What was the old saying? 'The three-headed dog days are over?'

Currently, in Draco Malfoy's life, that was a load of dragon shit.

Early Christmas sinner with his son's two best friends had been an altogether interesting affair. The Potter boy, Albus, had arrived at 6 O'clock on the dot. Astoria had greeted him with a great flourish of warmth and excitement; Scorpius could barely contain himself, while Draco had stood there like a wooden plank. After a few moments where Albus had been distracted by his wife and son, everyone turned expectantly to Draco.

Draco studied the scrawny boy, still covered with a dusting of ash from flooing into their living room. He was the exact image of his father from when they were in school. Untidy dark hair, round glasses, and vivid emerald eyes that sparkled with innocence. The only thing missing was the lightning shaped scar, and Draco was thankful for it. It was already hard enough as it is to accept the boy through letters. Meeting him in person, the less he looked like his father, the better.

Forcing his hand out, he grunted a,

"Mr. Malfoy."

Albus looked at his hand in curiosity for a split-second then shook it. Although both let go rather quickly, Draco noticed that Albus did not seem to harbor any grudge against him, or fear for that matter. It looked like his father hadn't informed him in on the details of their childhood.

The Weasley-Granger hybrid however was fifteen minutes late when she came stumbling out of the floo. Coughing ash and shaking her bushy brown hair, she looked up and grinned.

"I'm very sorry for being late, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," she said. "My dad kept changing his mind on whether or not he wanted me to go. Mum finally just threatened to hex him if he didn't let me."

Draco had originally been prepared to emit a snide comment on her tardiness, but after hearing her excuse he felt it was appropriate not to say anything, and also found a new, grudging respect for the muggle-born who had tormented him at Hogwarts.

Or, he remembered bitterly, he had tormented.

As Astoria once again began fussing over Scorpius's friends, he caught a glimpse of young Rose. Her hair was a bushy and untamed as her mother's had been, but her nose was dusted softly with light colored freckles, and her eyes were a bright, shockingly clear blue resembling that of her father. By her broad grin, she was the perfect mix of the two. He only hoped she had found a balance between being smart, and when to keep her trap shut.

Dinner proceeded with a great meal being passed out in the dining room where the five of them sat at a rounded oak table, quite the contrast to the long, painfully-distanced table back at Malfoy Manor. The minute Albus saw one of the house-elves he heaved a sigh.

Turning to Scorpius he said, "Rosie's not going to like this."

It was then, the minute Draco saw Rose's eyes light with a fire the minute the house-elf set the food in front of her, he remembered her own mother's fight for elf rights. This would not bode well if her mother had taught her these morals.

"Are they paid?"

Draco and Astoria looked up to meet Rose's glare that was uncommonly fierce for an eleven year old.

"Because I'm not eating if this was made from slave labor."

Astoria opened her mouth to speak, but Draco beat her to it.

"They're given vacations, however, Astoria has not convinced them to accept pay yet," Draco drawled, taking a sip of the French onion soup. "Your mother has quite the influence on Astoria, don't worry. My wife won't quit until they get their own broomsticks."

Rose seemed satisfied with this answer, and began to gobble up her own soup. Astoria beamed at her husband, infinitely proud of him. Draco just shook his head and watched as Scorpius, Rose, and Albus were all deep in conversation about quidditch, Hagrid, O.W.L.S ("That's four years away, Rosie!" "You can never be too prepared!"), and why there was a whomping willow.

Dinner passed like this, with the children and Astoria chatting away while Draco just watched his son. He had wanted to deny the reality of all of this so badly. His House, his friends, Scorpius's stark contrast from everything Draco ever was. But now that he saw it in front of him, he knew he could no longer deny it. Scorpius was happy, and nothing Draco ever would have wanted for him before would have done that. Draco decided that he had to be happy for his son too, that's what a father was supposed to be like wasn't it?

He wouldn't know. He didn't always have the best example growing up.

The Gryffindor posters now covering his son's room, his red and gold scarves, his laughing face, the complete lack of prejudice and expectations in his face… All of it pointed to Scorpius's happiness.

When it was getting late and it was time for Albus and Rose to go, Draco said something he never thought he would've said before.

"Come again some time soon."

When the two had grinned and left Astoria had kissed him, and Scorpius had hugged him around his middle and said, "Thank you."

"My darling!" Astoria called through the hallway, watching as Draco's back stood rigid when he was called, and slowly he turned to face her. With one, golden eyebrow raised he looked at her inquisitively.

"Yes?"

"A letter from our wayward son," she smirked with barely conceived amusement as her husband all but ran to her side and grabbed the letter she had grasped in her right hand.

Draco ripped open the envelope and hungrily let his eyes feast on the messy scrawl that decorated the parchment. Scorpius had not been back since Christmas break, and was due home for the summer in two weeks. Still, Draco could hardly anticipate news from his only child.

Dear Dad,

I was hoping I would not have to write this letter to you, as honestly the thought of you having a heart attack does not appeal to me.

Draco's eyes widened. What had happened to his son? Had he hexed someone into next week? (Oliver Wood's son would be acceptable). Kill a Hufflepuff? Get eaten by a dragon? … Oh wait, that doesn't work…

I really wasn't going to write this, but you were going to be informed soon enough. Really soon, by the school in fact. In the end, Rose made me do it. She said if she and Albus had to write letters to their parents, I better do it or she'll jinx me and make little birds attack me. Said something about a trick her mom uses with her dad.

Draco snorted. He had no doubt that Granger-Weasley would definitely jinx her rather rash husband to make him see anything close to sense.

Well, Albus, Rose, and I were exploring Hogwarts… at night. We were just curious about the rumours about Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Myrtle's supposed to be really whiny, but there's a game about throwing a book through her head. But also, they say there's something else haunting it. Screams and a bloodstain that won't come off the floor.

Draco got chills up his spine, the memories he had worked so hard to close off flooding back into his minds eye. Myrtle's comfort, Potter's confrontation, the duel, the searing pain in his chest, the blood… all the blood. Staining the marble floor and permeating the water that surrounded his body. Unconsciously he raised a hand to lightly run across his chest, where the curse scar still remained underneath his clothes.

A bit creepy if you ask me. But the stain is really there. Eery. The three of us hated it. Myrtle took one look at us and before we could even try to throw a book, she looked like she had seen a ghost and went down the toilet! Haha. Kind of funny… I've tried to distract you too long. Well, Albus were looking around, and he found some random box lying around. I told him to open it, but instead, the floor opened up!

Draco did not like where this was going. He just really hope they didn't go in…

So naturally we jumped in.

Well shit…

How were we supposed to know we had opened the Chamber of Secrets?

Draco read the last line again and again. How was that possible? Not only had his son and his friends entered the bathroom, which was home to one of his, and he was sure Potter's, worst memories, but opened the bloody Chamber of Secrets… where if he wasn't mistaken, a dead Basilisk was now rotting. Yet Draco knew the only way to do it was to be a Parselmouth, and his son said 'open'. There had been no known history of any parsletongue's in his family. It also seemed his friends did not even notice it, which would mean they understood him… meaning they did not seem the significance.

"Draco?"

Draco turned to see his wife staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. He had not realized she had been reading over his shoulder. They thought that all the adventure they had experienced at Hogwarts was over…

"Malfoy!"

Draco turned to see a very purple Ron Weasley and a grave looking Harry Potter standing in front of his fireplace and covered in soot.

Apparently, none of it was over.