Before he'd left his great aunt's house, almost entirely recovered, she'd passed him a small piece of parchment covered in his best friend's familiar hand. Aside from wishing him well, the short missive had invited him to dinner at Fred and Roxanne Weasley's, that evening.
Dinner at the Weasley's, he thought to himself. Whatever would his father think?
He had to admit, though, that the timing seemed impeccable. His aunt's advice still burned in the forefront of his mind, and he had to wonder whether this had really been James' idea at all. It wouldn't be the first time his aunt had somehow tailored events to unravel as she saw fit.
Thus far, he had gone to great pains to conceal his friendship with James from his parents, and avoided getting overly friendly with anyone else from the Potter-Weasley clan, so that he might better avoid discovery.
Maybe it was finally time to stop trying.
With a heavy sigh, he tucks the parchment into his robe pocket, and Apparates home.
Today certainly was turning out to be one of those days.
Scorpius stands in the hallway of George and Angelina Weasley's modest home, feeling like a blood stain on a white rug; he couldn't be more out of place if he tried. After a moment, Mrs Weasley pokes her head around the door frame to smile at him brightly.
"Scorpius, hun. You don't have to stay in the hall. Come in!"
Somewhat reluctantly, he follows her through into the kitchen, where pots and pans clink and clatter away on a busy stove. In her apron, she has a distinctly motherly air, which is only further compounded when she begins fussing over him in a way his own mother never would.
"Can I get you anything to drink? James mentioned you'd had a bit of a rough day, a drop of Pick-Me-Up, perhaps? Here, take this... there's a jug of lemonade on the side over there, help yourself…" she chatters, whilst absently checking various pots.
"Looks like we're about there," she says a moment later, before spelling her voice to carry, and booming loudly at the back door, "DINNER TIME, KIDS!"
There's a bang, then James, Fred and Roxanne are all rushing into the kitchen, whilst veg, meat and more begin to serve themselves.
"I'm starving," Fred moans, on arrival.
"Smells good, Mum," Roxanne says, sniffing the air.
"Hey, Scorp, looking better." James smiles, and cuffs him playfully on the arm.
For a moment, Scorpius feels completely at a loss. What is he doing here? He is a Malfoy. This isn't his place. These aren't his people.
Or are they?
Looking around, Scorpius finds that in this cramped, busy, hot kitchen… he feels more at home than he has ever felt before, in the Manor. Then, looking at the freckled faces of the Weasleys, and the cheeky grin of his best friend, he realises there is no one else he would rather be with, at this moment.
Warm happiness swells in his chest. Yes, he is a Malfoy—but perhaps, just maybe, he can be something more, too.
Perhaps, just maybe, he can be himself.
