{{Bye, guys!}}
The article started with a half page image of several teenagers in multi-national robes. With their arms around each other and beaming smiles on their faces, it was the perfect shot. Felix had been exceptionally proud of that one. He flicked through the paper, mostly disregarding the words. Words were all well and good, but they were not art. Felix captured hearts, captured souls. Felix looked at people and saw the Earth's wonders. And then he charged an awful lot for the rights to print those wonders.
Nevertheless, Hennequin caught snippets as he skimmed the article – "triumph of international spirit and goodwill," "a night unlike any other," "more than eight-hundred students and staff," "the broken chandelier deterred nobody," – until he reached the special feature, a page in. Here, his photos shone in all of their glory. Figures swirled and danced throughout, the cheap paper quality doing nothing to detract from the candid happiness. The paper had chosen one photo to blow up larger than the others, and Hennequin preened, pleased. The photo showed a tall young man with intimidating shoulders and soft eyes spinning a long haired girl in a dress patterned with stars. The black and white of the newspaper highlighted the hollows of her dramatic cheekbones and the beaming smile on her face shone. She threw her head back and laughed, and Felix glanced at her companion. There was an easy smile softening the chiselled bone structure – Hennequin tapped his fingers on the table, considering contacting the pair to do a shoot with. They were undeniably attractive. "Scorpius Malfoy and Quidditch Captain Rose Weasley enjoyed the festivities. The pair arrived arm in arm and didn't leave the other's side. With eyes only for each other, the pair form a formidable team on the pitch – but we at the Daily Prophet speculate that this delightful duo have taken their relationship to a whole new level. This remains unconfirmed, as classmate and GoldenTrio descendent, Albus Potter, told us not 'to ask me about those two utter idiots.' Potter was later seen in the company of Ilvermony student Reina Kowalski, the great-great-niece of our own Newton Scamander. It is claimed that the two have been in contact since Ilvermony's last visit to our shores…"
Hennequin shook his head, uninterested in the twaddle. The next photo was of the said Potter boy with a bashful smile, being dragged to his feet by a short, dark haired girl. Felix's pockets had been lined with a little extra at the assurance that he would remember the Golden Descendants were extraordinarily interesting. He remembered this particular trio from the last wedding that he had shot – it had been at a castle in Scotland. Edward Lupin's wedding, and when he'd been handed a cheque for his work, the name on it was "Potter." The three had stood with their arms around each other, disintegrating into laughter in the second before the shutter clicked. They had done the same this time;
"A photo, you three?"
The trio had looked up from their conversation. Weasley's cheekbones were flushed, and Potter's eyes were dilated – his smile was astonishing, Hennequin realised, a flash of contagious warmth – "Why not?" He said, looping his arm around the Malfoy. "Tonight, my lads, we are young!"
"Al's drunk!" Malfoy exclaimed, as if it had just struck him. "He agreed to a photo! Did you hear that, Rosie?!"
"I did." Rose said, hooking her arm around Malfoy. "Absolutely shozzled."
"Shozzled." Scorpius repeated, looking down at Rose. She was doing her best to keep a straight face, lips quirking with the effort.
"Shozzled." Albus said quietly, under Scorpius's other arm. "I am shozzled."
Amidst the howls of laughter, the shutter clicked, and the moment was immortalised. Three almost-adults, their shoulders shaking with barely contained joy.
Draco Malfoy's breakfast was slowly going cold in front of him. The Daily Prophet had dropped into the post-basket some moments earlier, and Flissy had scooped it up whilst the paper's screecher owl had shot off.
"Mister," she'd said, placing it down as Draco ate his breakfast. He'd nodded his thanks, mouth full of toast. Picking up the paper, he swallowed, and vaguely registered his wife sitting down opposite him.
"Anything interesting?" Astoria asked, sounding for all the world as if she didn't know. Draco lowered the newspaper and peered over the top of it. She wore a soft white blouse that he'd picked up the last time he'd been in Paris, and looked positively angelic.
"Toria, we both know that you organised the run of this."
Astoria at least had the good grace to wink at him. "Maybe so, but I haven't seen a final copy. And Merlin knows that I have no control over the writers."
"Hmm." Malfoy murmured, returning his attention to the front page. He read the article once, and once again, before thoughtfully setting the paper to oneside and gazing out of the window.
Astoria picked it up and her pleasure was palpable. "I think I'd like this photo in my office," she said, reaching for the bone-handled scissors that she kept on the breakfast table for just such occasions. She set to work on the photo of her son and Weasley, spinning in eternal, gleeful circles. Astoria wondered if Draco had even heard her, lost in thought as he was. But as she went to stand, he reached out and placed a hand on her arm.
"Why don't we put it on the fridge." Draco said, bringing his eyes to meet hers. "Our son deserves pride of place, don't you think?"
A slow, warm smile spread across Astoria's highly sculpted face – Scorpius had inherited Draco's colouring, but that quicksilver smile was his mother's – "He would be thrilled, darling.
It was two months later when Rose visited the Malfoy mansion for the first time. Summer had arrived, draping itself comfortably over England. The clematis that wrapped itself around the front door smelt divine, and it was as though the weather was making a special effort. From the moment that Scorpius had held open the door of his horrendously beaten-up Ford, England had done it's best to please.
The redhead walked into kitchen, having been relieved of her bags, and Astoria breezed past. "What can I get you, Rose?" she asked, reaching for a glass. "I have cordial, Pimms, water-" She turned questioningly, and found Rose looking at the photo on the fridge. It was otherwise bare – the photo was held in place with a Gryffindor magnet that Scorpius had bought the pair of them as a joke some years ago – but the photo greeted the couple every morning.
"My Mum and Dad have the exact same photo on our fridge," Rose said, cheeks flushing slightly at being caught. "They say it's their favourite."
"Ah, well," Astoria said, busying herself with preparing icy glasses of Pimms, "It's ours as well."
"No?"
"Certainly. There was another in the article as well, do you remember? Yourselves and Albus. I got hold of the prints afterwards – they're in my office."
"Really?!"
"I'll show you after dinner. Do you think your parents would like copies?"
"They'd be delighted," Rose managed, and Scorpius walked in on Rose looking as if she'd just seen a basilisk.
"What did she do to you?" He hissed urgently, hand on Rose's back as he lead her towards to garden.
"Your mother," Rose uttered, "is an absolute angel."
Later, Astoria caught Scorpius by the arm as he helped clear the table. "Your friend-"
"Girlfriend."
"- Girlfriend," Astoria corrected herself. "Is just wonderful, Scorpius. I couldn't be happier for you."
Scorpius had stood stock still. Reaching up and pressing her hand to his jaw - when did her little boy get so tall? - Astoria took the plates that he'd been holding. "We should really get her parents over for dinner, you know." She's carried on casually, as Flissy set to rinsing everything down. From the kitchen window, Astoria could see her husband nodding along whilst Weasley spoke animatedly. Quidditch. It was bound to be about quidditch.
"Darling?"
"I - oh, fu- fiddle - sorry, dropped the... Did you say that you'd invite the Weasleys over? Did you-"
Astoria turned back to the dining room. Her son was standing there, with the tiniest port glass in one hand and an expression of sheer vulnerability on his face.
"Scorpius," His mother said softly, "It's about time that we adults learnt something new. And that something new could well be starting again."
"Merlin. Well. To the future, then." Scorp said, raising the glass he was holding.
"To the future." Astoria echoed. A smile warmed her cut-glass features. "Now, shouldn't we join the others?"
