Chapter Five

"Well," Harry stood in front of the Fat Lady with the three younger children in tow, nervous expressions gracing their features, "I'm sure you've all been here before,"

Albus gazed at his father for a moment, taking in the likenesses they shared. They both had green eyes, Lily's eyes, as well as the unruly hair that was a deep brown, almost black color. They held the same face shape, similar body structure, though Al was a bit taller due to the male Weasley genes in him. Al did not have glasses like his father, however, and Harry had yet to sprout a light sprinkle of freckles across his face—like Al had on his.

Surprisingly, Scorpius answered Al's dad with a smile, "I can't wait to see your face when you wake up and realize that you weren't dreaming,"

"Believe me," Harry Potter stated matter-of-factly before uttering the password so the portrait could swing forward to let them in, "I have dreamt worse," Pulling himself through the portrait hole, Al smiled upon realizing that the common room had not changed from his time 'till then. The sofas were a little less battered, the fire place a little less scorched, but the crimson walls laced with gold trimming were the same, and the armchairs were just as overstuffed as ever. The warmth from the dying fire caused the worn-out teen to sway on his feet sleepily.

"It smells like home," Rose murmured distantly, her eyes glazed over. And indeed it did. The smoke that was left over from the fire and sweat of students long since asleep and scent from the spicy candles, while a bit pungent, reminded Al of days he had spent in the very same common room, chatting away with Rose and Scorpius and whoever else might happen to amble by. A faint pang of loneliness shot through the boy's heart; so this was homesickness.

"I-I think I need to go to bed," Scorpius whispered, the desperate tone of voice he used causing Al to look at his best mate. The usually grey eyes were full with something foreign to Al, tears.

"Scorpius," Al called, his voice echoing down the hallway, "Scorp, c'mon," The blonde darted between students, eluding his dark-haired best friend. It was only their second year, and things had not been going too well since the start of term. Scorpius' eyes were always looking into nothing, and when Al tried and confront him about it, the walls went up so fast it wasn't hard to believe why people thought Scorpius was standoffish.

After a few tense moments of bursting through surprised and annoyed groups of people, Al spied the blonde head of hair disappear into the loo by a particularly peculiar painting of a young woman in bright orange bell bottom pants. Al followed his friend in, watching as Scorpius slid down the grey tiled wall. After checking the stalls for other boys, Al sat next to Scorpius on the ground, wincing at the defeated expression on the blonde's face.

Without moving his head, Scorpius spoke, "My dad is NOT a Death Eater,"

So that's what had been wrong. The fifth years had been teasing Scorpius since he started school, but Al had been too busy trying to hex their asses to realize what exactly they had been saying. But with the History of Magic lessons covering not only the Goblin Wars but the far more recent war as well, Scorpius was susceptible to nasty jeers and hexes.

"I know," Al replied, fiddling with his thumbs absently. He knew about the War and what had conspired, but he did not know the details. When Scorpius had come over for Christmas dinner and his parents had politely declined the invitation, Al had asked his dad why. All that his father had said was that Draco and he had a rivalry at school. After looking deeper, Al discovered that Mr. Malfoy had been caught up on the wrong side of the War but was pardoned upon the realization that he had 'switched sides' during the Final Battle. Of course, Al knew these things after learning them in school the year after, but that didn't alter his opinion on Scorpius. Al had accepted that there were many shades of grey and as the older Malfoy had never been rude to him he was not going to judge him based off what some students in school and a history textbook had said.

"It's just… he was on Voldemort's side, Al! How do I know that they're not telling the truth?" Scorpius' voice shook; with anger or with fear Al could not tell.

"Well," The darker haired wizard turned towards the blonde one. Scorpius' shoulders were shuddering and a glistening tear had wormed its way down his face. Anger flaring up inside of him, Al continued speaking, "What do they know anyways? They don't live with you! Your dad doesn't even have a dark mark… right?"

"I've never seen it," Scorpius said self-consciously.

