A/n: yay third chapter! Enjoy =)

Against his will, Scorpius flinched as Madame Pomfrey spread out the fingers of his injured hand. The nurse clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Broken, just as I thought. If I had a sickle for every injury caused by ridiculous schoolboy rivalries..." She bustled off, leaving the remainder of her sentence unsaid.

"She'd be rich," Rose deadpanned.

As Al snorted, and Scorpius bit his lip, trying and failing to keep a straight face, James poked his head in. "Hullo." He raised an eyebrow at Scorpius's hand, which he still held palm down at chest level, as Pomfrey had left it.

"Scorpius broke it punching Zabini in the face for us," Albus explained to his brother brightly.

James's eyebrows rose even higher, almost disappearing into his shaggy auburn hairline. "So it was you who got Hagrid in such an uproar." He plopped into a chair by Rose, giving Scorpius a slightly goofy, definitely approving grin. "Well done."

Scorpius tried to accept the praise with a graceful tilt of his head, like a proper Malfoy, but the attempt was ruined by his cheeks flushing a bright pink at said praise.

The older boy didn't seem to notice; he was looking at Scorpius's uninjured hand curiously. "Make a fist, Scorpius," he said suddenly. Blinking at him curiously, the boy nevertheless did as he was told.

James tutted. "Small wonder you hurt yourself. You're doing it wrong." He adjusted Scorpius's fist so that his thumb was tucked underneath his fingers, rather than curled in with them. He sat back, looking at his handiwork with as much approval as an architect with his finished project.

"That, dear Scorpius, is how you make a fist-"

"Mr. Potter!" Both Albus and James looked up, twin looks of pure innocence on their faces. "Yes ma'am?"

Madame Pomfrey let out a loud huffing breath in exasperation, rubbing her temple a little. " Mr. James Potter. Mr. Malfoy has placed himself in enough trouble today with his fist without you showing him how to do it 'properly'. Now since there is nothing you need in the way of treatment: out."

"Yes ma'am," James said, his head slightly lowered-the very picture of contrition. As he got up to leave, though, he snuck a mischievous wink at them all from under his fringe. Scorpius bit the inside of his cheek a little to suppress a smile.

As the door to the Hospital Wing closed softly behind him, Madame Pomfrey pressed a small glass of a murky-looking, grayish potion into his uninjured hand.

Scorpius raised the glass, eying the contents dubiously, wrinkling his pale nose. One...Two...Three. He reluctantly knocked back the potion like his grandmother Narcissa with a shot of Firewhiskey. His whole body shuddered, and it was all he could do not to throw the vile-tasting draught back up.

Albus and Rose gave him encouraging smiles as Pomfrey rubbed his shoulder soothingly. "Good boy." She turned to include Albus and Rose as well. "It will take some time for the potion to take full effect and repair the damage. In the mean time, run along to class, you two. Mr. Malfoy will be along after the potion finishes its work."

"Okay." Albus gave him another kind smile and Rose squeezed his hand, before they reluctantly followed after James. Scorpius made a face as they left-the knuckles of his injured were starting to tingle uncomfortably.

Madame Pomfrey noticed, and her face softened. "Try to sleep; it's less bothersome that way," she told him kindly before bustling off once more.

...

Somehow, Scorpius must have been able to sleep, because next he knew, he was being shaken lightly awake by Madame Pomfrey. As he slowly sat up, she took his injured hand and pressed gently on the knuckles, carefully flexing each finger. The potion must have worked, because it didn't hurt in the least.

She nodded to herself. "All done. You may go, Mr. Malfoy. And no more fistfights!" She added sternly as he slid off the bed.

"Yes, ma'am."

It was getting dark outside the windows; he'd missed the rest of his afternoon classes. Not that he was sorry about that-History of Magic was dull at best, Defense Against the Dark Arts a close second (honestly, Professor Kimble could take the fun out of practicing hexes as well as Binns could take the excitement out of bloody rebellions) and he never liked the way the greasy-mannered Potions master, Slughorn, looked at him-all calculating behind a oily smile, as if he were a potential pawn in some obscure chess game Slughorn was constantly playing.

It was about dinnertime, in fact. Scorpius's stomach gurgled eagerly, and he picked up his pace. He rounded the corner to the Great Hall's corridor at a (rather undignified, as his father would call it) half-run.

