A/N: So. I've been sort of churning out the oneshots. For one, I like oneshots. Secondly, though, I think it's a psychological thing with me. I told myself I was not allowing myself to start any other multi-chaptered fic until I'd finished Hermione Granger is a Whore, in fear that I would never finish it. And I want to, and I need to, because I have this awesome ending in mind. Already written, in fact, and I think everyone will like it. And I just recently got a beta does dance. And I'm starting all my sentences with "ands." But anyway, I figure, oneshots don't constitute chapter fics, do they? So I sort of went crazy. They just come to mind and I write them down. So that is my very long and possibly inappropriate explanation of why you are reading this fic. Well, not necessarily why you are reading this fic; you could be reading this fic because you're a fan or you just came across it randomly or you need an excuse to flame me. But it is an explanation of why I posted this. Enjoy.

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Draco Malfoy patted his son on the head as they stood at Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "Now, son, make your mum and me proud."

The blond boy, a spitting image of his father, mumbled a largely unintelligible plea. Nothing could be more mortifying than being seen with his parents before boarding the train to Hogwarts for the first time. Nothing except–

"I love you, be a good boy," Hermione cooed, placing a kiss on her son's nose. The boy winced and wiped it away. Kisses in public–that was the last straw. He didn't want his new friends to think him some sort of pansy.

When the train came, no soon-to-be first year was more eager to board than Lucius Malfoy.

Draco smiled mischievously. This was his chance. Although they'd vowed to make no predictions in order to avoid a fight, he knew there was no 'prediction' necessary. Just as the train was about to pull away, he shouted, "Owl home when you're sorted into Slytherin!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and Draco was beginning to think that perhaps that was not such a good idea. When her lips began to form a full-blown pout, he knew that it was not such a good idea. An amusing idea, perhaps, but not a good one. "And what makes you think," she hissed through clenched teeth, "that he won't be sorted into Gryffindor?"

Despite his insecurities regarding voicing his request in the first place, he wasn't about to let his guard down. "He's a Malfoy. Of course he won't be sorted into Gryffindor." Then, feeling as though it were appropriate for him to maintain the last word, he apparated home.

Unfortunately for him, the house wards did not keep the co-signer out. Hermione was quick on his tail, and not about to let his comment go. "He's courageous and bold, of course he'll be sorted into Gryffindor!"

"Oh please, Hermione," he grunted, but it came out more like, "Row pwease, Erionee," due to the sandwich in his mouth; typical Black family manners were not exactly his forte. "Fruit flies frighten him. He's far more ambitious than he is courageous, we both know that."

Hermione slammed her hands on her hips. "And just what is his ambition? Pray tell, Draco, dear."

"Erm..." a bit of cheese fell out of his mouth. "Well..."

"That's what I thought. Gryffindor it is!"

Draco laughed smugly. She was so adorable when she was angry. "Woah, woah, woah. Not so fast. A lack of ambition alone does not embody the qualities of a Gryffindor. Slytherin it is, because he wouldn't disgrace the family name."

Her mouth opened and closed, resembling something of a fish's jaw, before she finally spat, "Are you saying that I am a disgrace to the family name?"

"Well, technically..."

He couldn't finish his quip on account of the bedroom door slamming in his face.

"You know I need to sleep there tonight!" he shouted.

"You don't need anything, you scheming bastard! We have a sofa in the living room!"

Nah-ah. No way. Draco Malfoy was not sleeping on the sofa.

Draco Malfoy was also not going to vouch for his eldest son being sorted into Gryffindor.

Draco Malfoy was at something of a loss.

"Hermiiioooneee," he groaned.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Fine, have it your way," he muttered under his breath, and transfigured the sofa into a king sized bed. So what if it knocked over a few vases and expensive china plates? He was trying to make a point, not be economical. And anyway, passive-aggressiveness was his strength. He was a Slytherin, after all. Just like he knew his son would be.

So when the pure-bred African white-breasted hawk he'd purchased for the boy came knocking at their window the next day with a letter, he didn't even need to open it to know. "Hermione," he sang, "our son has been sorted into Slytherin!"

The door to the bedroom burst open. She'd stayed in there the entire day, except to get food, water, or books, and when she did leave for those purposes, she refused to speak to him. But now, a look of utter revulsion was painted across her face, and he could tell she had a great deal to say. She spotted the letter with sharp eyes. "Give me that!" He didn't have to; she ripped it from his hands. "What in the bloody... it's not even open! How would you know?"

"I just know," Draco replied smugly.

"You... presumptuous..." she grunted, her hand shaking and grasping the letter. "I knew I shouldn't have let you name him Lucius."

"What? It's a good name."

"It's a Slytherin, pure-blooded brat's name, that's what it is. It wouldn't suit a Gryffindor at all."

"If you're so certain he's a Gryffindor," Draco said carefully, "then why don't you open the letter?"

"I was just doing that," she snapped. But instead of opening the seal, she merely stared at it for a few moments.

"Here, let me do it," he offered, reaching for the envelope.

She whipped her hand back and began to tear at it. "I think I can handle that... myself..." There was a moment of deathly silence as both inhaled sharply, awaiting the news. Hermione hastily unfolded the letter and scanned it for any sign of a sorting. Soon, Draco was behind her and they both read simultaneously. Their son was never the most eloquent or grammatically efficient child, they'd admit, but there was something far more alarming in his note. Something so alarming, in fact, that Draco's eyes widened and he began to hyperventilate, whilst his wife's mouth fell to the floor.

Mum and Dad,

Hogwarts is good. The teachers are nice. The food is tasty. My wand works good. Please send me some better robes.

From,

Lucius

P.S. I got sorted into Hufflepuff, whatever that means...

"There must be a way to rectify this..." Draco whispered, entirely disbelieving.

"It's okay, love, it'll be okay..." Hermione replied, in a vain attempt to comfort her husband, but the truth of the matter was she didn't even believe herself.