. He felt somewhat fulfilled.

Odd, that.

Thank you for sampling the decantation of my whimsy.