When he reached it, dinner was already in full swing; to his relief, no one paid any attention as he entered-well except Rose, Albus, and James, that is.

Rose and Albus beamed at him as he approached. "Welcome back, sleepyhead," James piped up with his customary goofy grin. Scorpius grinned back, plopping himself in the seat beside Albus that the other boy had saved for him, across from Rose, and helped himself to the food (roast duck and potatoes, his favorite.).

As Scorpius ate, James and Albus resumed their earlier conversation-an argument about whose favorite professional Quidditch team was better. Rose rolled her eyes at the brothers' good-natured back and forth banter and deliberately turned to talk to Jenna Lore-another first year-instead. Scorpius smiled into his food, suddenly filled with affection for his friends.

Near the end of dinner, he was so focused on his bread pudding that he didn't know Braxton and Jordan were walking by until the warm chatter in his ears suddenly hushed. He twisted around to see both of them glaring at him.

"Hey guys," James said loudly. "Is it just me, or is Zabini's nose just a touch off center today?"

Braxton's eyes narrowed as Scorpius snorted. Scorpius smiled back at him sweetly, feigning innocence. To his surprise, Braxton smiled back, only his smile was pure, bratty evil. He leaned close, grabbing Scorpius's tie and jerking him forward, ignoring how Scorpius's friends jumped up defensively.

"Laugh it up while you can, dear Scorpius," he growled into Scorpius's ear. "Your father will be hearing about this. All of it."

Scorpius felt the blood physically drain from his face as Braxton let go of his tie and stepped back. "Y-You wouldn't," he stammered, staring at Braxton's smirking face in horror.

"Oh, I would. In fact, I already have," the Slytherin purred back. He raised his hand, curling his fingers in a small wave. " Ciao, scorpione."

As Braxton strutted off with a smirking Jordan, Scorpius turned back to Rose and Albus, who were both watching him with identical looks of concern, whiter-faced than usual.

Rose broke the silence first. "What did he say to you, Scorpius?"

Scorpius stared down at the remains of his bread pudding, feeling suddenly too ill to finish it. "He is going to tell my father everything." He sucked in a deep breath, rubbing his face, willing the tears away. I'm a dead man, he thought grimly.

He didn't realize Rose had gotten up until her spindly arms were around him. "It'll be okay, Scorpius," she told him, in a gentle, motherly voice Scorpius was beginning to hear often-usually directed at him, like now. A watery smile worked its way onto his face as Albus boldly added, "Yeah, Scorp. And you've still got us, no matter what your dad says." James, his mouth full of a pumpkin pasty, cheerfully grunted his agreement.

...

The next morning, in Charms, Scorpius was on edge, fidgeting nervously on his seat, his Malfoy composure-which he'd never been all that good at faking, anyway-in shambles. It was extremely hard to concentrate when he was expecting a livid paternal relation to come bursting in at any second and disown him...

But his father never appeared. Not that day, nor the next, nor even the next. Braxton, however, continued to be insufferable, gloating and smirking knowingly at him whenever he got the chance. But after a few Father-free days became a Father-free week, Scorpius began to relax.

After a Father-free two weeks, Braxton began to visibly deflate, and James began to taunt him in retaliation on Scorpius's behalf, bolstering the pale boy's confidence even more-and earning Rose and Albus's disapproval, though it was largely ignored.

But then, nearly a month later...

"Scorpius Malfoy." Scorpius looked up from where he was about to attempt to disarm Rose in Defense Against the Dark Arts (he didn't really think he could succeed-she was the fastest caster in their whole year when she wanted to be). The speaker was a very tight-lipped Professor McGonagall.

He tucked his wand back into his robe pocket, catching Rose's eye, then Albus, who was across the room, partnered with a boy called Thomas-the same boy who'd gestured to him in Charms that first day. Nodding to both like a condemned man headed for the gallows, Scorpius turned and followed his Headmistress and Head of House out of the room.

He managed to walk with his head held high, back straight and proud, like a proper Malfoy, though his knees shook and his heart was pounding so hard it threatened to beat right out of his chest. McGonagall was silent in front of him as she led him along-she didn't even look at him.

They didn't stop until they came to a giant eagle statue standing with its wings spread in an alcove. "Albus Dumbledore," she murmured to it, almost fondly. At once the thing began to move, spiraling upwards, revealing a set of marble steps. McGonagall finally glanced at him as she stepped onto them, motioning for him to follow. He swallowed tightly and followed her, fighting to control his trembling with every step he took.