"There you go," With a pointed hand gesture and a smug grin Al began to stand up.

"No," Scorpius' words stopped Al in removing himself from the ground which left the poor boy in a particularly awkward half-squatted position, "I've never seen my dad's left forearm at all,"

"Oh, well that doesn't prove anything. Don't cry, m'kay Scorp? They don't know anything," Al offered a hand to his best friend, who took it with a smile.

"Right. Dad would hate that. 'Malfoy's don't cry', he'd say," Al almost laughed; he could see the older of the two pacing in front of a dull fire at the Manor, lecturing Scorpius about manliness.

Glancing at his battered watch, Al practically shouted, "Perhaps you shouldn't be so carefree. We're about to be late to potions in the worst way,"

Al couldn't remember seeing Scorpius cry since that day, despite the things he had been through. His best mate was a tough cookie to crack yet Al and Rose could always tell when the blonde was hurting because he wouldn't make eye contact. And now they were in this peculiar situation which would not be reversed for a while, to which Scorpius' father hated him. It was the place where they discovered that the day back in second year they had been wrong; Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater.

"Bed sounds like a good idea," Harry caught the tears in Scorpius' eyes, though he pretended not to notice. "I'm sure that Dumbledore took care of the sleeping accommodations," Rose looked nervous; she was about to go into a room of sleeping girls, none of which she knew well except for her mother, who was the same age as her at this point in time.

"Er, right, I'll just be going then?" Shuffling on her feet she made no implication that she was going to walk up the stairs.

Scorpius was avoiding everyone's gazes so Al took charge. "Let's come up with a story first,"

"A story?" Rose's brow furrowed and Al's dad shut his eyes for a long moment, as though warding off a headache.

"Yeah. What are we going to tell people when they magically discover three new students at school? 'Oh hey, we're from the past and, guess what? Voldemort dies-'"

"Albus," Scorpius' deep voice cut through Al's rant. Flushing scarlet, he snapped his mouth closed, surprised to find that his dad had not even twitched at the thought of Voldemort's death.

"Let's just be distant relatives to the Weasley's who were homeschooled until our parents… um…"

"Decided we needed a proper education!" Al chimed in, proud to have helped his cousin.

Rose nodded in agreement, "And we're triplets… or, how about Al and I are fraternal twins and Scorpius is our Irish twin," Rose spoke so quickly that Al almost didn't catch it all, "Good? Good. I'm tired, and I plan on marching up those stairs and passing out in a nice, warm bed. Goodnight,"

Having his past 'life' molded before his very eyes, Al watched as his impatient and rash cousin stalked towards the Girl's Dorms, where she disappeared behind the door.

"As if this situation could get any better." Scorpius muttered sarcastically.

Sympathy for Scorpius ran through Al's head as he followed a yawning Harry towards the boy's dorms. He could only imagine what was going through the former blonde's head; he had been thrown into the Slytherin Common rooms, a house that he had been predicted to be in but wasn't, found out his father had been a Death Eater at sixteen, was made to impersonate a Weasley, a family which he was supposed to despise (although he didn't) and now Rose was dictating their fake past's without a second thought. It all felt like a bad dream in which Al would wake up confused and concerned for his mental health.

Like the common room, not much had changed in the past (next?) twenty some odd years in the boy's dormitories. The same four-poster beds adorned in gold and red remained, with sleeping boys in them to match. There were three beds, two of which were made, that were unoccupied. Al glanced around, smirking in a Malfoy-like fashion when he heard someone who he thought was his Uncle Ron emit a rather loud snore. Glancing about once more, the youngest Potter's eyes locked on the trunks at the end of the crisply-made beds, which had gold initials engraved in the dark wood. The grey light from the partly covered windows was enough for him to make out 'A.S.P' on one and 'S.H.M.' on another.

"Dumbledore is a bloody genius," Al whispered, more to himself than anything. Without a second though he ripped a white sheet on one of the beds back and, kicking off his shoes, fell into it, not completely aware of how tired he was until his head hit the pillow.