He tried desperately to convince himself that this had nothing to do with his father, but he couldn't think of anything he might have done to deserve a visit with the Headmistress-mostly due to having a pair of almost obsessive rule-followers for friends, he thought with the barest flicker of a smile.

His heart plummeted to lurk, terrified, somewhere near his navel (even though he should have been expecting it) the second he followed Professor McGonagall into her office. His father stood up from a spindly-looking chair in front of the Headmistress's desk, as tall and imposing as ever-but his stormy glare was mercifully not directed at Scorpius-yet.

"As I was saying, Professor," he growled, and Scorpius shivered at the ice in his tone, feeling very small and cold. "This is an outrage. My son does not belong in your House. I suggest you rectify the Sorting Hat's mistake immediately."

Professor McGonagall, to Scorpius's shock, wasn't the least bit intimidated. There was even the slightest suggestion of a smile hanging about her thin mouth as she replied, "The Sorting Hat may be ancient-older even than this school-but I assure you, Mr. Malfoy, it does not make mistakes. It does, however, allow for the power of choice." Even though his gaze was directed at his feet, his chin almost tucked into his collarbone, Scorpius could feel McGonagall's gaze fall on him once again.

Draco rounded on his son at once. "Scorpius," Scorpius had to fight not to flinch and shiver again at the cold, hard, flat tone in his father's voice. "Y-Yes, sir?"

"Look at me." He wasn't yelling. He didn't have to raise his voice for Scorpius to know that he was very angry with him. He took a deep breath, and carefully raised his head. Gray met gray, one deceptively calm, the other absolutely terrified behind a thin mask.

"Did you choose Gryffindor?"

Scorpius shook his head vigorously. "No, sir."

Draco turned to McGonagall in grim triumph. "There, you see? He didn't choose it, so it must be a mistake. Resort him."

Panic flared in Scorpius's heart, the same fluttery panic he'd felt as the prospect of not being Sorted into Slytherin, at the thought of disappointing his father, but he wasn't thinking of that now. He was thinking about Albus, snubbing everyone and sitting with him instead; of Rose, nodding in warm approval at his feather; of James, showing him how to make a proper fist; and even of the Gryffindors of his year, who'd jumped to his defense without a second thought after he punched Braxton in the nose. He had friends now, real companionship he had for the sake of it, rather than to bring honor back to his torn family. Friends he didn't have to hide from. He couldn't leave that, not for anything. He wouldn't.

He lifted his gaze back to his father as McGonagall sighed. He took another deep breath, filling his chest, holding his head high. His eyes unconsciously flickered to the Sorting Hat, sitting innocently on a shelf above McGonagall's desk. Even a little scorpion of bad faith has courage.

"Father." His voice, though still quiet, was firm and unwavering, drawing from a hidden reserve of steady nerve somewhere deep, deep inside of him, stirred to life by the memory of the Hat's words.

His father looked at him, surprise flashing across his face. Before this strange new reserve of boldness could fail him, Scorpius blurted, "I don't want to be in Slytherin anymore. I have friends now. I'm-I'm happy where I am. I don't want to be resorted." The last part was said with the greatest force and resolve the young Malfoy could manage as he stiffened his spine, preparing for the worst as he lifted his chin proudly.

His father's surprise turned into shock for a brief second before settling back into a cold, disapproving mask once more. "Yes. I heard about that as well." The mask seemed to crack a bit as he rubbed his temple, his other hand flexing as his thumb rubbed over his wedding band. A new resolve seemed to fill him, and he looked up, looking his son straight in the eye. "I object strongly to this, Scorpius, but as you are eleven, you are old enough to begin making your own choices-mistakes though they may be. If this is your choice...then so be it."

Scorpius's eyes widened, almost comically, but he didn't care. He'd expected more of a fight from his father-it was a family tradition, after all, to be in Slytherin, and he had made no secret of his extreme dislike of the Potters and Weasleys throughout Scorpius's childhood-but then his heart swelled as the gravity of his father's concession settled in. Sheer giddy joy propelled the small boy forward; he threw his arms around his father's middle, burying his face into his chest.

Draco patted the top of his son's head awkwardly, then froze. "Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy, what in Merlin's name did you do to your hair?"

A/N: Wow this one's short...oh well =). More to come as soon as I type it up.